Happy Burns Day, everyone!
Did you all have a bit of haggis this evening? How about some lovely neeps & tatties?
I wanted to try something a bit different this year, since I’ve already posted the traditional haggis with clapshot.
Having recently eaten “crisp haggis balls” at the Red Leaf restaurant, I was determined to give them a go! To accompany them, I opted for a Neep & Tattie Rösti.
I used the following recipe for the Haggis Balls.
I used this recipe for the Neep & Tattie Rösti.
Here’s a little photo display of how I made my Burns Meal:
The uncooked haggis was very easy to mould into little balls
My little production line…
Popped into the fridge whilst I made my Neep & Tattie Rösti
And the grand finale…
Served with some green beans, red cabbage and a dollop of wholegrain mustard!
Address to a Haggis
Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o’ the pudding-race! Aboon them a’ yet tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm: Weel are ye wordy o’a grace As lang’s my arm.
The groaning trencher there ye fill, Your hurdies like a distant hill, Your pin was help to mend a mill In time o’need, While thro’ your pores the dews distil Like amber bead.
His knife see rustic Labour dight, An’ cut you up wi’ ready sleight, Trenching your gushing entrails bright, Like ony ditch; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm-reekin’, rich!
Then, horn for horn, they stretch an’ strive: Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive, Till a’ their weel-swall’d kytes belyve Are bent like drums; Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive, Bethankit! hums.
Is there that owre his French ragout Or olio that wad staw a sow, Or fricassee wad make her spew Wi’ perfect sconner, Looks down wi’ sneering, scornfu’ view On sic a dinner?
Poor devil! see him owre his trash, As feckles as wither’d rash, His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash; His nieve a nit; Thro’ blody flood or field to dash, O how unfit!
But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed, The trembling earth resounds his tread. Clap in his walie nieve a blade, He’ll mak it whissle; An’ legs an’ arms, an’ hands will sned, Like taps o’ trissle.
Ye Pow’rs, wha mak mankind your care, And dish them out their bill o’ fare, Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware That jaups in luggies; But, if ye wish her gratefu’ prayer Gie her a haggis!