Burns Night (and haggis!)

So last Wednesday, January 25th, was Burns night.

What is Burns' Night you ask?

A commemoration day of the Scottish national poet Robert Burns,the Scottish romantic poet who championed nature and the common people and probably had one too many girlfriends. And of course, being a mite obsessed with all the romantic poets, I couldn't resist having a Burns supper, complete with haggis.

Well I may have cheated as little. As a vegetarian sheep's heart, liver, and lungs cooked with oatmeal and onions inside a stomach dinna sound so bonny. I made this vegan version.

It came out like this:


I served it which neeps (rutabaga) mashed with potatoes


And it was delicious!


I made Cranachan for dessert but was too absorbed in eating it to take pictures.

And after dinner I made my sister and her boyfriend sit in a circle with me and read Burns's poetry. It was pretty interesting trying to decipher our way through the Scottishisms but also fun. Let's just say we all have really bad Scottish accents and it's hard to read Burns without one.

Here is one of Robbie's poems you've probably heard before if you listen to Celtic music at all to help you get the idea. It's hard to make sense of in general but try reading it out loud! It was fun though. A tradition I am definitely going to keep up.


Green grow the rashes, O;
Green grow the rashes, O;
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent among the lasses, O.

There's nought but care on ev'ry han',
In every hour that passes, O:
What signifies the life o' man,
An' 'twere na for the lasses, O.

The war'ly race may riches chase,
An' riches still may fly them, O;
An' tho' at last they catch them fast,
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O.

But gie me a cannie hour at e'en,
My arms about my dearie, O,
An' war'ly cares an' war'ly men
May a' gae tapsalteerie, O!

For you sae douce, ye sneer at this;
Ye're nought but senseless asses, O;
The wisest man the warl' e'er saw,
He dearly lov'd the lasses, O.

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears
Her noblest work she classes, O:
Her prentice han' she try'd on man,
An' then she made the lasses, O.