Anatomy of a Haggis

January 25 was Burns Night here in Scotland. Burns Night is a holiday which celebrates the birthday of Scotland’s favorite poet, Robert Burns. Burns is celebrated for his use of the traditional Scots language in his writing. Prior to his works, the language had largely been abandoned by the “educated” classes, who wished to be seen as more sophisticated (i.e. English) then the “backwards” residents of the highlands and the islands. Burns’ writing brought the language back into respectability, although English is still more widely spoken (And yes, Scots is in fact a unique language. The Scottish Parliament says so).

Anyway, back to the holiday. The traditional way to celebrate Burns Night is with a traditional Scottish feast. What, you ask, is a traditional Scottish feast? Well, I’m glad you asked. A traditional Scottish feast includes: cock a leekie soup; haggis, neeps and tatties; a dram of whisky and cranachan for dessert. Which probably means absolutely nothing to you at all. So, let’s begin at the beginning. Cock a leekie soup is a basic chicken soup with leeks in it. Haggis I will explain in a moment. Neeps and Tatties are turnips and potatoes, which are traditionally served mashed (separately). The whisky requires no explanation. Cranachan is a combination of whipped cream, oatmeal, fresh berries and whisky, served a bit like a parfait.

The center of the feast is, of course, the haggis. Haggis is a quintessentially Scottish food, and, to be honest, I don’t think many other people would eat it. If you’re squeamish, you might want to skip this next bit, because I’m about to explain what, exactly, a haggis is. Haggis, when prepared traditionally, is sheep offal (specifically heart, lungs, and liver), suet (beef fat), oatmeal, nuts or other grains, and combination of spices, all stuffed inside a sheep’s stomach and boiled for three hours. In case you were interested, it is impossible to find haggis in the United States because of two reasons: first, all imports of British meet products have been banned since the BSE outbreak in the 90s, and second, because the FDA bans the use of sheep’s lung in consumer products. It is likely, however, that only the Scottish expatriate community mourns this fact. I don’t think many Americans would willingly eat sheep offal.

Now that I’ve made a few derisive statements about haggis, I feel the need to redeem it. There is nothing wrong with haggis. In fact, I like the fact that more of the animal is used after butchering. Just because they’re the least desirable cuts of meat doesn’t make them inherently gross. Also, I can advocate for the actual edibility of haggis. It tastes just fine, the texture is much like any sausage, and except for attempting to remove the skin after cooking (which is something I always have a hard time with) fairly easy to cook (and no, I did not make my own haggis, I bought it from the butcher’s down the street). I can see how it would become a staple food, especially for poorer people who can’t buy the nicer bits of meat.

Originally written for the Scripps College Off-Campus Study blog

Address to a Haggis

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great Chieftan o' the Puddin'-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy of a grace
As lang's my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad 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 wi' ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie 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-swall'd kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
Bethankit hums.

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

Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro' bluidy 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' heads will sned,
Like taps o' thrissle.

Ye Pow'rs, 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 you wish her gratefu' pray'r,
Gie her a Haggis!

- Robert Burns, Poet Laureate of Scotland

And now, the Scottish Falsetto Sock Puppet Theatre

And now for something completely different...

This is a lovely video by the Scottish Falsetto Sock Puppet Theater. We were shown this during program orientation, and as silly as it is, it is still informative.

thoughts on being alone.

Adventures With Toast (or: Welcome to Your New Flat)

I experience life through food. That’s just how I function. Because of this, one of the first moments that I really realized I was in a different country was when I was faced with the food selection in my local grocery store. This was on Sunday afternoon, and although I’d been in the country since Wednesday, it hadn’t really seemed real. It was the butter and cheese that had done it. There was so much available that it was sorted by what part of the country it was from. Welcome to Scotland, the land of milk and – well, milk.

Back in my flat, I transferred all of my purchases to the relevant storage location. At this point, I was faced with something else different: the kitchen. An inventory of appliances is as follows: a refrigerator, a microwave, and an electric stove/oven unit with two tiny ovens. That’s it. Oh, except for the hot water pot. Understandably then, I was faced with a bit of a dilemma when I wanted some toast with my cup of tea. There isn’t a toaster.

Fortunately, one of my flatmates was able to enlighten me on the toast making process. I of course completely ignored her directions and muddled it out on my own. Because of this, I now know both what to do and what not to do.

To make toast:

1. Turn on the top oven to gas 4. Do not, under any circumstances, turn it up to 5 or 6, even if you’re in a hurry. 
2. Place no more than two slices of bread on the toast rack. While it looks like more would fit, this is in fact not the case. 
3. Slide the toast rack into the top rack of the oven. Make sure bread is not touching the heating element. 
4. Watch toast carefully. When bread appears, well, toasty, flip to toast the other side. If you don’t watch the toast carefully, it will burn. 
5. When finished, remove the toast from the oven, turn off, and eat the toast.

Very straight forward, right? However, if you’re like me, you completely ignored the warnings in either step 1 or step 4. And because you ignored these warnings, your toast burned. So, here are some trouble shooting steps.

To salvage toast (complete these steps as quickly as humanly possible):

1. Quickly pull toast out of the oven. 
2. Open the window, because the fire alarm going off is really not optimal.
3. Turn the oven off.  
4. Place toast on plate, and cover with topping of your choice. Opaque toppings such as peanut butter or nutella are ideal, as these camouflage the burnt bits.
5. Sit at the table and act as normal as possible. That way, when your flatmates poke their heads into the kitchen asking if you burned something, you can shake your head and act mystified. “No, not that I know of. But I did make some toast.”

Commence camouflage procedure

Originally written for the Scripps College Off-Campus Study blog