Burns, baby, Burns

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As all good Scots know, today is poet extraordinaire Robert Burns' birthday. If you don't recall your junior year lit class so well, his Scots language verses make the dialogue in Trainspotting sound crisp and enunciated. Regardless, he'd be 252 today if that rotten tooth hadn't gotten him, and as per tradition there are many a Burns Supper occurring to celebrate him.

The one at Corona Cigar Company downtown at the Plaza is offering you some free haggis hors d'oeuvres as well as $5 drams of 12 year-old Glenlivet scotch. Some may consider the scotch as a chaser to the haggis, but if you've never had the meat-medley-in-a-stomach before you might be surprised by its rich, unchallenging flavor. In my experience, the flavor of liverwurst is the most pronounced, but you may draw your own conclusions after you try it (and you will try it, won't you? You're not some kind of sissy, are you?)

There's free validated parking and buy 1 get 1 cigars on sale; all the more reason to stroll down between 8 p.m. and 11 p.m. tonight and check it out.

I leave you with Burns' own enticing description of the meal that honors him:

His knife see rustic Labour dicht,

An' cut you up wi' ready slicht,

Trenching your gushing entrails bricht,

Like ony ditch;

And then, O what a glorious sicht,

Warm-reekin, rich!

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