On Sunday night, we had a scaled-down version of a traditional Robbie Burns dinner. Notably absent were the guests, toast to the lassies, Ode to the Haggis and (gasp) whiskey. We did manage haggis, mash-ed tatties, and bash-ed neeps. I added carrots to the turnips to make them less bitter and also broccoli because it seems dinner needs actual vegetables to go with the meat and starches. I also recited the Selkirk Grace*. Reid was less-than-impressed my old Scots accent.
As we sat down to our feast, Reid noticed the mashed turnip-carrot mixture and declared her opposition to mashed carrots. Fortunately for her, I’d kept some unmashed for Ken, who disregards tradition in favour of personal taste. Reid didn’t mind the carrots but asked resentfully why she had to eat the turnips. Before I could explain the dish was steeped in tradition, a response I was sure would resonate with Reid, Ken answered, “Because I do,” in a tone that brooked no argument. It’s good when your husband has your back ;+)
I’m not sure why Ken and I didn’t have a bit of the “water of life” with our supper. It seems like the least I can do for a guy who eats turnips once each year to satisfy my whims.
Some hae meat and canna eat
Some would eat that want it
But we hae meat and we can eat
And sae the Lord be thankit