I know the secret of haggis...that most Scottish of dishes. The English have their tea, the French, their wines. The Germans are known for beer and sausage, and Italians for pasta (thanks to Sr. Polo). Most Americans, I suppose believe our national dish to be hamburgers or hot dogs--excepting Texans for whom it's a bowl of red. But to the Scots, their cherished national dish is haggis—probably because no one else would have it.

     The Scots swear by it. Most everyone else swears at it. A great many of people in the civilized world seem to think a sheep's heart, liver and lungs minced with oatmeal and boiled in its own entrails a bit disgusting. Then again, the Scots have rarely been accused of being civilized. Remember, I write of a country where many a stouthearted man still dons a skirt (or kilt) on occasion and thinks it great sport to toss phone poles for distance.

     To say haggis is a religious experience may be putting it too strongly, but the Scots pipe it to the table with regimental honors and the litany of a sacred relic. Others are just as deeply moved...some have been known to swear off meat completely, shave their heads, move into a commune and join Greenpeace for good measure.

     It is a truly disgusting thing, haggis. When I explained to my wife that tradition demanded haggis should be cut open with the sign of the cross, she replied, "Sure! An exorcism." But I have found its secret-the reason the Scots love it so. It isn't in the making, nor how to keep it down. It is in the presentation. Traditionally, the bearer of the haggis is closely followed by the bearer of the whisky. Before it is served, haggis should be doused with Scotch. And now you know.

     Pour us another slice, will ye, Angus?

Acknowledgments: 13, 14

© Russ Brown, 1999