Reykjavík Grapevine - 10.02.2006, Blaðsíða 45

Charlie Mackenzie: No, I think it’s repellent in
every way. In fact, I think most Scottish cuisine
is based on a dare.
- So I Married an Axe Murdered (Thomas
Schlamme, 1993)
Our purpose in Edinburgh is to witness Burns
Night, the anniversary of the national poet,
Robert Burns. The celebration has become
a second national day for the Scots. When
done properly, Burns dinner follows a strict
ritual, including recitals of Burns’s poetry. In
particular, his Address To a Haggis, an ode to
the Scottish national dish that Burns cherished
deeply. This is followed by drinking whisky,
eating haggis, more whisky, more poetry and
more whisky. A particularly well-executed
Burns supper would likely include a fight as
well. In short, it is a celebration of all things
Scottish.
Although it is not a celebration of the
food, but a celebration of the poems, the haggis
is an integral part of the proceedings: “Haggis
is fairly mainstream now, it is not seen as some
disgusting old food you would only ever eat on
Burns Night. It is not a bizarre thing to eat,”
one of the locals says to me. I remain uncon-
vinced. The main ingredients of the haggis
are the sheep’s heart, liver and lungs, served
in the sheep’s stomach. It looks about as tasty
as it sounds and from the moment I arrived in
Scotland, I was torn between my curiosity to
actually try it and the nausea the idea creates.
We have made various inquiries about
Burns gatherings since our arrival, but eve-
rywhere we turn, people and formal societies
have planned their celebrations for Saturday,
rather than the actual Burns Night itself, which
falls on a Wednesday night. At last we head
off to try to find a restaurant that will to serve
us with a resemblance of an actual Burns sup-
per. At least a portion of haggis and a glass of
whisky, poetry be damned.
After several unsuccessful tries and a round
trip through Edinburgh, we find ourselves
at the Stac Polly, a restaurant specialising in
traditional Scottish food. We are treated to a
five-course special Burns Night menu. I ask
the waitress if she could recite some poetry
for us. “I am sorry,” she sighs, “I’m from New
Zealand, I don’t know any Scottish poetry,”
drowning our last hope for a conventional
Burns celebration.
After finishing our traditional starter, a
tasty soup called Cullen Skink made from
smoked haddock, potatoes, and onions, we face
the moment of truth. Our haggis arrives, com-
plete with the obligatory neeps and tatties, i.e.
mashed potatoes and turnips. After a momen-
tary hesitation, I dig in. The taste is nowhere
near a vile as I had imagined. In fact, it washes
down surprisingly well with the whisky. Fol-
lowing the haggis is the Angus beef, a fine
testimony to Scottish farmers.
The Tartan Image Unfolds
The wind has turned on our last day in Edin-
burgh. There is a cool sea breeze and seagulls
fill the air over Princes Street. As I reflect on
my stay in Edinburgh I am reminded of a
conversation I had in Iceland just before my
departure with Gary West, a lecturer in Scot-
tish ethnology at the University of Edinburgh.
“The imagery of the Scottish traditions
belongs to the marketing people,” he said. “We
have constructed an image of ourselves through
films and books and tourist brochures and the
image we sell is this stereotypical image of
bagpipes and tartan and haggis and whisky and
romantic scenery and romantic violent history.
You know, these sort of icons.”
I’ve found much truth in Gary’s words.
There is an unbelievable number of tourist
shops and attractions in Edinburgh that try to
sell this particular image, and it is easy to get
caught up in it and think of this as Scotland.
But once you look beyond that, a different
Scotland emerges. Down in Leith where the
residents fear for the survival of their commu-
nity, amongst the booming middle class that
services the financial and political sectors and
the elderly ladies that attend bible study classes,
the image of Scotland as a tartan-clad, bagpipe
playing, whisky drinking, haggis eating nation,
remains just that: an image.
45
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