Burns Supper: Preparing the Haggis

There is a man named Greg who knows how to do things, or at least knows enough to act confidently when setting out for parts unknown.

When last year's wee, brave haggis had been had, the question was floated: "shall we make one next year?"

Greg, who, for all we know, has been making haggis for decades and quietly releasing them into the wild, answered without a moment's hesitation, "yes, we shall." And so the job was his.

And when the winter solstice was once again four weeks behind us, he gathered his dark materials, alerted the authorities, positioned us that we might observe but not intrude, and set out with actions deft and bold.

Diced onions and so on were put on to sweat.

Steel cut oats were gently toasted.

The liver, kidneys and heart were lifted from their boiling broth...

and diced with lamb confit.

All the above were invited in, with a generous dollop of duck fat.

The stomach knotted...

stuffed...

and knotted again.

And there it suddenly was: a thing of beauty!

Greg did all this while regaling us with tales of the mystical East and mixing cocktails of his own invention until we ran out of hyssop. If our memory is correct, and we are quite sure it isn't, he then bundled us into his barouche and bid his manservant take us home.

Next: The Adoration of the Haggi