march of the haggis

This past weekend I attended a Burns supper. Don't know what that is? Neither did I, for the most part. All I knew was what I could put into key terms: Scotch tastings, kilt wearing, and haggis processional. What the fuck????? It's kinda the same reaction I get when I hear that a beloved cartoon is being turned into a live action movie. But since the tickets for the dinner were already purchased and because I was intrigued by the thought of a haggis processional I was ready to put on a dress and enjoy the evening.

I know you are all asking, "what is a Burns supper?" Well, a Burns supper is named after the Scottish poet Robert Burns who's best known work is Auld Lang Syne (I always thought that the writer of that was anonymous). The entire evening is dedicated to "the Bard" (as he is called in Scotland) and to all things Scottish. Poetry written by Burns is read, scotch is thrown back, and there is a lot of blathering over a haggis. Sounds exciting, right?

I was at work before the supper, and Kansas and I spent a little time making fun of the upcoming haggis processional. "All hail the haggis!" "Bring forth the haggis!" "Hail ye, hail ye, move your fat asses out of the way. The haggis is coming through!" OK, I took some liberty with the haggis announcements, but you get the idea. The point being, it helped liven the day. So, thanks Kansas!

I went to the supper with my other, Mr and Mrs... uh... Smith? (just in case they are reading) and Mrs Smith's father who kindly purchased the tickets for the dinner. I arrived a little late (work) but got to the venue with enough time to enjoy the reception portion of the evening. I wasn't even there for 2 minutes when some very nice man, in full kilt dress no less, asked me to dance. So, off to do a Scottish jig I a-go (or a-went). As soon as the dance was over I ran (sprinted) to find my company. After a few minutes of waiting around, watching my other trying to grab another thimble full of scotch, dinner was announced.

I'm going to skip a few things to get to the exciting part of the post... the processional. This is the thing that I waited patiently for (not really). The parade was about to start. We were all asked to stand up. The bagpipes began. Guess who was playing the pipes? Yup, my dance partner. Anyway, the haggis was marched around the dinning hall with much seriousness and pomp. The haggis was finally brought to the front table. Once placed upon it final resting place, the master of ceremonies began to recite a Burns poem, Ode to the Haggis (or Epitaph to the Haggis or Lament of the Haggis or something like that) and then began to wave a dagger and swoon over the haggis. Then it was cut and opened. About time, cause I was getting hungry.

Dinner included kale, mashed turnips and potatoes, meat pie (which I couldn't finish and which may or may not have had anything to do with a certain demon barber) and the haggis. I didn't try the haggis. I wasn't feeling adventuresome that evening. I didn't even feel much like connecting with my Scottish heritage after I got a whiff of the haggis when it was passed around me. Thankfully, the wine was plentiful that evening.

After some more poetry reading by people with not-so-awful Scottish accents, some fiddle playing, and a Scottish juggler who also sang Gaelic ballads, the evening came to a close. I wasn't drunk enough, so we had to go out afterwards to the closest Irish pub we could find. After some Magners, I was soused good and plenty. Ready for bed time.

All in all, it was an experience. And it was fun. For next time I have learned the following: always look like you are busy having fun or else you'll be asked to get jiggy, be sure to eat a large lunch in case you find a little bit of priest in your meat pie, and be sure to begin drinking earlier in the evening so when the haggis is being passed around you'll be too drunk to care.