By Daviot Kelly, Staff Reporter 
Men in kilts. - Winston Sill
I HAD never heard of a Burns Supper before. I'm also not the world's boldest adventure seeker. The Burns Supper, I was told, is a dinner held every year by the Caledonian Society of Jamaica to toast the life of great Scottish poet Robert Burns. Who? (you might ask).
Well, you may actually be already familiar with at least one piece of his work, Auld Lang Syne. You know, that song you sing when the clock strikes midnight on New Year's Eve?
I read the background information on the event and saw some information on the traditional menu of a Burns Supper, which, quite frankly, scared me more than Scooby and Shaggy.
The menu featured haggis. Now, the national meal of Scotland is called haggis. Therefore, it would be there in abundance. Makes sense, right? What did not make sense were the ingredients. Now haggis contains minced offal. You know, basically animal intestines.
Why would anyone eat intestines? According to the dictionary (I looked up the term) haggis is mixed with herbs and spices, wrapped in the stomach lining of a sheep (yes, sheep), boiled, and there you have it; haggis. Yummy!
Suffering from paranoia, I envisioned myself throwing up at the function in front of hundreds of people and embarrassing both myself and The Gleaner. Wouldn't that be a story!
Burns died before the year 1800. Why are we devoting an entire evening of eating animal guts and drinking broth to honour him?
I called up the manager of the Liguanea Club (where it would be held), a Scotsman, wouldn't you guess, and asked for some history on the significance of the event.
Well, I found out that a Burns Supper is right up there with New Year's Eve. You see, Scots have their Burns Suppers no matter what country they're in at the time. It's more than just Burns; it's Scottish pride. Shakespeare never gets this type of treatment.
So, with a better understanding and appreciation for the Supper, I got set for Saturday. Thought it best to wear the grey suit. Symbolically, my European ancestors were named Grey and furthermore, it's the only suit I have.
As afternoon changed to night, a little snag appeared.
First thing that struck me was the men wearing their kilts. Weren't they a little nippy under there?
The rain came down; not in buckets, but in a flood. Good thing they put up tents to provide shelter. I know that Scottish men wear kilts (which, if you ask me, are skirts no matter what you call them) but I was still more than slightly amused. Most amusing, though, was the knee-high socks to go with the kilts.
Took my seat and enjoyed the broth. Cleared up the slight cold I was having too. Then they brought on the haggis. Honestly, had forgotten the haggis and was reminded two minutes before they were brought out. Here goes nothing, I thought. Took the first bite and, to my surprise, it was good. It tasted like regular mince (beef) and I hear it is far less fattening. I decided not to take seconds though, just in case the stomach decided to rebel like Sam Sharpe and make that aforementioned nightmare come true.
The toasts were perhaps a little long and the songs I obviously didn't know, since they were in traditional Scottish, but the Scottish Country dancing was fun to watch. Hear they even offer classes. Not interested, I'm afraid.
The Burns Supper taught me two things. One, if Jamaicans respected and observed their traditions the way the Scots do, we would have a better appreciation of our history and of ourselves as a people. Secondly, and from a more personal point of view, the next time I see a food item with a strange name, I WILL NOT ASK WHAT THE INGREDIENTS ARE BEFORE I EAT IT. "Wha eye nuh see, heart no leap".
