A man's a man for a' that

I sat at lunch last Thursday, defending the virtues of the great chieftain o' the puddin' race to a small table full of disparaging co-workers.  The indignity I felt at having to do so wouldn't have been so pronounced had anybody else at the table ever actually tried any.

I'm talking about a haggis, of course.  Goes a long way to show the stigma applied (wrongly, so often) to so many things.

I dinna let it bother me much at all, bolstered as I was by the prospect of indulging in that same sumptuous repast the very next day.  I don't have the words right now to capture, properly, the feeling of the evening, but I did manage to secure a small bit of footage that goes a very short way towards that end.

I hope it suffices.

Also, just before the keynote speeches began, my good friend James deigned to buy us both an after dinner aperitif.  Seizing the moment as best I could, I foisted my camera on my friend's father, grabbed my snifter of Drambuie, and told James to look as pretentious as he could.

This was the result:

Comments

[Moksha Gren]

"Fraser....Simon Fraser," says the bottom picture.

And thanks for the video, the drum corpe was impressive.

Having never had the haggis...I must admit to a certain level of disgust at the thought. However, I will say that had I not swore off the consumption of animals and their various juices...I would happily try this puddin' Burns spoke of so lovingly. I can think of no reason not to. I've sampled the finest blood pudding in the Missouri area. I've savored the head cheese lovingly crafted by Old Man Medrix in the his shack amidst the cane fields of southern Louisianna. I've had heart meat on bread, thinnly sliced tongue, chocolate-covered grasshoppers, and brains mixed into scrambled eggs. I've even been known to eat a ballpark hot dog...and who knows what's in there! Given the wide range of foods out there...I have no idea why haggis gets such a bad rep.

[Linda]

Ahhhh, Laddie. 'Tis oh-so-verrah kind of ya to sharr this movin' and entra-tainin' bit of yer evenin' Burn's with us. I, fer one, am thrilled to my toes at the spectacle. Those drums, they give me goosebumps and the whinin' of the pipes, a whole 'nuther sensation. I'da louved to ha' ben thare. But I'm glad you got ta be thare fer us. Aye, you an' the other lad in tuxedos, a fine pair ye make! What better way to top off the evenin' than with a spot o' the
delectable Drambuie; an appreciation of the nectar I inherited from me own Dad.

[Simon]

Moksha, those drums were damned impressive -- even more so in person. I keep hoping the pipes will select Amazing Grace as one of their tunes on stage, but I think they've only done it once in the 10 years I've attended that dinner.

I should also add that your contemplative stroll through the meats of your past - and especially the question with which you ended your comment - brought to light an answer in my mind. Tune in tomorrow for the dissertation. I think you'll appreciate it.

Linda, sharing is what I do here. I know you would have loved to hear it live as well. I only have Drambuie but once or twice a year, and lament the infrequency whenever I do partake.

[Mark]

Do them boys know how to party, or wut?

Good Lord I'll bet those snare drums were loud in that small room, not to mention the bagpipes. Very nice.

Would that I had an event to celebrate my roots with such vigor, and then recap it wiht such vim. What can we Irish lads celebrate so well? Yeats' Night?

[Simon]

Mark, 'twas a good sized room you know. More than 500 of my good friends were there. Pretty near a grand ballroom I'd say.

I also must admit it's a common trait of Canadians to celebrate extremely long roots while also neglecting similarly embracing our general Canadian-ness. Whatever's older merits the stronger association, or something like that.