Burn's Night, 2013

January 25th, Burn's Night.

Made a faux haggis.  No sheep's lungs were to be found locally so based on liver and heart and, in the absence of a sheep's stomach, used an oven bag to hold it all together.  It was placed in a ceremonial haggis sacrificing altar, had Mr Burn's address read to him and then was dispatched as humanely as possible.

All present were surprised how nice it tasted.

The starter was a lot more colourful: smoked salmon, beetroot & horseradish cream.

The spoon, by the way, was for the dessert (Atholl Brose).

George in a  Jimmy hat.  Or vice versa.

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The Gift of the Haggi.

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Robert Burns addresses the haggis:

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

Yes, it is Burn's Night, 2011.

In the absence of a haggis (a dish containing sheep's 'pluck' (heart, liver and lungs), minced with onion, oatmeal, suet, spices, and salt, mixed with stock, and traditionally simmered in the animal's stomach for approximately three hours)...

...we had chicken liver paté on oatcakes.

True, Robbie may not have recognised it as his chieftain of the pudding race, but it was quite tasty, none the less.
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