If we all lived in Scotland, we would have had Monday off [Ed. not worth it]. The Scots spend every January 25th celebrating the life and legend of 18th-century poet Robert Burns, a man perhaps best known for writing a poem about minced sheep heart and lungs browned and braised. Though we prefer Burns’ earlier stuff (like “Auld Lang Syne” and “My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose”) we saw no reason not to celebrate this great poet’s birthday with whiskey, fiddlers and of course, the aforementioned delectation, haggis.
Men in kilts and women in vintage heels crowded into the tiny-but-big-in-character Iona in Williamsburg for a night filled with booze and tunes. Traditional Scots music was played well into the night, only stopping once for an impassioned reading of Burns’ ode to Scottish meat wrapped in sheep’s guts.
“But, if ye wish her gratefu’ prayer/Gie her a Haggis!” And with that, everyone drunkedly ate minced sheep liver and mashed potatoes served on paper plates and forget pretty much the rest of the evening.
Thanks to Drambuie for supplying so much liquor.