Friday the 25th is Robbie Burns Birthday. Does everyone have their haggis and single malt? My haggis is coming from Heritage Foods and doesn't contain all the nasty bits that traditional haggis has - like lungs and pancreas and everything from the inside of the sheep along with some oatmeal and seasonings. I don't know what it has, but it isn't going to be very traditional. It does have oatmeal and liver, but isn't cooked in a sheep's stomack and seems to be lacking all the other innards. 

It's coming from New Jersey and is made with beef shoulder and liver and I don't know what else. O.Boy. 

From the Heritage Foods site.... 

Top 5 reasons we love Haggis:

Its so easy to prepare: boil the two pound tube for 45 minutes and then spread as you would a pate on crackers or toasted bread.
We are in Haggis season: Haggis is traditionally eaten during winter months and to honor Scotland’s favorite son and author of Address to a Haggis Robert Burns’ birthday, which is January 25th.
Our Haggis is made by Scottish expert, Ian McAndrew, at his store Cameron’s Market of Kearny in New Jersey, a family owned business since 1950.
We love anything with these ingredients: beef shoulder and liver, oatmeal, salt, white pepper, onions, cloves, and beef suet (a hard white fat found on the kidneys and loins of sheep and cattle).
Today practically all Scottish fish and chip shops sell a 'haggis supper' but it’s almost impossible to find here in the States!

Well, we'll see. 

Ode To A Haggis

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,                 cheerful
Great chieftain o' the puddin-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,                 Above
Painch, tripe, or thairm:                                 paunch/guts
Weel are ye wordy of a grace worthy
As lang's my arm.
 
The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,                             buttocks
Your pin wad help to mend a mill                         skewer
In time o' need,
While thro' your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.
 
His knife see rustic Labour dight,                         wipe
An' cut you up wi' ready sleight,                         skill
Trenching your gushing entrails bright                     Digging
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!                                                 -steaming
 
Then, horn for horn, they strech an' strive:             spoon
Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve,                 bellies/soon
Are bent like drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,                     burst
'Bethanket!' hums.
 
Is there that owre his French ragout
Or olio that wad staw a sow,                                 sicken
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi' perfect sconner,                                             disgust
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view
On sic a dinner?
 
 
Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash,                         weak/rush
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;                                                 fist/nut
Thro' bluidy 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,                             choice
He'll make it whissle;
An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned,                     trim
Like taps o' thrissle. tops/thistle
 
Ye Pow'rs wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o'fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware                     watery
That jaups in luggies;                                 splashes/porringers
But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer,
Gie her a Haggis!