Burns Night Meal For Two (22nd Jan only)

  • £48.50
    Unit price per 
Tax included.


3 Course Burns Night Supper for two for Delivery on 22/01 

Our favourite Burns night scran, please choose meat or vegetarian 

Option to add a bottle of Old Pulteney 12yr single malt Whisky 70cl intense waves of fresh brine, toffee and salty sea air from the Caithness Coast. Honey Vanilla and Spicy Fruit

 

 Smoked Haddock Croquettes

or 

 Cauliflower Cheese Croquettes (v) 

-- 

 Cured Scottish Salmon, Rye Crackers, Pickled Cucumbers and Horseradish Cream

or 

Beetroot, Watercress, Goats Cheese and Roasted Garlic Vinaigrette Salad (v)

--  

 1lb Macsween Haggis or 1lb Vegetarian Haggis (v) to Cook at home

 Mashed Potato and Swede (Neeps & Tatties)

Meat or Veg Gravy

-- 

Whisky and Honey Ice Cream with Shortbread

-- 

Kitchen Party Tablet and 2 cans of IRN BRU


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 of 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 ye up wi’ ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie 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 like 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 owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither’d rash,
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro’ bluidy 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 make 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!