Haggis Poisoning

Last Friday was Burns Night, the annual celebration of the life Scots poet Rabbie Burns in which folk gather to eat haggis, neeps and tatties, washed down with poems and whisky. Gareth and I had been invited to a proper Burns Supper but were both rotten with the cold, so it was haggis at home. Every year I forget about the Haggis Poisoning until it’s too late. This is the technical term for the following process: Getting excited about Burns night – a glimmer of fun at the end of miserable January Shopping for the haggis, umm-ing and ahh-ing between traditional or vegetarian style Spending an age cooking it, along with the mashed potatoes and the turnips that make the house whiff like old socks Ceremoniously stabbing the haggis open with a knife, the room filling with a delicious spicy, savoury aroma. Suddenly it’s all, Forget television and telephones, haggis is the great Scottish invention of all time Piling a mountain of food on your plate as you quiver in anticipation After half a dozen mouthfuls it all floods back – the overwhelming richness of the haggis-neeps-tatties trio Downing a glass of whisky before collapsing on the couch and vowing never to do it again This year Gareth was in a merry mood and actually recited a few verses of Address to a haggis. Well, he read them off my phone, standing in the kitchen. I think more great foods should be proceeded by a poem in their honour. Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face, Great Chieftan o’ the Pud...
Source: The Amazing Adventures of Dietgirl - Category: Other Conditions Authors: Tags: Living In Scotland Scottish Cuisine Source Type: blogs