So, it turns out, not everybody knows every country’s stereotypes and peculiarities.
I understand.
Wikipedia: Haggis: the Haggis is a small, three-legged mammal native to Western Spain, where it is seldom seen and considered critically endangered in its original habitat. Introduced to Scotland circa 1180 to control the aggressive spread of certain flora, hunting Haggis became a popular sport among Scottish peasants…
Thank you for the clarification, I thought it might have been Canada.
Paul Edward Haggis (born March 10, 1953) is a Canadian screenwriter, film producer, and director of film and television. He is best known as screenwriter and producer for consecutive Best Picture Oscar winners Million Dollar Baby (2004) and Crash (2005), the latter of which he also directed.
Is this a joke I’m too dense to get or is this just plain bullshit? What I found on Wikipedia was this:
Haggis (Scottish Gaelic: taigeis) is a savoury pudding containing sheep’s pluck (heart, liver, and lungs), minced with chopped onion, oatmeal, suet, spices, and salt, mixed with stock, and cooked while traditionally encased in the animal’s stomach though now an artificial casing is often used instead.
I don’t even think a three-legged mammal exists. However I did find this: (emphasis mine)
Wild haggis (given the humorous taxonomic designation Haggis scoticus) is a fictional creature of Scottish folklore, said to be native to the Scottish Highlands. It is comically claimed to be the source of haggis, a traditional Scottish dish that is in fact made from the innards of sheep.
But obviously that’s something different as it’s native to Scotland and is just fictional.
It’s a joke all Scottish people make with foreigners. Convincing them that it’s a wee three legged beastie that runs around the hill in one direction because one of its legs are longer and it would fall over if it went the other way. I had a friend who used to sell tickets to a haggis hunt on Arthur’s seat.
The food is real. But it’s made from sheep organs. If you ever get a chance to try it, absolutely do. It’s delicious. Possibly the best preparation of sheep ever smalehove and pinnekjøtt from Norway are a close second though.
Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o the puddin’-race!
So, it turns out, not everybody knows every country’s stereotypes and peculiarities.
I understand.
So, Spain
Thank you for the clarification, I thought it might have been Canada.
Is this a joke I’m too dense to get or is this just plain bullshit? What I found on Wikipedia was this:
I don’t even think a three-legged mammal exists. However I did find this: (emphasis mine)
But obviously that’s something different as it’s native to Scotland and is just fictional.
It’s a joke all Scottish people make with foreigners. Convincing them that it’s a wee three legged beastie that runs around the hill in one direction because one of its legs are longer and it would fall over if it went the other way. I had a friend who used to sell tickets to a haggis hunt on Arthur’s seat.
lol so it was a joke. I would have totally fell for it if I had not heard of it before and still had a vague impression of what it was.
The food is real. But it’s made from sheep organs. If you ever get a chance to try it, absolutely do. It’s delicious. Possibly the best preparation of sheep ever smalehove and pinnekjøtt from Norway are a close second though.
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 slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie 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 like drums;
The 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 scunner,
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 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 make 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