Ode to Haggis

Haggis is considered to be the national dish of Scotland. We decided that we needed to learn more about it so that we could give it the appreciation it deserves. We thought about adding it to our Global Fieldtrip Recipe Book, but decided it might be too difficult to find the ingredients in our short timeline, so we will just enjoy it while in Scotland!

While at the Stirling Castle, we watched a demonstration on the making of Haggis. The presenter tried to convince us that the haggis was actually a small animal found on the Northern island of Skye. After he realized we weren’t falling for his story, he showed all the ingredients to make it, such as oats, garlic, spices, and lamb intestines, (heart, lungs, and liver).

He then showed how once it was all chopped up and cooked, it was stuffed into the lining of a sheep’s stomach.

The final product is boiled and often covered with whiskey sauce for added flavour.

We decided to try haggis and went to a family restaurant called Hamish’s Hoose for some authentic Scottish food. The restaurant did not disappoint. We ordered haggis with neeps and tatties (mashed turnip and parsnips) with some whiskey sauce for all of us to share.

We all tried it and agreed it was pretty tasty – somewhat similar to black pudding that we had in Ireland. It wasn’t as scary as we had anticipated! The waiter said he always mixes the turnip and parsnips together with the haggis…that was quite nice too!

Mik finished the plate with gusto…and continues to impress us with her willingness to try new foods as we roam around the kitchens of the globe.

The presenter at Stirling castle suggested we try deep fried haggis with chips and a pint…he said that is a more common way the Scots eat their national dish! We’ll see if we are able to try it before we venture off!

No Haggis post would be complete without the Ode to Haggis by Scotland’s national bard, Robbie Burns.

ODE 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,
You 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-reeking, 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,
An’ dish them out their bill o’fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu’ pray’r,
Gie her a Haggis!