Yesterday was Robert Burns’ birthday and it is traditional to have haggis for dinner. Because he wrote a poem. A poem to a haggis. A poem to a massive lamb & oatmeal sausage. He actually used the words ‘Great chieftain o’ the puddin-race’. In a poem about a sausage. Okaaay.
And every year, people around the world recite that poem, often while holding a cooked haggis aloft (think Mufasa presenting Simba to the animal kingdom), and waving a dagger at it.
My Rabbie Burns’ dinner was a tad more prosaic. I did have haggis, but not a whole one, just a couple of slices from the local butcher, with neeps (turnips) and tatties (potatoes). Maybe not as festive or dramatic as some Scots and Scot-wanna-be’s, but delicious nonetheless.
* I gotta admit: it wasn’t until I looked at this photo the next morning that I realised I had plated my meal to look like blossoms on the top of a stem with leaves. Clearly I am an instinctive artiste.
I’m impressed that you even plated it. When I’m alone, everything just gets plopped on the plate. And yes, my foods touch each other, which is hard for some folks.
Remind me someday to show you my Meals I Ate During COVID Photo Album – the isolation may have been getting to me.