If you fancy something a little bit different this week on the food front why not try a haggis from Kedington Butchers?
Friday 25th January is Burns Night, a time to celebrate the life and work of one of Scotland's most famous poets - Robert Burns.
Haggis, "neeps and tatties" (turnip and potatoes) are the traditional menu for this special day which commemorates the poet's birthday. Haggis is made from sheeps offal and has a nutty texture and savoury flavour (allegedley!)
One of Burn's most famous poems was "Address to a Haggis" which was written in 1786 and it is believed that this the reason behind the traditional to eat haggis on the anniversary of his birthday.
Kedington Butchers are stocking haggis this week. They cost £4.99 and will serve 2-3 people, if you would like a bigger haggis these can be ordered but you must place your order by Wednesday 23rd January. Call Paul on 01440 869239.
Address to a Haggis
Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o' the pudding-race!
Aboon them a' ye 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 wad 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,
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,
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 feckless as wither'd rash,
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash;
His nieve a nit;
Thro' bloody 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' heads will sned,
Like taps o' thrissle.
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!
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