Haggis tastes like Swedish meatballs

Tonight was Burns' Night. It's a celebration of Robert Burns, a famous poet that Scotland is very proud of. Basically it's just a night to celebrate all things Scottish. My small group leader had a big get together at his apartment for it, and about 20 people went. We had the traditional meal, haggis with neeps (turnips) and tatties (potatoes), and then desserts and other stuff that people brought. We drank Irn Bru (a really popular Scottish soda kind of thing) and had Scottish music playing in the background.

Haggis, for those of you who don't know, is sort of a national dish of Scotland. It's the lungs, liver, and heart of a sheep ground up and mixed with herbs and spices, then cooked in a sheep's stomach. Appetizing, no? It was actually pretty good, it just tastes like meatballs. You can't think about what you're eating though. Here's a picture of me trying haggis for the first time:

Another tradition on Burns' Night is to read poetry. Don, our small group leader, did it. He read 2 poems by Burns and one by "The World's Worst Poet," William McGonagall (that's what he's known as). The Burns ones were incomprehensible between the writing style and Don's Scottish accent, but they sounded so cool. Here's "Ode to a Haggis," by Robert Burns:

Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,
Great Chieftan o’ the Puddin-race!
Aboon them a’ ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy of a grace
As lang’s my arm

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
You 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 slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reeking, 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 like 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 owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither’d rash
His spindle-shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
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 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,
An’ dish them out their bill o’fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu’ pray’r,
Gie her a Haggis!

So yeah, completely incomprehensible, especially when read with a Scottish accent. The poem by the Worst Poet in the World was hilariously terrible. It was his best known poem, called The Tay Bridge Disaster. Look it up, it's just so terrible. He has some other ones too that are equally as hilarious.

Oh, we also said a grace that was written by Robert Burns:

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.

The Americans needed a translation.

Other things that I did today were.... nothing. I mean I did some reading but not nearly as much as I wanted to, especially considering I won't be here this weekend. I did buy tickets to Spain though, and booked the hostels!