Haggis, Neeps, and Tatties

We had our Scotland night on Monday, and it was fun (and delicious)! The meal was simple. I don't think the Scottish women are as much about slaving all day over the hot cook fire as, say, the Italians or Chinese are. Maybe they have other things to do, like repairing the thatch. Anyway, the preparation was delightfully quick and easy.

I found a haggis, although not a fresh one. I went to a couple of reputable butchers who looked at me like I was speaking Gaelic and said, "I don't know what that is." Their loss. I bought a canned haggis at London Market in Salt Lake, even though someone online said not to. I had no choice. It was ever so tasty, and made me really want to try a fresh one some time. I'd try to make one, but good luck finding a sheep's stomach to cook it in or any good sheep's entrails to grind up for it. You can't even buy goose liver around here to make a good pate. Pffffff! But I digress.

The neeps. I have no idea if they were authentic tasting or not. No one around here has ever heard of swedes either, which are allegedly something like rutabagas. I went with the rutabagas, which I normally have no liking for, but these were mild and pretty good.

Tatties are mashed potatoes. Easy enough. And then we had some steamed carrots just to round out our root vegetable experience. I felt so earthy and seasonal.

Scottish shortbread is a) super yummy, and b) not my family's favorite. This means I got most of it to myself. Mmmmmm.

Back to the haggis. I was leery of it, I admit. But when I started looking into it a little more, I realized that it was basically extra stuff from the sheep after they take all the premium parts off, which is basically the same thing as the sausage we're used to here. Except that we just call it sausage and leave it at that. We don't want to know what's in it. I read The Jungle. I know all about that stuff. It's gross. They sweep the parts off the floor and throw them in a big grinder, add some spices, and push them through a casing. Voila! Sausage. And all they have to put on the ingredients list (along with all that MSG and other garbage they add in) is "pork."

I don't know how they've changed things since the days of the Industrial Revolution, but I'm guessing it's not too different. Maybe a lot cleaner, and they're not allowed to hire little kids. I think we Americans are experts at turning a blind eye to things we don't want to see. I have to hand it to the Scots. They've got a good thing going with that haggis stuff, and they're not afraid to broadcast what they put in it. It makes them look brave. But if we're all eating basically the same thing without knowing it, all while making retching noises when we hear about those crazies that eat sheep entrails, what does that make us? I don't know. But I have a lot of respect for someone who will just come right out and say it like it is.

Scotland is a pretty interesting country, it turns out. And not just because the boys wear skirts. Their accent is (I hate to say it) kind of cooler than the Irish, too. Plus, bagpipes! Need I say more? Lola and I both have more practice at the Scottish accent, so that made it fun. And after we learned all about the Highlands and the Lowlands and listened to their beee-utiful unofficial national anthem, we watched "Braveheart." Fast forwarded through all the extended battle scenes and cut out about 45 minutes of the movie so we didn't have to stay up all night.

I begged daltonboy to let us move to Scotland after I read all the Sunday Philosophy Club books, and now I'm back on that train again. I think I'm a Scot at heart.

Next stop, London!