Please pass the haggis

Make no mistake: Haggis tastes every bit as bad as it is reputed.

I recently sampled this horrible dish when a trio of us attended the Centennial Gathering of the American Clan Gregor. With a loud scrill of the pipes, the haggis was "piped in," born on a tray by a flamboyantly dressed haggis-attendant, and followed by another poor soul bearing a sword.

It sat brown and shiny in the middle of the tray, quivering from its ceremonial entrance. The tray-bearer (I'm sure he had some official celtic name such as Sir Haggis Toter) wove through the room, swooping the tray up and down under the noses of the crowd, who supposedly were tempted beyond their ability to resist diving at the atrocity from their seats. The smell wafted behind, up and down, up and down, settling in a nasty cloud on the plaid assemblage. It ended up on a table in the center of the room, flanked by its loving protectors who bore swords.

There followed the "Address to the Haggis." The words of this missive escaped me and indeed my attention wavered during the address. But I suppose the Haggis, being duly worshiped and ferociously hacked with the sword (which was later raffled off) was deemed worthy of consumption for soon thereafter, a plate of it appeared in front of me.

There were those at the table who proudly, and loudly, proclaimed they'd never eaten it and never would. Evidently there are two camps: Those who will and those who won't. And such fierce devotion to one's position! Indeed, a point of pride.

I stared at it.

There's this stuff on top of my kitchen cabinets, which is 15 years of greasy dust, sticky as glue and a dull brown color. Imagine that you scrape a big lump of this off with razor blade (like I have been doing lately but that's another story) and it releases a gamey, clove-infested smell. Then, empty a sack of ball bearings into the stuff and stir it up good. Paste it onto a piece of perfectly good bread (well, previously perfectly good) and arrange it artistically on a plate with swirls of horseradish and mint spiked cream. Throw on some parsnip relish (let's see...you could substitute raw diced potatos in slightly sweet slime with something reddish colored...doesn't matter what because it has no taste...) and serve it to an unsuspecting basically French girl (me...I came here by marriage)and see what happens.

What happened was I ate the thing. Well, half of it anyway. As soon as I can get my camera battery recharged, having lost the charging thing, I will post pictures. Because this was a moment to be preserved for history.

Because. It. will. never. happen. again.

I can no longer claim haggis virginity. Actually, it lingers like an STD on a two bit wh wait you don't need to know that.

So, hail to the haggis! Here's to your horrible stench, revolting texture and gut-wrenching putridness. I have looked in the face of crap and consumed it. I have astonished my friends and family, and gained the respect of large men in kilts with daggers in their socks and purses made of an entire fox, including the head with the beady eyes.

There is a special place in hell for whoever invented this stuff.

Now, give me that sword...