Offaly bad verse
All you need to know is this - Haggis tastes great!
I actually stopped drinking for an evening in order to be up at dawn the next morning for a haggis hunt.
I have to say, I was amazed to see snow - really rare on these occasions and of course making it a lot easier to track the Haggis. I chose this year to do things the old fashioned way, instead of a team of beaters, a pack of hounds and a selection of the finest samples from the Vickers 2008 catalogue, it was simply me, my man McNasty and our faithful hound.
Long was the trek. Deep was the snow. Up to the sporran in places.
Predictably it came down to close quarters, a blast of haggis shot that left McNasty bloodied and apologising for getting between me and my dinner and myself and the hound rolling over and over in the increasingly bloodied snow as fought a desperate battle with the beastie.
Finally, bleeding only from the shoulder, groin and knee (an improvement on last year) I got home, speared the beastie and, best to honour him, ate him.
There are many ways to cook the haggis, none of them remotely civilised. You can boil it, broil it, bake it and bugger it, you can even microwave it.
Microwaving food is a bad idea. If you tell your dinner is ready because it goes 'ping', then that's probably a sign that you watch too much telly and need to get out more. If you can tell your dinner is ready because your smoke alarm goes off it's probably a sign that your flat is not ready for cajun cook-outs without pre-installing a Ventilair 6000 extractor-master. If your dinner is announced by your butler...welcome to my world.
The haggis is announced with a poem. This is followed by many other poems, each interspersed with a toast, of scotch. The evening ends with a full stomach, an offal headache and, if you're lucky, a hangover worthy of verse.
Great chieftin' o' the puddin' race
Ach, noo, I ken, ah'em aff my face
My beastly microwave has pinged
Meh dinner's buggered , burned and singed
There's anly one way you ken cook
The national dish and that's ta look
Oot a glass, ye ken ye can,
And pour yerself a healthy dram.
I actually stopped drinking for an evening in order to be up at dawn the next morning for a haggis hunt.
I have to say, I was amazed to see snow - really rare on these occasions and of course making it a lot easier to track the Haggis. I chose this year to do things the old fashioned way, instead of a team of beaters, a pack of hounds and a selection of the finest samples from the Vickers 2008 catalogue, it was simply me, my man McNasty and our faithful hound.
Long was the trek. Deep was the snow. Up to the sporran in places.
Predictably it came down to close quarters, a blast of haggis shot that left McNasty bloodied and apologising for getting between me and my dinner and myself and the hound rolling over and over in the increasingly bloodied snow as fought a desperate battle with the beastie.
Finally, bleeding only from the shoulder, groin and knee (an improvement on last year) I got home, speared the beastie and, best to honour him, ate him.
There are many ways to cook the haggis, none of them remotely civilised. You can boil it, broil it, bake it and bugger it, you can even microwave it.
Microwaving food is a bad idea. If you tell your dinner is ready because it goes 'ping', then that's probably a sign that you watch too much telly and need to get out more. If you can tell your dinner is ready because your smoke alarm goes off it's probably a sign that your flat is not ready for cajun cook-outs without pre-installing a Ventilair 6000 extractor-master. If your dinner is announced by your butler...welcome to my world.
The haggis is announced with a poem. This is followed by many other poems, each interspersed with a toast, of scotch. The evening ends with a full stomach, an offal headache and, if you're lucky, a hangover worthy of verse.
Great chieftin' o' the puddin' race
Ach, noo, I ken, ah'em aff my face
My beastly microwave has pinged
Meh dinner's buggered , burned and singed
There's anly one way you ken cook
The national dish and that's ta look
Oot a glass, ye ken ye can,
And pour yerself a healthy dram.
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