My Great Granny’s Clootie Dumpling
Some recipes aren’t written—they’re carried. Our Clootie Dumpling is one of them.
My mum taught me the way her own granny once did: a widow with five children, long grey plaits twisted neatly behind her head, stirring this very dumpling over an open fire in a great iron pot. On Hogmanay, after bowls of Scotch broth and a proper Scottish steak pie, she would slice into it—soft, spiced, and studded with her signature grated carrot, a quiet rebellion against tradition.
A silver sixpence was always tucked inside, waiting for the lucky one who’d make a wish for the year ahead.
This year, I’ve folded in my own touch: a whisper of miso and vanilla, a nod to the past but made for the family and friends I am shaping now. A bridge between generations, warm with memory, ready for new wishes.
Here’s to heritage, to Hogmanay, and to the hands that taught us how to cook with heart.
Simple ingredients, cooked the traditional way…
Sometimes that feeling of ‘home’ comes from the tiniest of details, like the sound of this pudding bubbling on the stove.
The miso may be modern but it adds a subtle salinity to counter the sweetness of the fruit
This is naturally vegan too, perfect for feeding a crowd..
My Granny used to fry the leftover slices in butter for breakfast, a tradition that we certainly follow…
So why not bring the holidays and Hogmany home this year with this simple tradition, you may just adopt it as your own..

My Great Granny's Clootie Dumpling
Some recipes aren’t written—they’re carried. Our Clootie Dumpling is one of them.
My mum taught me the way her own granny once did: a widow with five children, long grey plaits twisted neatly behind her head, stirring this very dumpling over an open fire in a great iron pot. On Hogmanay, after bowls of Scotch broth and a proper Scottish steak pie, she would slice into it—soft, spiced, and studded with her signature grated carrot, a quiet rebellion against tradition.
A silver sixpence was always tucked inside, waiting for the lucky one who’d make a wish for the year ahead.
This year, I’ve folded in my own touch: a whisper of miso and vanilla, a nod to the past but made for the family and friends I am shaping now. A bridge between generations, warm with memory, ready for new wishes.
Here’s to heritage, to Hogmanay, and to the hands that taught us how to cook with heart.

