Happy Birthday to you...
Today is the birthday of Scotland's bard emeritus, Robbie Burns. It is a big celebration all over the country, honoring the man who brought you songs such as "Auld Lang Syne" and "Happy Birthday to You." We will be headed up to school for a Robbie Burns dinner, replete with all of the traditional Scottish favorites. Yes, even haggis, which is the main course (and apparently there is a Burns "Ode to Haggis" somewhere out there).
posted by John and Mag @ 3:49 AM
6 Comments:
Love hearing such famous historical facts about your adopted country! I don't love, however, the fact that you will be forced to stare haggis in the face tonight, and still try to be brave and smile for your countrymen. Hope you have choices for some decent food. If not, perhaps entertainment will fill in the gaps for the evening. Should be a great memory for you two!
SLB
Update:
We just got back, and I have to admit that the haggis was actually very tasty. Evidently my first experience with the dish was not normative for how it's usually served. A bagpiper played while they marched the haggis around the hall and then Burns' Ode to Haggis was read. I even ate what my better half refused to.
I am curious about this bloody food. What does it resemble in American cuisine? Brown mashed potatoes, or chocolate pudding? I am surprised you tried it, John! How many bites did you take? Suz
Suz-
It looks very much like ground beef. It has a sticky consistency, but is not runny. I actually ate all of it, and thought it was pretty good. Not necessarily something I would fix for a dinner party, but it wasn't terrible.
Incidentally, here is Burns' "Ode to a Haggis," which was read after the dish was piped in and before we ate.
Fair faw yir honest, sonsy face,
Great chieftain o' the puddin-race!
Aboon them a' yet tak yir place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy o'aw grace
As lang's my airm.
The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin was help to mend a mill
In time o'need,
While thro' your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.
His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An' cut you up w'ready sleight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like ony ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm. reekin', rich!
Then, horn for horn, they stretch an' strive:
Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swalled kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
Be thankit! hums.
Is there that owre his French ragout
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad make her spew
W'perfect scunner,
Looks down w'sneering, scornfu' view
On sic a dinner?
Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckles as wither'd rash,
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash;
His nieve a nit;
Thro blody flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!
But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread.
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He'll mak it whissle;
An' legs an' arms, an' hands will snedd.
Like taps o trissle.
Ye Powrs, wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o' fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu prayer
Ghee her a haggis!
Kinda' resembles a rap, don't you think? I never can understand them either! -Wooed
One more haggis comment--
There are enough disgusting words in that "poem" that seem to refer to "parts" - so that I KNOW I'll NEVER be able to celebrate or try this national dish! Why are the bloody Scots so proud of their primitive ways?? My English heritage is affronted!
SLB
Post a Comment
<< Home