Robbie Burns Day

Yesterday, the 25th of January, was Robbie Burns Day in Scotland. This is the day in which the Scots celebrate the birthday of their national poet, Robert Burns, who was born 25 January 1739.

The day is marked by special Burns Suppers held all across the country. Though the celebrations may differ, there are some common elements of every celebration. The celebration may include some or all of the following:

• Start of the evening
• Host's welcoming speech
• Entrance of the haggis
• Supper
• Loyal toast
• Immortal memory (short speech about Robert Burns)
  
• Appreciation (the host thanks the previous speaker)
  
• Toast to the lasses (a man gives a toast outline his "views on women")
  
• Reply to the toast to the lasses (a woman responds giving her "views on men")
  
• Other toasts and speeches
• Works by Burns
• Dancing
• Closing

In addition to those Toasts to the Lassies and Laddies, I think the most interesting part is the Entrance of the Haggis. Apparently when it is time for the supper to be served, a man playing a bagpipe marches in, followed by another man carrying the Haggis on an elegant platter. To this, the crowd cheers. The Haggis is presented to the host who then recites Robert Burns' poem, Address to a Haggis (thanks to the Alexandria Burns Club for the translation):

Address to a Haggis Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o the puddin'-race! Aboon them a' ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm: Weel are ye worthy o' a grace As lang's my arm. The groaning trencher there ye fill, Your hurdies like a distant hill, Your 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-reekin, 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; The 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 scunner, 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 bloody 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 make it whissle; An legs an arms, an heads will sned, Like taps o thrissle. Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care, And dish them out their bill o fare, Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware That jaups in luggies: But, if ye wish her gratefu prayer, Gie her a Haggis

Address to a Haggis Translation Fair and full is your honest, jolly face, Great chieftain of the sausage race! Above them all you take your place, Stomach, tripe, or intestines: Well are you worthy of a grace As long as my arm. The groaning trencher there you fill, Your buttocks like a distant hill, Your pin would help to mend a mill In time of need, While through your pores the dews distill Like amber bead. His knife see rustic Labour wipe, And cut you up with ready slight, Trenching your gushing entrails bright, Like any ditch; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm steaming, rich! Then spoon for spoon, the stretch and strive: Devil take the hindmost, on they drive, Till all their well swollen bellies by-and-by Are bent like drums; Then old head of the table, most like to burst, 'The grace!' hums. Is there that over his French ragout, Or olio that would sicken a sow, Or fricassee would make her vomit With perfect disgust, Looks down with sneering, scornful view On such a dinner? Poor devil! see him over his trash, As feeble as a withered rush, His thin legs a good whip-lash, His fist a nut; Through bloody flood or field to dash, O how unfit. But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed, The trembling earth resounds his tread, Clap in his ample fist a blade, He'll make it whistle; And legs, and arms, and heads will cut off Like the heads of thistles. You powers, who make mankind your care, And dish them out their bill of fare, Old Scotland wants no watery stuff, That splashes in small wooden dishes; But if you wish her grateful prayer, Give her [Scotland] a Haggis!

We didn't have any plans to go to a Burns supper last night, but a last minute invitation to a friends resulted in a lovely evening complete with the traditional Burns Day menu (Haggis, Neeps and Tatties). Though, no, it was not paraded into the room and we did not recite the Ode to the Haggis. Because, and only because, our sweet friend prepared the meal, I actually tried the Haggis. Can you believe it?? Normally, I am not an adventurous eater. I like good food and am all for the gourmet, but I want to know what I am eating and generally don't want to try any meats that aren't....mainstream. But, last night was my exception. And, you know what? It was good. I don't think I'm ready to go on Survivor, but maybe I'll be a little more open-minded when it comes to food next time. Well, probably not. But, I was last night.