The Burns Supper

Is there that owre his French ragout Or olio that wad staw a sow, Or fricassee wad make her spew Wi' perfect sconner, Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view On sic a dinner? Address To A Haggis

Every year, on the 24th January, millions of Scots around the world tuck into a dinner of champit tatties, bashed neeps and — the centre piece — haggis; celebrating the birth of Scotland's famous poet Robert Burns (1759-1796). So, this being the 250th anniversary, it was time I had one for myself.

Part of the Burns Supper ceremony involves the lively recitation of the poem "Address To A Haggis", and the act of cutting up the haggis. Now the haggis is a rather strange creature: it is either a three-legged beastie that roams around the heather, only to get shot in large numbers during the second half of January; or, when it comes from the butcher, a sheep's lungs, heart, liver and kidneys, chopped up with onions and oats, and boiled in a sheep's stomach.

For the benefit of sensitive readers, it goes without saying that no actual haggises were harmed in the production of this supper — the North York Moors Haggis is an endangered species as it is. No, the part of this haggis was actually played by a concoction of puy lentils, dried mushrooms, shiitake, onions and porridge; with some miso, nutmeg and black pepper corns.

The potatoes were mashed into a creamy consistency with olive oil (I'm saving that last scrap of butter for later), and the turnip got bashed about with some brown sugar.

Sources

May Cropley: Burns Supper
Project Gutenberg: Poems and Songs of Robert Burns

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