Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,
Great Chieftain o’ the Puddin-race!
— Robert Burns
What if my life is as poetic
as IgA autoantibodies against transglutaminase
that wreak havoc on my body
every time I reach for a slice of haggis
with my Sunday neeps and tatties?
I guess I’ll stick with the French
ragout.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
I have always wondered what haggis tastes like
because, despite living in Scotland for two decades,
I’ve never actually had the opportunity to try it,
and not for lack of desire, but due to dietary restrictions,
which would also apply to more foreign delicacies
like Yorkshire pudding (some Scots will appreciate the jest),
in toad in the hole in particular. Perhaps I’ll order it
for my last supper.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
