Night of the Scots

We had a fun time last night at the Scottish Club ball, an annual affair that raises funds for various local charities. Sorry I didn't take photos. It was a very nice event, even by American standards. A typical table-driven fundraiser, where local businesses and individuals purchase a 10-top table and fill the seats. We went as guests of some dear English friends.

A lively, fun rivalry exists between the English and Scottish, and it was played up throughout the night. The Scot men were in kilts and full traditional garb, and everyone else was dressed up. The decorations were well done in Scotland flags: blue and white lights, and there must have been an army of generators somewhere making sure the lights and sound system didn't falter throughout the night.

The glorious music was mostly from a bagpiper and drummer who were flown in for the event. They rocked out on traditional and funky fare, and the drummer broke out of the sticks-on-rims sound and was jammin' on African djembe. These two were really athletic in their playing and the crowd thrilled at their every note. There was lots of all-inclusive Scottish dancing as well, with a chain-smoking older lady in a flowing white gown teaching us several dances, and harshly reprimanding those who erred.

This was a Burns supper, celebrating the life and poetry of Robert Burns, whose birthday is celebrated on January 25. I'm certain that if poets were celebrated like this in schools around America, students would care more. Sex, whisky and haggis (HAG-gas) were central themes of the Burns-inspired banter.

Haggis was a big topic of the dinner and conversation; I had no idea what this was. As it turns out, this is probably for the best, and it is also good that I couldn't understand most of the thickly accented speeches from the Scottish speakers. Our pastor, who is from northern England and is at times hard for me to understand due to his thick accent, will forever be easy for me to understand after hearing the Scot spin on English last night.

Haggis, it turns out, is a dish containing sheep's 'pluck' (heart, liver and lungs), minced with onion, oatmeal, suet, spices, and salt, mixed with stock, and traditionally simmered in the animal's stomach for approximately three hours. It was actually quite tasty. Served with 'neeps and tatties' (this is not part of the sexual joking of the evening), which are mashed yellow turnips and very peppery mashed potatoes, with sides of nice green beans and carrots, a fine Scottish stew with tender meat, soft rolls and dark green salad. None of these foods are easily found here, so it was all an extra-special treat. Dessert was fresh pineapple, papaya and mango with real ice cream, also a treat.

Here is a sample of a Burns poem about Haggis that was read. Please note that the Scottish version is in regular font, with an interpretation in italics:

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,                       
Nice seeing your honest, chubby face,
Great chieftain o' the puddin'-race!                   
Great chieftain of the sausage race!
Aboon them a' ye tak yer place,                     
 Above them all you take your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:                                    
Belly, tripe, or links:
Weel are ye wordy o' a grace                          
Well are you worthy of a grace
As lang's my airm.                                          
As long as my arm.

There are several other stanzas, but you get the idea. The Scots take their stomach-baked entrails very seriously! In all fairness, haggis is a dear part of Scottish history, as it sustained many poor people in hard times.

As for whisky, I guess I knew it was Scottish, but had no idea what a central role it played in a meal. Or maybe just that meal of rowdy expats last night. I did try a small amount of a whisky-oatmeal-milk-honey concoction that reinforced my suspicion that I don't like whisky.

The company at our table was lovely, and at the request of my husband I did not engage the CDC epidemiologist in any sort of discussion about immunology or vaccines. Aren't I a good girl?