Scottish Poet Robert Burns - Born 25 January 1759

In honour of the 248th anniversary of the birth of Scottish poet Robert Burns, I'm reposting this story from last January:

Next they'll be outlawin' the wearin' o' the tartan and the playin' o' the pipes:

Haggis Targeted in Anti-Obesity Drive

Scotland's national dish, haggis, has become the latest foodstuff to be targeted as part of a drive to combat growing levels of obesity among British children, prompting outrage among producers.


According to health officials in Scotland, the delicacy -- a sheep's stomach lining stuffed with offal, oatmeal, onions and seasoning -- contains too much fat and salt and should only be given to youngsters once a week.

But the guidance has angered makers of the "love it or hate it" foodstuff, which is traditionally eaten with a tot of whisky on Burn's Night, the annual celebration on January 25 of the life of the legendary Scots poet Robert Burns.

"With good neeps and tatties [turnips and potatoes], there's nothing more nutritious than haggis," said Alan Pirie, of butchers James Pirie and Son, the current holders of the sought-after title "Scottish Haggis Master".

"It's made of all natural ingredients -- there's no rubbish in it at all. To compare it with processed meat like chicken nuggets or hot dogs is just ridiculous. It's a big knock for us for it to be compared to those."

Haggis was placed on a "restricted" list of foods issued to nurseries, playgroups and childminders as part of a drive by the Scottish Executive in Edinburgh to improve the health of pre-school children under five.

(emphasis added)

My Comments:
Outlawed lungs in outlawed tripes.

What is the world coming to when a Scotsman can't enjoy a little organ meat with his whiskey and porridge? I mean, what harm can be done by a little lung, heart, liver, blood, and oats stuffed inside a sheep's stomach?

Perhaps Robert Burns best summed up the Scotsman's love affair with this fair delicacy in the following poem:

Address To A Haggis

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

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin was 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 sleight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like ony 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;
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 make her spew
Wi' perfect sconner,
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckles as wither'd rash,
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash;
His nieve a nit;
Thro' blody 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' hands will sned,
Like taps o' trissle.

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!

That's me about 3 days before my first encounter with a haggis, which took place during Sarah's and my honeymoon in Scotland.






Happy birthday, Rabbie. I'll drink a wee dram of the single malt to your memory this Burns Night.



Further Reading:
www.rabbie-burns.com/

www.robertburns.org/

www.robert-burns.eu/

Burns National Heritage Park

www.auldlangsyne.org/

BBC - Burns Night - Homepage

The Scottish Haggis Website