My Adventures with Haggis

While in Scotland I had a very interesting meal. The kid I was staying with is a pretty decent cook and is willing to take chances and tackle tougher meals. So, after learning about the traditional Scottish meal of haggis was my friends and I joked around about having it for dinner, not knowing that someone would actually take us up on it. We all committed to it not wanting the shame of backing down but in all honesty I did make a mental note to remember to be well stocked with alcohol in case the dish was as awful as it sounds.
Haggis is sheep heart, liver, and lungs minced up with oatmeal, onion and spices inside a sheep stomach. You boil the stomach until its warm, cut it open and mix the meat with mashed potatoes and whisky and enjoy. It is not a difficult meal to prepare and most of the work is already done for you. When psyching myself up for this meal I reminded myself that hotdogs aren’t quite that different than haggis. They do however have the added advantage that to this day I am blissfully unaware of what exactly is in a hotdog. It’s a don’t ask don’t tell relationship I am very happy with.
So, after soaking the white stomach in hot water for 45 minutes we took it out and prepared to cut it open. As we made a slit though the greasy lining, brown stuff that looked like ground beef oozed out. Being inappropriate and immature college kids, we quickly commented on how it looked like certain bodily functions not normally associated with the preparation of food which didn’t help with my eagerness to eat the stuff.


There she is.

What it looks like coming out. We had two of them.

Finally, after hours of anticipation, I spooned out the meat onto the potatoes, added whisky (I assume it is used to get you a little drunk), and mixed it all up. I added a lot of salt because salt makes everything taste better. The moment had come and I took my first bite. As it turns out, haggis isn’t that bad. It didn’t taste great but it didn’t taste awful either. The potatoes, salt and spices kind of dominate the meal. As the mood lightened we started slinging back beers and laughed at what we were eating.
Well, that night the four of us were joined by our host’s Scottish and English roommates and we sat around drinking for hours. After the bars closed we went back and picked up right where we left off and merrily partied until the very early hours of the morning. Around five though, the familiar drunk sensation of hunger crept in and we all got the munchies. After searching the fridge we concluded that the only thing worth eating was, you guessed it, the leftover haggis. With no mashed potatoes or vegetables to mix it into, we were going at it this time in the bravest way possible. I wish I had a picture of it. In the middle of the kitchen stood three guys taking turns holding the greasy sheep stomach like a bowl, spooning out large bites of haggis with huge smiles on our faces. This time the haggis was transformed into one of the greatest things ever. Between the nostalgia for Scotland we were feeling after a great night, the saltiness of the meat, and our own ravenous hunger, haggis was the perfect meal for the situation. As my favourite travel writer, Tony Bourdain, often says, you don’t know a place until you know what they eat. Well, now I think I know Scotland a little bit better.