Yesterday was Robbie Burns’ birthday.  Unless you are either Scots, a Scots wannabe, or me, this is not likely important to you.  For the Scots (and Scots wannabes) Robbie Burns is important because he is their national poet.  His poetry is important mostly because he wrote in the Scots dialect of the time, making some of his poetry a bit tough going for the modern Canadian English speaker and because he often wrote about very ordinary things, like Haggis.  Auld Lang Syne is probably his most familiar poem.  Grinch is very fond of Robbie Burns and was quite pleased that his first child chose Robbie Burns Day for her birthday.  For my part, I like that Grinch never forgets my birthday, tied as it is to something to remind him.

To celebrate, people like to gather for a “Burns Supper” complete with Haggis, Scotch and the reading of the poem “To a Haggis”.  This we did at Heidi and Steve’s on Saturday night.  Steve has been threatening to put me on “THE LIST” of people Heidi is not to associate with, something about being an expensive influence (under my guidance, she’s bought a spinning wheel and a loom in less than a month).  In an effort to keep myself off THE LIST, I offered to provide Himself, complete with kilt, to properly “Address the Haggis”.

Heidi has a better picture here.  Himself actually practiced beforehand, as it’s not really easy to read.  His reading passed muster and will keep me off THE LIST for a little longer.

The Haggis itself was a wonderful thing.  For those of you who think you don’t like Haggis – have you ever actually seen it, let alone tried it?  Haggis is really just a kind of sausage, cooked by poaching it whole and then served by opening the casing and scooping out the insides.  The filling is actually light and almost fluffy – a mixture of ground meat (traditionally lamb, but often beef), finely minced organ meats, oatmeal and spices.

Steve got the one we ate at the Glebe Meat Market, but next year (if all goes according to plan) it will come from the Manotick Village Butchery, courtesy of Himself and the Butcher (who we just hired), and made from Steve and Heidi’s own lamb.  Steve served many other lovely things for dinner and shared a very, very nice single malt I hadn’t had before (Edradour).  I was a very well behaved guest who did not pocket, nor even ask to open, the tiny bottle of one of my favourite single malts (Tomintoul 27 year old, not available in Ontario).  Steve and Heidi’s other friends made for lovely company and we enjoyed ourselves very much, rather late into the evening, prompting a phone call from Thing Tall:  “Where are you?  Do you KNOW what TIME it is?  It’s 1:15!”  He sounded rather like Grinch, or Nana, or FIL or MIL for that matter.  We found it hysterically funny.

Having had a lovely Burns’ Night, I spent my birthday at home yesterday with a somewhat miserable Rags.  She had a sudden, violent, allergic reaction to we have no idea what which caused her to start running about the house like a mad fool at 4:40 in the AM, scratching so hard that she was pulling out wool by the handful.  I took her to the vet as soon as he was in, she’s on prednisone and antihistamines which are working well, but I wish I knew what caused it.  Nana made it a bit better by making meat pie and my favourite cake for supper.  My Mum is very good to me.