Posted on 03/28/2007 10:49:40 AM PDT by Rb ver. 2.0
Actually, in Scotland, I'm considered a coward by not eating, ordering or nor wanting Haggis in any form.
I love to see and hear the reaction of Americans when Haggis is discussed.
My Grandmother used to buy or trade for cow tongue, and corn them like corned beef. Then she would boil them and serve them sliced with boiled cabbage, potatoes and carrots. It was as good if not better than corned beef.
My mother boiled beef heart and sliced it for my school lunch. Sometimes it was still beating when she put it in the pot...
My Mother did something with beef heart too....by the time I saw it it ,....it was all sliced and nice and tasty!
That's a Sgian Dubh (skeean doo) or False Dirk. One might have that as their sole utensil. Inside the haggis is a bunch of ground up stuff.
"My mother boiled beef heart and sliced it for my school lunch. Sometimes it was still beating when she put it in the pot..."
Nothing like fresh meat. Deer liver is best right after it has been shot and quivering. Cover it with flour, salt, pepper and let it quiver. Fry some thick sliced pepper bacon and onions, about 4 minutes before the onions are done, push the onions and bacon slices to the side of the frying pan and put the quivering/floured & seaoned liver in the hot bacon grease. Cook about 2 minutes per side and serve while it is still quivering.
It is best when on the old sod to stab fresh cooked Haggis with a Sgian Dubh (skeean doo) or False Dirk to make sure that it is dead before ye eat it.
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 wordy 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 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 lyke 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 ower 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 mak 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!
The Translation
Fair is your honest happy face
Great chieftain of the pudding race
Above them all you take your place
Stomach, tripe or guts
Well are you worthy of a grace
As long as my arm
The groaning platter there you fill
Your buttocks like a distant hill
Your skewer would help to repair a mill
In time of need
While through your pores the juices emerge
Like amber beads
His knife having seen hard labour wipes
And cuts you up with great skill
Digging into your gushing insides bright
Like any ditch
And then oh what a glorious sight
Warm steaming, rich
Then spoon for spoon
They stretch and strive
Devil take the last man, on they drive
Until all their well swollen bellies
Are bent like drums
Then, the old gent most likely to rift (burp)
Be thanked, mumbles
Is there that over his French Ragout
Or olio that would sicken a pig
Or fricassee would make her vomit
With perfect disgust
Looks down with a sneering scornful opinion
On such a dinner
Poor devil, see him over his trash
As weak as a withered rush (reed)
His spindle-shank a good whiplash
His clenched fist the size of a nut.
Through a bloody flood and battle field to dash
Oh how unfit
But take note of the strong haggis fed Scot
The trembling earth resounds his tread
Clasped in his large fist a blade
He'll make it whistle
And legs and arms and heads he will cut off
Like the tops of thistles
You powers who make mankind your care
And dish them out their meals
Old Scotland wants no watery food
That splashes in dishes
But if you wish her grateful prayer
Give her a haggis!
I got ya beat. I have a stash of Easter Peeps and I just et one.
Let's see ya beat that one...
That was cute! :o)
I thought so too. Goats are great.
I love the little wagging tail. I'd forgotten they do that.
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