The Haggis Decal Project

The Haggis.

After years of making jokes about haggis, on Robert Burns Day in 2002 my wife and I ventured forth to acquire the elusive delicacy. We were somewhat more successful in Metro Detroit than we'd been when we looked for it while in London on our honeymoon the previous May, but then, timing is everything.

We tracked our quarry to Ayckroyd's Scottish Bakery on Five Mile Road in Redford, Michigan. For a mere $5.76, we acquired a haggis of sufficient size to feed two adults with reasonably strong constitutions, or a nearly infinite number of people repulsed by the thought of a sheep's internal organs ground up, mixed with oatmeal and stuffed back into its own stomach¹. We spirited our paper-wrapped prize the 30 miles home, stopping only to pick up a bottle of scotch, which I had been advised would be helpful in the consumption of the haggis.

Not having any particular recipe or instructions for preparing the waxy softball-sized lump of organ meats and meal, Leslie sliced some carrots and potatoes and baked it like a roast. While it cooked, it developed several small tears, allowing the filling of oatmeal and ground meats to ooze out in rather unappealing ways. Once we cut it into two portions, it didn't look quite as bad, and more resembled a stuffed pepper-- that is, if you're in the habit of buying peppers that are the color of a brown paper bag.


The uncooked haggis		A cooked portion

Eating the haggis wasn't the unpleasant experience some had predicted-- it wasn't gut-wrenchingly awful (though I suspect that a sheep might have a different take on that). Unsurprisingly, it had a strong organ meat taste and was somewhat salty. It vaguely reminded me of meatloaf or White Castle hamburgers (which I don't particularly care for). Like stuffed peppers, it was a challenge to eat both the stuffing and the "casing" at the same time. I was pleasantly surprised that the casing² was rather tender when we were done cooking it, and not at all tough or rubbery as I'd thought it might be.

I didn't think the haggis was awful, but it wasn't something I'd make a habit of eating regularly. Obviously it can't be completely vile, or people wouldn't have kept eating it all these years. I can't say that I was fond enough of it to eat the second portion, however.

Leslie wins points for being a good sport and willing participant in all of this, since she doesn't much care for the taste of meat in general, and organ meat in particular, yet she volunteered to prepare the haggis. Then again, she's the one who introduced me to Indian food³, sushi and basterma⁴.

Eating a haggis is something I'd decided long ago that I wanted to do some time in my life, mainly out of a vague curiousity. Now that I have, it's on to other things. I think I'll wait a while before I tackle fugu or lutefisk, though.

-Fritz Milhaupt

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¹	As unappetizing as that may sound, have you ever really considered how little difference there is between a haggis and a sausage or a hot dog? You'd be amazed at how many food items don't really stand up to much examination...
²	OK, OK, I'll say it: "the stomach!"
³	...and as a result, I am now officially a curry junkie- with a particular fondness for the goat masala at Temptations, a favorite Indian restaurant in the Ann Arbor/Ypsilanti (Michigan) area.
⁴	Basterma is uncooked lamb or beef cured in spices, usually served soft. It's a delicacy in the Armenian community and a favorite of Leslie's father. Leslie won't touch the stuff, herself, but I like it. Especially with Armenian brandy.