Properly Scotch…

It was Burns Night last night and so, despite not having a single dram of Scottish blood in my body, I decided to do the right thing and eat haggis.

Now I know what goes into haggis: a mix of sheep’s pluck (heart, liver and lungs), onion, oatmeal, suet, spices, salt, and stock all minced together and encased in the animal’s stomach; so I though it worth a go. After all - didn’t I love haggis?

We prepared the feast; boiling the haggis for hours and laughing about all of the fictitious haggis hunts that we’ve never been on.

Then, after stabbing our haggis with a knife, I addressed the ‘wee beastie’ in my best Scottish ‘We’re all doomed Captain Mainwaring!’ accent:

Fair and full’s your honest, jolly face,
Great chieftain o’ the sausage race!
Above ‘em all ye takes ye place,
Stomach, tripe, or intestines:
Well are ye worthy of a grace
As lang as my arm.

We carefully and beautifully arranged our towers of haggis, neaps and tatties on a plate, sprinkled with chopped parsley, and then - toasting the haggis with whisky - tucked in. It was then it struck us… Burn’s Night or no Burns Night, why do we always seem to forget that we don’t like haggis?

Oh well, the whisky went down well and by the end of the night I was properly Scotch