Writing About Missions

My first night in Edinburgh: the dinner and show at the restaurant included the celebration of the haggis. The haggis, specially prepared on a platter, was piped in by bagpipes. Then, the man presiding over the haggis ceremony recited the poem by Robert Burns, “Address to a Haggis.” Now, anyone familiar with Robert Burns knows that he writes in the Scottish dialect, and it can be hard to understand his poetry. As I listened to the poem, I couldn’t hear or understand most of the words, but several words were clear: puddin’, knife, rustic, gushing entrails, warm-reekin, dinner, dish, bill o’fare, Scotland, prayer, Haggis. These words alone verified my suspicions of the haggis as being a kind of mixture of entrails and left-over pieces of meat from an animal, most likely a deer.

Did I still want to eat this? The vegetarian part of me was screaming “No!” But the adventurous, culturally-interested part of me did not want to miss this opportunity. Add in the fact that this is the twenty-first century and the restaurant would have to serve a healthier form of haggis than what Robert Burns probably ate back in the late 1700s…well, I would give it a try. The server placed the plate of haggis in front of me, and I looked at it. Really, it’s not wise to immediately dig in. The haggis looked like a mini meatloaf. The haggis on the plate was aesthetically pleasing with the sprig of green. By the time I finally forked a small morsel into my mouth, my sister was more than halfway finished hers.

I wanted to taste it, move the haggis around on my tongue and in my mouth to feel the texture, but at the same time I wanted to swallow it quickly and say, “I did it! I ate haggis!” As a good little traveler, I actually tasted the haggis, taking time to chew it before swallowing it. Not bad. It’s creamy, even better than meatloaf. I could actually eat all of it on my plate, but I didn’t (my vegetarian conscience is screaming at me).

Nevertheless, I’m glad I ate a little bit of the haggis. By eating the haggis, I participated in the celebration of the haggis. It truly felt like I was in Scotland. The poem by Robert Burns, “Address to a Haggis,” now has more meaning for me. I had never thought that a food could have a celebration all its own with bagpipes and a poem. Yet here it. Maybe one day, I’ll imitate Robert Burns and write an address to a food that I like, perhaps pancakes, or peanut butter, or chocolate?