Diary of a Shopkeeper, 23rd January
L to r: John Macsween. haggis entrepreneur, Callum Macdonald, publisher, Tessa Ransford, poet and librarian.
As I write this, Burns Night is just 48 hours away. Sadly, I won’t be having haggis that evening, as I’ll be busy with an important event – more of which in a future diary.
I’ve loved haggis since my Aberdeenshire childhood. My chip shop favourite as a bairn was always a haggis supper. I remember being amazed when, on coming on holiday to Orkney at the age of ten, I found that chip shop haggises here came in slices rather than puddings.
Later that same summer, there was a knock on the back door of our house in Deeside, and in walked the local butcher, George Sinclair. He had a pile of foil cartons in his hand, and when he set them down on the kitchen table, they sent out puffs of steam and enticing meaty aromas.
‘I’m perfecting my haggis recipe,’ said George. ‘I’ve five different versions and I want to ken which is best.’
It was a hard job, but someone had to do it. In this case, me and my dad rose to the challenge. One version was a bit dry, another a bit greasy. One was bland, another too peppery. But eventually we agreed on our favourite.
‘That’s the one I like as well,’ said George. ‘It’s got a secret ingredient intil it. Not just pinhead oatmeal, but also…rice.’
His theory was that the rice soaked up loads of tasty meaty stock as it was cooking, ensuring the haggis was moist without being greasy. Unorthodox – but it worked.
Even more unorthodox was the vegetarian haggis that Macsween’s launched in Edinburgh in 1984. They’d been asked to supply haggis for the opening of the Scottish Poetry Library, when someone realised that many of the guests attending would be vegetarian.
John Macsween was a kilt-wearing traditionalist, but he was also an entrepreneur, so he developed an entirely meat-free product that still looked and ate like an offal-based pudding. Aye, the taste was different – but delicious in its own way. I know, because I was there that night. I went for the poetry, and stayed to enjoy the veggie haggis.
I was a student by that time, and astonished the local butcher one January by asking for liver, lights and a sheep’s stomach so I could make my own haggis. He laughed uproariously at my request, which can’t have been all that common, especially coming from a spotty punk with a Mohican haircut.
But he obliged, and the haggis turned out pretty well. My student flatmates made themselves scarce when they saw what I was doing in the kitchen, but they all seemed to enjoy tucking in that evening at our Burns Supper.
The key flavourings, I’d say, are mace and white pepper. Of course, you can spice it up any way you like – I went through a phase of adding lots of fresh and dried chiles – but the classic flavours are hard to beat.
Later I became friends with Jo Macsween and got to know the rest of the family. At one point Jp asked me to help them develop some new ways of serving haggis. I’d recently spent a lot of time in Texas, so came up with the idea of haggis nachos and haggis tortillas, based on Tex Mex food I’d enjoyed in Fort Worth and Austin.
About 15 years ago, I spent a bizarre afternoon demonstrating how to construct these strange but delectable snacks on a stage at the Royal Highland Show, while one of the Macsween family danced through the crowd in a giant haggis costume.
Immediately after my performance, Michelin-starred chef Tom Kitchin demonstrated something even weirder: pig’s ear terrine.
Back home a week later, I astonished another butcher, Donaldson’s this time, by asking for a kilo of pig’s lugs.
‘For your dog?’ they asked.
‘No, for me,’ I said. And my lucky, lucky guests.
This diary appeared in The Orcadian on 26th January. A new one appears weekly. I post them in this blog a few days after each newspaper appearance, with added illustrations., and occasional small corrections or additions.