BURN’S NIGHT

Celebrating Scottish food and the life of poet Robert Burns, we’ll be serving up both traditional dishes eaten on this night, and maybe a few more modern additions.

MENU

2 COURSES £18 / 3 COURSES £25

STARTERS

Cullen skink, a smoked fish soup with poached egg

Black pudding croquettes with whiskey sauce

Red lentil soup with sauteed seasonal vegetables and potato scone (vg)

MAINS

Haggis, tatties and neeps

Vegetarian haggis tatties and neeps

Stovies with herb dumplings (vg)

DESSERTS

Blood orange and raspberry Cranachan (vg)

Cloutie dumpling and custard

Battered housemade ‘Mars’ bar with Irn Bru granita

Book your table now…

To get you in the spirit, here is an address to the Haggis.

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 o’ a grace
As lang’s my airm.

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 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!

Then, horn for horn, they stretch an’ strive:
Deil tak the hindmaist! 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 o’re his French ragout
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi’ perfect scunner,
Looks down wi’ sneering, scornfu’ view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him ower his trash,
As feckless as a wither’d rash,
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro’ bloody flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread.
Clap in his wallie nieve a blade,
He’ll mak it whistle;
An’ legs an’ arms, an’ heads will sned,
Like taps o’ thristle.

Ye Pow’rs wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o’ fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinkin ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu’ prayer,
Gie her a haggis!

302 Abbeydale Rd,
Sheffield,
S7 1FL