Wellington malt whisky gargre evening

**bungbung** · 25th June 2004, 13:29

11.35pm on Fridays only.

**riffer** · 25th June 2004, 13:43

We have four spare beds at home (one of which is a double bed).

Gini has given permission for use of our place for the do.

**riffer** · 25th June 2004, 13:48

Gini has suggested the 31st July, which is also the last day of winter for the pagans.

And she says a Saturday as there's no bloody way she is going to spend all day cooking a haggis on a Friday for us to turn up after work and get pissed, eat all her food and bugger off leaving a mess for her to clean up on Rugby day.

**riffer** · 25th June 2004, 13:49

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 sleight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like ony 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 lyke 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 ower 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 mak 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!

**riffer** · 25th June 2004, 13:50

Fair is your honest happy face
Great chieftain of the pudding race
Above them all you take your place
Stomach, tripe or guts
Well are you worthy of a grace
As long as my arm

The groaning platter there you fill
Your buttocks like a distant hill
Your skewer would help to repair a mill
In time of need
While through your pores the juices emerge
Like amber beads

His knife having seen hard labour wipes
And cuts you up with great skill
Digging into your gushing insides bright
Like any ditch
And then oh what a glorious sight
Warm steaming, rich

Then spoon for spoon
They stretch and strive
Devil take the last man, on they drive
Until all their well swollen bellies
Are bent like drums
Then, the old gent most likely to rift (burp)
Be thanked, mumbles

Is there that over his French Ragout
Or olio that would sicken a pig
Or fricassee would make her vomit
With perfect disgust
Looks down with a sneering scornful opinion
On such a dinner

Poor devil, see him over his trash
As week as a withered rush (reed)
His spindle-shank a good whiplash
His clenched fist…the size of a nut.
Through a bloody flood and battle field to dash
Oh how unfit

But take note of the strong haggis fed Scot
The trembling earth resounds his tread
Clasped in his large fist a blade
He'll make it whistle
And legs and arms and heads he will cut off
Like the tops of thistles

You powers who make mankind your care
And dish them out their meals
Old Scotland wants no watery food
That splashes in dishes
But if you wish her grateful prayer
Give her a haggis!

**Hitcher** · 25th June 2004, 15:12

This is starting to look most encouraging.

Celtic, firstly thank you for the offer of a gargre.

Does Gini in her kitchen have a large stock pan or something large enough to simmer an object slightly smaller than a netball? The trick to cooking a Haggis is the long, slow simmer -- about 5 hours at a temperature that NEVER comes to the boil. Neeps and tatties are a much easier proposition from a culinary perspective. I can come out and help her get this started.

Everybody, any ideas regarding a piper?

If there are non-malt drinkers attending, it may be useful to find some way that they can be entertained (other than watching the serious business of malt flights in progress).

Similarly Haggis is not to everybody's taste (heathen), so an alternative bill of fare may be in order. Maybe a fricassee or a ragout? Ideas please...

At last count we were at about nine malt quaffers plus assorted partners. Assuming some overs and unders this is probably enough to go for the green button.

**riffer** · 25th June 2004, 15:17

Originally Posted by Hitcher

Does Gini in her kitchen have a large stock pan or something large enough to simmer an object slightly smaller than a netball?

There is NOTHING my wife does not have in her kitchen.

**James Deuce** · 25th June 2004, 15:19

Originally Posted by celticno6

There is NOTHING my wife does not have in her kitchen.

FZR750 Forks?? No??

**riffer** · 25th June 2004, 15:24

Ahem.

There is nothing of matters culinary my wife does not have in her kitchen.

**White trash** · 25th June 2004, 17:09

Ummm.....What's the dress code?

I've only got black singlets, black jeans, studded belts and Johnny Reb boots. And someone may have to give the HQ a push to get it started on a cold Upper Hutt night.

I'm going to be alienated!