A Cantabrigian Life: Burns Night at Peterhouse

While there is a lot of history, ceremony, and poetry involved with Burns Night*, I admit that having only experienced it once, I know it mostly as an evening to eat haggis, drink whisky, and to do Céleidh. Our social secretary of the Peterhouse MCR, Mark Stringer, led the procession of the haggis, wielding his bagpipes:

To the tune of the bagpipe entered the Butler of Peterhouse (right picture, with bold mustache), holding the ceremonial haggis which will be ritually stabbed in the Address to Haggis. The small lump, a bit smaller than a fist, bounded by a tan and slightly translucent membranous sac, on the butler's plate is the haggis. When stabbed, the contents of the sac, the edible part of the haggis, emerges from the gash, oozing out.

Here is the haggis that I was served, resting atop the regal Peterhouse crest:

I am told that this is a sanitized version of haggis. For one, the membraneous sac, which is traditionally the stomach of the sheep whose organs are used to make this dish, was removed for me. The lighter pearls dotting the haggis are oats, which have cooked to the point where each grain has blossomed. Cementing the mass together is sheep's pluck -- lungs, liver, and kidneys -- ground to a pâté, rich and smooth. The haggis is warm, not quite steaming. Served along side brown gravy, bashed neeps (mashed swede, in the British vernacular, and mashed rutabaga in the American), mash (mashed potatoes), and kale.

The haggis itself has a very delicate, soft and pasty texture -- it does not crumble to the pressure of the fork. Rather, it loosely holds together, almost like a mass of sushi rice. The flavo(u)r is exceedingly rich and heartily satisfying. The flavor of the organs are quite dominant, and no particular organ's flavor dominates the haggis' bouquet. The oats added a hint of cereal aroma to the haggis and was not completely lost, flavor-wise, to the dominance of the ground pluck. Texturally, the oats were cooked to a point of tenderness that made them very similar in texture to the ground pluck. However, I should mention that I was able to detect the presence of the individual grains of oats in each bite, despite their softness. Brown gravy provides necessary moisture to each bite, heightened with subtle notes of highly caramelized beef.

With the three sides accompanying the dish, I figured out that the best combination to put on my fork is first some haggis, then about the same amount of mashed swede, accompanied with a few small pieces of kale. The sweetness of the mashed swede provides also a new dimension of turnip-flavor to the taste. Texturally, everything to the bite is mushy, which is why the kale is a nice addition to each bite; it provides a contrast of something whole and supple to chew on. For the most part, mashed potatoes only helped to dilute the flavors of the haggis, without doing so in a way that brings out additional flavors that could otherwise be lost in the complexity of the flavor-architecture.

The haggis dinner was mushy, but without the negative connotation of the word. This comes as no surprise, since most of the items served, including the main course, were either pulverized to a supreme smoothness (though interlaced with oats, they were sufficiently cooked that they became part of the softness of the organ-paste, not providing any textural contrast to the haggis) or boiled to tenderness before being mashed. The kale was also cooked very soft.

I do not quite remember what we had for dessert. But here's a picture of it:

I think it's a raspberry trifle. It was good, but not remarkable (probably why I don't remember too much about it).

Following dinner was the requisite Céleidh (pronounced KALE-ee), or traditional line dancing as done in Scotland and Ireland. There was a live Céleidh band in the Peterhouse Music Room, where the dancing took place. The dances are rigorous, fast paced, and loads of fun. Nevertheless, I was never good at any of it, though I enjoyed all the jumping, clapping, and running around. Here are scenes of the dancing and merriment to conclude this long-awaited update to my life in Cantabrigia: