Culinary Commitment

Robert Burns was born on January 25, 1759. He is widely regarded as the national poet of Scotland, and had over 360 songs and poems to his name when he died at the age of 36, including the well known "Auld Lang Syne". You may ask what this has to do with me, and I would reply "absolutely nothing". At least that was true until last night.

A friend of ours approached me this past Monday with an offer to join him at a dinner that celebrated "Celtic culture" on Saturday that he, himself, had been invited to. He was fairly hazy on the details, but he assured me that it would be a fun night out and a chance to visit a local restaurant that Staci and I have been meaning to visit for a while. So we purchased tickets to this "Burns Dinner" with very little idea of what we were actually getting into.

It wasn't until Saturday afternoon that it occured to me that a very useful tool known as the "internet" might yield a few details about the event, and so I looked it up and subsequently learned volumes about Robert Burns. I also found that the "Burns Dinner" or "Burns Supper" is a worldwide celebration of the man typically held on or near his birthday, and is a tradition that has been carried on since the end of the 18th century. Wikipedia detailed the typical format of the evening, the structure of which was fairly flexible excepting for the following: "The only items which the informal suppers have in common are haggis, Scotch whiskey, and perhaps a poem or two." The inclusion of haggis definitely got my attention. Having never had it before (and having a vague, horrifying idea of what it was), I was quite reluctant to have a meal of "haggis, tatties, and neeps." After a few moments of deep consideration, though, I decided I could and should keep an open mind about it and steadfastly resolved to go through with the meal.

And then I used the internet again, to look up Haggis.

I won't trouble you with the gruesome details - look them up yourself if you are really curious. Let's just say that after learning more than I wanted to know, I recited to myself the following mantra: "You've eaten sausages and hot dogs... you can do this." Also, the United States has outlawed the usage of lungs for human consumption, which was somewhat of a comfort.

And so we travelled to the restaurant, emboldened by our new found knowledge, and found ourselves in a room of 50+ local residents, more than half of which were dressed in traditional Scottish attire, and all of which were suffering the pleasant effects of a Scotch whiskey tasting event that had been going on for over an hour before we arrived (and continued until we left at the end of the night).

The evening was a blast! It reminded me of why I like close knit communities so much- everyone shares a common culture. Here was a common culture *within* a close knit community! People read poems and sang songs by Burns, played the bagpipes and the harp, laughed and cavorted and welcomed with open arms anyone who would join them in the evening's festivities. It didn't matter if you were Scotch by birth or "by inoculation" (as one reader said "the only Scotch in me, is what I've emptied from my glass"), or just there for the show. It was grand. Haggis *was* served, but only as a precursor to the actual meal. I'll admit I was quite relieved, but I had some nonetheless.

Haggis tastes like a cross between sausage and a liver pate. It's also fairly gummy (owing to the inclusion of oatmeal in the recipe, no doubt). To my own surprise I found it quite edible, and I actually went back for more. Our friend who invited us has had "the real deal" in Europe, and he said that this haggis was fairly tame but very much like it's spicier, gamier cousin across the Atlantic.

I'm sure that the missing lungs are to blame.