Showing posts with label Scotch whisky. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Scotch whisky. Show all posts

Friday, January 25, 2019

Tae the Bard

DEBORAH CROMBIE: On (or near) January 25th, people all over the world with the tiniest Scottish connection celebrate BURNS NIGHT, commemorating the birth in 1759 of Robert Burns, Scotland's most revered poet. He was a good-looking lad, our Rabbie, if Nasmyth's portrait, below, is accurate. (The ladies certainly thought so!)

Portrait by Alexander Nasmyth in the Scottish National Gallery
Born to poor farmers in this cottage in Alloway, Ayrshire, Burns was mostly self-educated, and by the age of twenty-one was thoroughly versed in English literature, including Shakespeare, as well as philosophers such as David Hume and Adam Smith.


Burns had written his first poems by the age of fifteen. His work celebrated love, lust, humor, tenderness, and the condition of the common man. But for all the critical success of his poems and songs, Burns never rose out of poverty, and died July 21st, 1796, at only thirty-seven years old, his health damaged by years of grueling manual labor.



While most familiar to many Americans as the author of Auld Lang Syne  and To a Mouse (the inspiration for the title of John Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men,) Burns produced an enormous volume of work in just twenty years. As well as poems in standard English, in Scots English, and in the Scottish language, he wrote and collected hundreds of Scottish folk songs. He was also a reformer, a supporter of the poor and downtrodden, and an admirer of George Washington and the American Revolution as well as the French revolution--at least before its bloody turn.

So how do we celebrate Rabbie Burns? 

The traditional Burns Supper begins with the Selkirk Grace, the prayer attributed to Burns:
Some Folk hae meat that canna eat,
And some can eat that want it;
But we hae meat, and we can eat,
So let the Lord be Thanket!

Then a starter is presented, usually a Scotch broth or Cock-a-Leekie soup.
After that, while a piper pipes, the haggis is brought to the table, where it is slashed open dramatically as someone recites Burns' Address to a Haggis:  
His knife see rustic Labour dicht, An' cut you up wi' ready slicht.
In case you're thinking the haggis is an animal and this is a horribly bloodthirsty performance, let me reassure you--at least partially. A haggis is a traditional Scottish savory pudding made from sheep's heart, liver, and lungs, minced with oatmeal, suet, salt, and spices, encased in the sheep's stomach, then boiled.


It's traditionally served with neeps and tatties--that is, turnips and potatoes.
After the meal, one of the guests makes a speech, known as The Immortal Memory, honoring the great man. Then a toast is made to the "lassies" to acknowledge Burns' fondness for the ladies, and sometimes a female guest will reply with a toast to the "laddies."

The best part of the evening, of course, is the liberal consumption of the best Scottish whisky!


Now, I am appalled to admit that, even having lived in Scotland in the deadest of Januaries, I never attended a Burns Supper, something I profoundly regret.

I did, however, try haggis. 

Once.

I didn't hate it, but I didn't love it, either. Contrary to our perception of bland British food, haggis is actually quite spicy. (Now I have to look up what spices...) As is necessary to make it palatable, I suspect...

Alas, I will be spending this Burns Night feasting on Chinese takeaway... But maybe I'll break out my best Scottish whisky and toast Rabbie Burns with a wee dram!

REDS and readers, who's celebrated Burns Night, or tried a haggis? And who has a trace of Scots (or Burns) running in their veins? (Robert Burns fathered over a dozen children and his recorded family tree has over 900 descendants.) 

And REDS alert--the winner of Clea Simon's A Spell of Murder is Kathy Reel!