Scotland's Great Monday Pot

If there is one dish that unites Scots the world over — and simultaneously sparks fierce debate the moment it's mentioned — it's stovies. Mention the word in any room with a Scottish connection and you'll quickly discover that everyone's grandmother made the definitive version, and nobody else's quite measures up. That's not a criticism; it's a testament to just how deeply this humble dish is woven into the fabric of Scottish domestic life. Stovies aren't simply a recipe. They're a memory, a Monday, a smell drifting from the kitchen that tells you the weekend's roast wasn't wasted.

The name itself comes from the Scots word "to stove," meaning to cook slowly in a covered pot with a small amount of liquid — a technique borrowed, it's said, from the French étuver, meaning to braise or steam. It's a method that suits the Scottish climate perfectly: low heat, long time, and a pot that practically looks after itself while you get on with the day. Historically, stovies were born out of necessity rather than culinary ambition. Potatoes and onions cooked slowly in whatever fat was to hand — beef dripping saved from a Sunday roast, a scraping of lard — with any scraps of leftover meat added for good measure. Nothing was wasted. Everything found its way into the pot.

Getting Your Stovies Right

The non-negotiables in a good stovies are floury potatoes, onion, fat, and patience. Beyond that, the world is your oyster — or rather, your dripping tin. For this recipe we've used leftover roast beef and saved beef dripping, which gives the most depth of flavour and is as close to the traditional Monday pot as you can get. If you don't have a roast to draw on, a good beef stock made with a couple of stock cubes will do the job admirably; don't be embarrassed about it.

The key technique that separates a great stovies from a merely decent one is the layering and the leaving alone. Resist the urge to stir. Onions go in first over a gentle heat, then the meat, then the potatoes — all built up in layers with the stock poured over, not stirred through. The pot goes on a low simmer with the lid on and you walk away. It's only at the very end, when the potatoes are yielding and the bottom of the pot has developed a gorgeous, slightly caramelised crust, that you give everything a good stir and let those crispy bits work through the dish. That contrast of broken-down tatties and the slightly caught bits from the base is what makes stovies so deeply satisfying.

Floury varieties like Maris Piper or King Edward are essential — they break down beautifully during cooking, giving the finished dish that characteristic thick, almost porridge-like texture. Waxy potatoes will stay stubbornly intact and miss the point entirely. If you've got leftover roast potatoes from the night before, throw those in too; they add a lovely texture and soak up the savoury stock magnificently.

How to Serve Stovies — and What to Do with the Leftovers

Stovies are traditionally served with oatcakes and, in many parts of Scotland — Aberdeen in particular — a side of pickled beetroot. Don't knock it until you've tried it; the sharp sweetness of the beetroot cuts through the richness of the pot beautifully. A thick slice of crusty white bread spread generously with butter is equally at home alongside a steaming bowl. Some families swear by a glass of cold milk as the accompaniment of choice, which sounds eccentric until you try it on a cold winter's evening and realise it makes perfect sense.

Leftovers — if there are any — reheat brilliantly the next day with a splash of water or stock stirred through to loosen things up. Some would argue they're even better on day two, once everything has had a chance to meld further overnight. Stovies are also endlessly adaptable: corned beef stirred through at the end instead of roast beef, square Lorne sausage sliced and added after the onions, or a vegetarian version made with good vegetable stock and a generous knob of butter. Whatever goes into your pot, the spirit of the dish remains the same — frugal, warming, and entirely, gloriously Scottish.

Ingredients

• 1kg floury potatoes (such as Maris Piper or King Edward), peeled and cut into rough 3cm chunks
• 250g leftover roast beef, roughly chopped or shredded (or substitute corned beef — see notes)
• 1 large onion, peeled and diced
• 50g beef dripping (saved from a roast) or unsalted butter
• 400ml hot beef stock (made from 1–2 stock cubes, or use thinned leftover gravy)
• 2 tbsp beef jelly (the dark meat juices that settle under the dripping — optional but recommended)
• 2 medium carrots, peeled and sliced into rounds (optional)
• Salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste

Method

1. Prepare all your vegetables first. Peel and chop the potatoes into rough 3cm chunks — no need to be too precise. Dice the onion. If using carrots, peel and slice them into rounds about 5mm thick. Roughly chop or shred the leftover roast beef into bite-sized pieces. If you have beef jelly (the dark, wobbly layer beneath cooled beef dripping), stir it into your measured stock now so it melts and enriches the liquid.
2. Place a large, heavy-bottomed pot or casserole dish over a medium-low heat. Add the beef dripping or butter and allow it to melt. Once the fat is hot, add the diced onion in an even layer across the base of the pot. Cook gently for 6–8 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the onion has softened and turned translucent with just a little golden colour at the edges. Do not let it brown heavily.
3. Add the chopped roast beef on top of the onions and stir briefly to combine. If you're using carrots, scatter them over the meat now. Arrange the potato chunks on top as the final layer, spreading them out as evenly as you can. Season generously with salt and freshly ground black pepper.
4. Pour the hot stock over the layered ingredients. The liquid should come just to the level of the potatoes — you want them to steam and braise rather than boil in a soup. Add a little more stock or water if needed, but don't be tempted to submerge everything. Do not stir.
5. Bring the pot to a gentle boil over a medium heat, then immediately reduce to the lowest simmer your hob will manage. Put the lid on firmly and leave the pot undisturbed for 50–60 minutes. The steam inside will do the work. After 50 minutes, carefully lift the lid — the potatoes should be very tender and starting to collapse. Test one with a knife; it should meet almost no resistance.
6. Now is the time to stir. Give the pot a good, firm stir, scraping up any caramelised bits from the base of the pan and working them through the dish. Some potatoes will break down into the liquid, thickening it; others will keep some shape. This contrast is exactly what you're after. Taste and adjust the seasoning — stovies need a confident hand with the salt.
7. Serve immediately in deep bowls with oatcakes and pickled beetroot on the side, or with thick slices of buttered crusty bread. A glass of cold milk is the traditional Aberdeen accompaniment if you'd like to go full authentic.