Friday, January 21, 2011

Great Chieftain o' the puddin race....

As we move into Burns Night Supper territory, the Globe and Mail has a little introduction to the ins and outs of Haggis in its contemporary Scottish manifestations - fairly posh haggis, mind - lady haggis - haggis for the smart set. Not galumping manly great mountains of the steaming stuff like they usually have over here!

Mrs Rabbit and I are off to a Burns Night Supper a week tomorrow. I will never be asked to do the address to the Haggis since my accent's not right. It wouldn't do. The one or two times an "aye" has escaped my lips instead of a "yes" everybody's looked at me as if I were a total poser. Apparently I'm not allowed to fit in.

Nor this year will I be imbibing to my customary degree since I have a service and an AGM after church the next morning. I will be remaining sober enough to drive home. My behaviour at the supper will be exemplary and unBurnslike.

Until this year there'd been a ban on authentic haggis being sold or imported into the United States since 1971. That's done with now and Americans can enjoy genuine honest-to-goodness offal shovelled off the slaughterhouse floor instead of the tidier product they've been making do with (unless they knew a Canadian who could smuggle the good stuff over the border).