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Happy birthday, Robert Burns! Down here in the holler, we don't need no excuse for drinkin whiskey, but it's nice to have one ready just in case. Far as drinkin excuses go, Robbie Burns' birthday is about as good as any. Marlene, Tater, Billy, Al and Barbie, Bertie, Fred and Lois get together every year on that birthday to eat a big ol chitlin sausage, some chicken soup, smoked fish, taters and parsnips, likker cake and shots of good store bought whiskey. Now, that chitlin sausage ain't no ordinary sausage -- it's a special Scottish sausage called a haggis, and it's supposed to be mainly lungs and oatmeal stuffed into a stomach, but Fred, he's the ol boy shoots the critter we eatin on, he figured out how to make it without the lungs, so it just got heart and liver and kidneys and whatnot, you know, the top guts. Lots a folks think that haggis is about as tasty as a mouth full of bugs, but truth is, it's a damned fine sausage. You don't gotta eat the stomach part, just the stuffins, so give the wrapper to the dog and dig in! Now, it's Tater makes the chicken soup every year, and it's a mighty good one. Name of cock-a-leekie, and it used to be they make it out of the loser in the cock fight. We just use a regular old chicken, a couple a pounds of leeks and some barley, but there's a secret to makin that soup stand out, and Tater's gonna tell you. You gotta grill the whole chicken first so it gets a smokey flavor. Then you take out all the meat for later, and boil up the bones and skin to make broth. But you don't boil em in water. You boil em in chicken broth. That way, the broth is double strong, and silky, and tasty... tell you what, Tater's mouth waterin just typin the words. So after you boil that down, you chop up them leeks and cook em in oil or bacon fat if you got it, then add the broth and the chopped up chicken meat and the barley and some celery and carrots, and salt and pepper and a little parsley, thyme and a bay leaf. Don't cook it to long or that barley gona swell up and get mushy. OK, it's time to read the Address to a Haggis, that Robbie Burns poem about eatin a big ol sausage. But down to the holler, don't no one understand the old fashioned Scottish words, so Tater fixed it up good so you can read it right. Still says the same thing, but wrote so's it makes some sense. The Chitlin Sausage Poem Y'all have such a purdy face, Boss man of the sausage race Over 'em all ye take yer place A heap o' guts and chitlins Grampa, won't you say the grace? And make it short and fittin'. You plum fill up my scoopin' spoon Your fat ass like a Georgia moon That pin would like to stitch a coon When we'uns is a hurtin' Plump as a carnival balloon Yer juices is a squirtin' That good ol' boy cleaned off his knife And cut you like you was his wife Split ya open, drained yer life An glory be! Yer guts spilt out! They's some good eatin' in that slice That's real food, there ain't no doubt Then the good old boys dig in They stuff their faces, grunt and grin Greasy trails down the chin Tho Cleetus woulda belched aloud To be polite he held it in His restraint made mama proud That Yankee with his fancy pies Slick city food, raw fish and eyes That's like to make yer bile rise He might think this Southern dish That's just some innards in disguise Ain't good enough to feed to fish But look at him, jes sippin tea His bony arm, his knobby knee He sure don't look too tough to me And if he wound up in a fight With Billy Bob or Johnny Lee He'd like to run off in a fright Now take a look at Cleetus here He built that gut with grits and beer There ain't nobody far or near Who wants to tussle with this boy He'll split your lip, he'll box your ear And knock you over like a toy If you all care about yer kin And where Kern's Holler eats fit in These ol boys don't want nothin' thin That you might slop fer hawgs! So if you want to see a grin, Just feed us chitlin sausage dawgs! Dig in! They's plenty more where that come from. Pass that jug over here, wouldja? Tater

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