Monday, January 26, 2009
Slainte mhath!
Is there a more manly dish than haggis?
Grind up a sheep's heart, liver, and lungs; add minced onions, oatmeal, spices and salt; stuff the mixture in the animal's stomach; and just boil the hell out of the whole shebang. Serve it up with a premium Scottish whisky and, again, you have a meal any manly man would be proud to eat.
Yesterday was Robert Burns Day in Scotland, a day during which all proud Scots celebrate the master's poetry with whisy, song, and ... haggis. I didn't even think about it being Robbie Burns' day yesterday 'cause I ain't been feelin' too good. Otherwise, I would've posted this story, well, yesterday:
There is a movement to get the USDA to drop its ban on Scottish haggis. But it's Burns Night and you absolutely have to have good Scottish haggis for the occasion. Unfortunately, if you're in the U.S. you'll just have to smuggle it in.
According to the Times Online, a record number of people are going to the trouble of smuggling haggis into the U.S. for Burns Night, the anniversary of Robert Burns' birthday and a national holiday of Scotland. The USDA and US Customs and Border Protection are aware of the holiday, and are on the look out for increased attempts to get the meat into the country. The fines for trying to break the haggis ban are steep, too. You can be fined up to $1,000 and run the risk of having your name placed on an alert list.
The one butcher from Cockburn's of Dingwall, which is renowned for its haggis, says that more and more people are open about their intentions to smuggle their purchase into the U.S. Another popular route is through the mail, though you may need to worry a little about its condition on arrival. Or you could be a law-abiding citizen and get haggis that was made in America.
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4 comments:
There's a reason why whisky is consumed with haggis you know . . .
Slange Var!
(Although when in Scotland one typically hears just "slange"! . . . or, "up yer bum!")
"[U]p yer bum!"
Are you (mis-)quoting William Wallace?!
I'm quotin' a guy at a bar in Lockerbie, Scotland when - after he bought "the Yank" a whisky and I had to return the favor of course - said, in way of a toast, 'arrgchhh . . . up yer bum, Jim!" clink!
My Mother is Irish. Dont know if I will ever get a taste for Haggis.
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