Burns Night: Haggis is a good thing!

If there's one thing Americans are better at than the British, it's centering holidays around food. Yes, British Christmas and Easter involve good traditional meals (and cakes and snacks and sweeties), but what else is there in the calendar?

Meanwhile, in the US, there's Thanksgiving (turkey and pumpkin pie!); July 4 (burgers and blueberry pie!); even Hallowe'en is basically an excuse for pigging out on chocolate.

So if there's even the slightest excuse to celebrate a food-related British holiday, I'll jump on it. Which is why we make a point of celebrating Burns Night every year.

Robert Burns is Scotland's poet; he wrote hundreds of poems and songs (if you warbled along vaguely to a tune at midnight on New Year's Eve, you've half-remembered one of them).

I don't pretend to be Scottish, or particularly a poetry fan. But Burns' birthday, January 25, is celebrated with readings of his work, speeches, and ... haggis.

Don't even start with the "ewww" stuff. Haggis is not gross, or slimy, or disgusting. Yes, it uses some sheep organs that are more usually discarded, but that's a good thing; waste not, want not. And on a cold January night, it's good, satisfying, stick-to-the-ribs food.

For this year's feast, we cheated on two counts. First, we used canned haggis (because the only alternative was a 4lb "presentation" haggis, which we'd be eating until next Hogmanay); and second, we celebrated four days early, so that we could properly toast the haggis with whisky (not a good idea on a school night).

Also, planning the meal for a Saturday meant I had time to do it up right.

First, cock-a-leekie soup. Main ingredients ... well, it's pretty self-explanatory.



Instead of following a specific recipe, I made up my own: softened a mirepoix, added herbs and chicken stock, threw in the sliced leeks, poached and shredded a couple of chicken thighs.



Before we ate, The Boy said the traditional Selkirk Grace (because nothing's cuter than Scottish read in a Spanish-American accent):

Some hae meat and canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it;
But we hae meat, and we can eat,
Sae let the Lord be thankit.

Next, haggis! With neeps and tatties! Which means mashed potato and rutatbaga! Is this not the best dish ever??





Of course, by the time the rutabaga is softened and sweet and tossed with butter and black pepper, and the potato is whipped into creamy clouds, and the haggis is sizzling hot, it all looks much better.



Before we ate, The Boy read Address to a Haggis.

So what does haggis taste like? Like it says on the tin, it's lamb heart and liver (sometimes tongue is also involved), so it has a deep, earthy flavor. The texture is meatloafy, with the oats (or barley) adding little bit of chew. It really is pretty good, even from a can.

And of course we had to go traditional with the beverage.



And then dessert; this can either be a clootie dumpling (basically a steamed suet pudding); a whisky-laced trifle called Tipsy Laird; or cranachan, which involves heavy cream, toasted oats, raspberries and, uh, more whisky.

We decided on the latter, but in a rash moment of healthiness, decided to use Greek yogurt. It still turned out rich and creamy, with the honey and whisky adding sweetness and smokiness and the oatmeal providing a nutty note.



If this has piqued in you the slightest interest in trying haggis, The Haven in JP is holding Burns Suppers this week.

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?

To a haggis (with apologies)

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.



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?
(Robert Burns, 1759-1796)



But over here, I'm sad to say
That, thanks to the USDA
Who "No beef offal!" blindly bray,
We shameful stand;
That we must celebrate the day
With haggis--canned.
LimeyG (dates unknown)

Hunting haggis

Haggis isn't a hearty Scottish dish; it's a punchline. It joins a long list of foods non-Brits point to when they laugh at British cooking. Others include jellied eels, black pudding, steak and kidney pie, spotted dick. Okay, at least the last one sounds funny.

The whole "British food sucks" thing has always bugged me, not only because I grew up on the stuff, and know that it's largely fabulous--apart from in tourist-trap restaurants in London, and frankly, if that's your experience of British cuisine, you get what you deserve--but also because of the implied insult: the food is bad, so the people who eat it must be unsophisticated morons.

And yes, I know this is rich, coming from someone who's giddy about the World Parmo Cooking Championships. (Did you vote parmo yet?)

The prevalence of Brit-chef TV shows has helped reduce knee-jerk reactions about the food of My People, but even the best efforts of Gordon Ramsey, Nigella Lawson and the man once referred to in Viz as a "fat-tongued mockney herbert," Jamie Oliver, have not totally squashed the assumption that the cuisine of the British Isles is boiled, bland, fatty and flavorless.

Which brings us back to haggis.

I'd wanted to feed some to The Boy for ages, but stupid goverment rules forbidding the sale of food containing animal lungs make it hard to find the real stuff. So instead I broke down and bought Stahly's canned haggis from Cardullo's.



Looks tasty. huh? For $8 a can, it damn well better be. The label notes that it's "skinless," which I guess is their way of skirting those crazy "unfit for human consumption" laws.

The traditional accompaniment is neeps and tatties (translation: turnips and spuds. Translation: rutabagas and potatoes).
.


Yeah, okay, the veggies were boiled. But our mashed potato kicks butt, thank you. And any turnippy blandness was quickly overcome with garlic and fresh black pepper and lavish buttering.



Haggis is supposed to be served with a good Scotch, but--gasp!--we were all out of Jura. We had to slum it with Jim Bean, sassenachs that we are.

So what does haggis taste like? Think corned beef hash made with liverwurst, rounded out with barley. Okay, maybe that still sounds disgusting. But in the realm of comfort food, it's wonderful: a deep, earthy flavor, dark and meaty, with a creamy, rich mouthfeel, the grains adding a satisfying chewiness. Perfect for a chilly November night. Especially when rounded out with piles of creamy, buttery veggies and good hooch.



If you have a hankering to make your own haggis--and you can get your hands on a sheep's stomach bag (I think Coach has one in their fall line)--you could try one of these recipes.

Otherwise, try a can. Maybe a selection box. Go on. You'll like it. Promise.