Organising a Burns Supper

1. Once everyone is seated, grace is said. The usual choice is the ‘Selkirk Grace’, Burns’ own adaptation of the old Scots grace of the time.

The Selkirk Grace

Some hae meat and canna eat
And some wad eat that want it:
But we hae meat and we can eat,
And sae the Lord be thankit.

2. The first course is a soup, usually Cock-a-leekie or Cullen Skink.

3. Before the main course of Haggis with Champit Tatties and Bashed Neaps (mashed potatoes and turnips), there’s the Haggis Ceremony. This is arguably the best part of the night. Everyone stands, and the chef carries the haggis high on a platter from the kitchen, accompanied by a bagpiper (or fiddler). Everyone, including the piper, is poured a whisky and raises their glasses in a toast to the haggis, saying ‘Slainte mhath’, pronounced ‘slan-je va’ and meaning ‘your good health’. The host or a guest then reads the poem To a Haggis:

To a Haggis

Fair fa’ [good luck to] your honest, sonsie [jolly] face
Great Chieftain o’ the Puddin-race!
Aboon [Above] them a’ ye tak your place,
Painch [paunch], tripe, or thairm [intestines]:
Weel [Well] are ye wordy [worthy] o’ a grace
As lang’s [long as] my arm.

The groaning trencher [platter] there ye fill,
Your hurdies [buttocks] like a distant hill,
Your pin wad [would] help to mend a mill
In time o’ need,
While thro’ your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.

His knife see Rustic-labour dight [cleaned],
An’ cut you up wi’ ready sleight,

[at this point, the speaker takes a large knife and slits open the haggis]

Trenching your gushing entrails bright
Like onie [any] ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin [steaming], rich!

Then, horn for horn [spoon] they stretch an’ strive,
Deil tak the hindmost [last], on they drive,
Till a’ their weel-swall’d kytes belyve [well-swelled bellies by-and-by]
Are bent like drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist [almost] like to rive [burst],
‘Bethankit’ hums [mutters ‘Thank God’].

Is there that owre [over] his French ragout,
Or olio that wad staw [would surfeit or stuff] a sow,
O fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi’ perfect sconner [disgust],
Looks down wi’ sneering, scornfu’ view
On sic [such] a dinner?

Poor devil! See him owed his trash,
As feckless as a wither’d rash,
His spindle shank [skinny leg] a guid [good] whip-lash,
His nieve [fist] a nit [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 [large fist] a blade,
He’ll mak it whissle [whistle];
An’ legs, an’ arms, an’ heads will sned [sever]
Like taps o’ thrissle [tops of thistles].

Ye Pow’rs wha mak mankind your care
And dish them out their bill o’ fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking [no thin] ware
That jaups in luggies [sloshes in bowls];
But if ye wish her gratefu’ prayer,
Gie [Give] her a haggis!

The company then drinks another toast, and the host serves out the haggis with the neaps and tatties.

Over the page: Dessert, wine, women and song