Our hostess Mary fed us quite well during our stay at Cairn Eilrig. Knowing we were off gallivanting in the mountains, she prepared stout fare that would fuel our hikes: thick porridge, bacon and sausage, eggs, beans, mushrooms, oatcakes, endless toast and jam.
As a breakfast person, I loved it. I tucked it all away everyday. Even if I wasn't quite so hungry one morning or two, I found room for her porridge and sausage. It was that good.
So one day, J. and I were raving about the sausage she served us that morning. It was a very unassuming black patty of crumbling matter. But once we took a bite, its rich earthy flavor and subtle seasonings blew us away. It was that good.
We asked Mary about it.
"Oh, it's not sausage," she said, "It's haggis!"
A little back story here: I'm normally quite willing to try new foods. Even fish. But not organ meats. I draw the line there. When people asked us, upon hearing that we were going to Scotland, whether we were going to try haggis (go find out exactly what it is - I'll wait), our response was a flat "no."
And sly Mary slipped it to us underneath our very noses.
Even as the reality of what I had consumed that morning slapped me upside the head, no sense of revulsion followed. It was that good.
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