Burns Night

[AndyG]

Twenty-past six.

Having a wee dram right now while ma neap's a-boiling on the hob. Meanwhile, in support of Norn-Irish/Scottish relations, tonight's tatties are actually going to be colcannon. ("So they are".)

The haggis? Well, this one's legal in the US, as it's veggie.

Here's to a stomach-filling evening.

And, I have to say, I quite like this late January celebration on a cold, dark and windy, star-studded night. Another stepping stone on the way to spring.

Saor Alba!

Andy

[birlinn]

MacSween's?
My lad preferred it, although he was a carnivore.

Slainte Mhath!

[John hartmann]

As Chapman billies leave the street
an drouthie neighbors, neighbors meet
As market days are wearin’ late
an’ folk begin t’tak the gate
while we sit, boozin at th’ nappie
gettin’ fou’ an unco happy
we think na on th’ lang Scots miles
the mosses, waters, slaps and stiles
that lay between us an’ our hame,
where sits our sulkie, sullen dame
gatherin’ her brows like th’ gatherin’ storm,
and nursing her wrath, t’ keep it warm….

have a cracking evening!

[AndyG]

"Do dheagh shlainte", Birlinn.

Meanwhile, moments to go here. And a thought:

"This is a feast for poor people, with no teeth."

Andy

[CWSmith]

I love shopping used book stores and finding old books on topics that I like. (It's getting harder to do every year.)

I have a great anthology of Burns poems. Great stuff!

However, my favorite stuff is when a good Scottish folk band like The Tannahill Weavers put his verse to music. One of my favorites is: "A Man’s a Man for A’ That"

And then there is the song that every American thinks they know, but have never heard it sung right: "Auld Lang Syne"

https://youtu.be/vznJKNpL30c

[P.I. Stazzer-Newt]

Just finished the family's traditional Haggis Stir Fry - yum.

Sadly, I was unable to source the kosher Irn-Bru.

[AndyG]

It's very brown & yellow, of course.

Garlic stuffed baby boilers, neaps, veggie haggis breadcrumbed balls, and the colcannon to centre. Whisky/cream sauce over.

Now? All gone.

That Man to Man the warld o’er
Shall brithers be for a’ that!

...I'll eat summat green tomorrow.

[Jim Bow]

Bring on Billy! NSFW

[Tom Montgomery]

,
I would like to sample that meal.

[AndyG]

Tom, there's a minty-mayo-topped sheep pizza just a few inches away.

Bleurgh.

Andy

[Tom Montgomery]

..

[bamamick]

Tom, there's a minty-mayo-topped sheep pizza just a few inches away.

Bleurgh.

Andy

Oh, shyte.

Mickey Lake

[hawkeye54]

Tom, there's a minty-mayo-topped sheep pizza just a few inches away.

Andy

" There are those who eat to live, and those who live to eat " . . Though I find myself firmly in the second category, I believe I will take a pass on that . . . .


Rick

[P.I. Stazzer-Newt]

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!