Last night I joined the ranks of those who love haggis.

Poor haggis, much maligned and eternally sneered at, usually by those who have never even tasted it. There’s a metaphor for life in there somewhere.

Twas of course a Robbie Burns celebration, with two friends (and their daughter) all decked out in tartan as expected.

We began with some lovely single malt, cheese and oatcakes, then salad.

Then, with much ceremony, the recitation of Burn’s words.

Address To A Haggis
Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o’ the puddin-race!
Aboon them a’ ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy o’ a grace
As lang’s my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad 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,
An’ cut you up wi’ ready sleight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like ony ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!

Then, horn for horn,
they stretch an’ strive:
Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,
Till a’ their weel-swall’d kytes belyve,
Are bent lyke drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
“Bethankit!” ‘hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi’ perfect sconner,
Looks down wi’ sneering, scornfu’ view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him ower his trash,
As feckless as a wither’d rash,
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro’ bloody 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 a blade,
He’ll mak it whissle;
An’ legs an’ arms, an’ heads will sned,
Like taps o’ thrissle.

Ye Pow’rs wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o’ fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu’ prayer,
Gie her a haggis!

What I hadn’t realized was that even if you don’t know all of the vocabulary, the Address To A Haggis is actually a very funny and  entertaining bit of work.  How can you not love:

An’ cut you up wi’ ready sleight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like ony ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!

And as the poem suggests, we cut it open and scooped out all of the steamy richness inside! The haggis itself is lighter than I ever expected, tasting more of liver (kind of like a Pâté) than oatmeal, and with a little gravy and potatoes quite yummy.  It’s a more sophisticated dish than I would have believed.

Really, give it a try!

Years ago I went to chef’s school.  Rule number one was wash your hands! Lots! Frequently!

This was so important that there was rumour that a test would happen for which they would distribute pencils – special pencils.  After the test they would turn on the black light and you could see who had touched their faces, noses etc as well as the (presumably specially treated) pencil.

And really, soap and water is 99% of cleanliness, and is all that’s needed.  Spend a few days watching all of the kitchen and cooking shows on TV. No-one wears a hairnet.  Not even Gordon Ramsay.

Somewhere around the time when people started to panic about AIDs, you started to see people in fast-food joints wear rubber gloves when cooking.  And of course, lesser establishments always had a fetish for hairnets.

Today though Costco took this all to new high.

At the hotdog counter (much beloved to all BC Place employees) the folks behind the counter wore:

• a hairnet
• rubber gloves
• and, for the guys, a second hairnet over their beard.  Including one guy with a goatee.

Let me be blunt.

If you force your employees to wear rubber gloves to make my hotdog I have to assume that you think they have dirty germ-ridden hands.  Does Costco assume that their people never wash their hands after using the toilet?

If you insist on hairnets it’s pretty obvious that you’ve never worked in a kitchen.  Hairnets don’t really keep hairs from falling off of people’s heads.  In fact it seems that the places with hairnets are usually the ones that have MORE hair show up on plates.

If you insist on hairnets for beards… my God you’re just crazy.

Olympics are coming!  To celebrate, and to demonstrate to the hordes of tourists that BCers are indeed a totally illiterate bunch, VANOC has removed ALL newspaper boxes from the Seabus terminal, but HAS installed these informative signs!    A total of about twelve boxes have been removed – probably due to anti-terror paranoia – and these new info boards have been empty for two weeks.

I’m honestly expecting gun-toting commandos to appear outside the terminal, just as the army suddenly became a presence at every airport after 9/11.