Sorry Scotland, haggis is actually English

By Emma Irving

When Scotland’s first minister, Nicola Sturgeon, appeared on the “Daily Show” in 2015, she was keen to talk about Scottish independence. Her party, the Scottish National Party, had just performed unexpectedly well in the UK general election, winning almost every seat in Scotland. Jon Stewart, the host, had a more pressing question for her: “What is haggis?”

Though Americans might not be familiar with the ingredients, and Sturgeon was too squeamish to enlighten them, there is one thing everyone knows about haggis. It’s as Scottish as kilts and deep-fried Mars bars. Except it isn’t.

Burns Night, held on January 25th each year, marks the birthday of the great poet Robert Burns. Scots the world over tuck into fried sheep’s innards after declaiming Burns’s ode to the “Great chieftain o’ the pudding-race” – the most famous poem about offal ever written. What many people don’t know is that Scotland’s national dish was invented by their auldest of enemies: the English.

In some circles the mere suggestion that haggis is English would be considered justification for another Anglo-Scottish war. But it’s true. Haggis – a blend of sheep lungs, oats and spices, poured into a sheep’s stomach and boiled – is mentioned in English literary sources as early as the 13th century. It made its full debut as “Hagwys'' in a recipe written in Middle English, more than 350 years before Burns wrote his famous lines. There is no mention of haggis in an identifiably Scottish text until around 1513, when it appears fleetingly in a verse by William Dunbar, a poet and priest at the court of James IV.

In England, by contrast, “haggis pudding” graced the tables of many well-heeled English households throughout the 16th and 17th centuries. Gervase Markham, an English food writer, went so far as to write in 1615 of “Haggas or Haggis, of whose goodnesses it is in vain to boast, because there is hardly to be found a man that doth not affect [like] them.” Haggis may have made its way north of the River Tweed around this time too, of course. But for the best part of four centuries it was beloved by the English, before falling from favour. Why? Because haggis began to be seen as Scottish.

England and Scotland had shared a monarch since 1603, though their relationship status remained in “it’s complicated” territory for another century. In 1707 they officially tied the knot: the Act of Union was passed and they became one kingdom. It did not turn out to be an equal marriage.

The agricultural revolution brought productivity and prosperity to England’s green and pleasant lands, but modern farming techniques left many Scots destitute. During the Highland Clearances, which began in the late 18th century, thousands of Scottish tenant farmers and their families were evicted by aristocratic landowners to make way for sheep. Without land or livelihood, they had to economise. They started eating the cheapest, most nutritious food around: haggis.

Haggis graced the tables of well-heeled English households throughout the 16th and 17th centuries

Down south, haggis lost its reputation as a delicious treat and instead was seen as a miserly meal for miserable Scots. The stereotype of a poor peasant eating offal was used to put successful Scottish people in their place. After the Act of Union more Scots rose to positions of power and influence in British society, sparking resentment among English rivals.

Anti-Scottish sentiment peaked after the Jacobite rising of 1745, when Bonnie Prince Charlie and his army tried and failed to claim the British throne. Haggis became shorthand for someone who was greedy for “English” opportunities. One satirical print from the time shows a procession of Scottish merchants in London. The banner of the leading figure reads, “Down with the English Roast Beef & Up with Croudy [oatmeal porridge] & Haggis”.

As many others have done before and since, Robert Burns turned a slight into a badge of honour. In 1786, eyeing up a greying ball of sheep’s offal the size of an ostrich egg, he chose to present it as a beautiful embodiment of the Scottish character: unassuming, resourceful and resilient. “Address to a Haggis” features a work-worn father enjoying a simple, soulful meal with his family. Such scenes of simple living and strong community ties exerted a powerful cultural authority in Scotland. In the following decades, other writers and artists joined Burns in constructing a new culinary national identity, full of nutritional and moral robustness – one that directly contradicted the “sneering, scornfu’ view” of the sassenachs to the south.

The supper of the “noble savage” became all the rage, a precursor of the modern “nose-to-tail” restaurant. In 18th-century Scotland haggis began to be served in some of the wealthiest households, as it had been in England the century before. A nation in the process of constructing its own mythology had found an icon – one born out of the prejudices of the very country Scotland sought to define itself against.

When King George IV visited Edinburgh in 1822, his stay was carefully choreographed by Sir Walter Scott, a novelist who, along with Burns, helped turn Scotland into a highly marketable brand. At a banquet thrown for the monarch, guests were stuffed with haggis, doused with whisky and kitted out in tartan (previously kilts had been worn only in the Highlands, so many lowland gentry suddenly had to engage the services of an Edinburgh tailor). The king was delighted, as were his international guests. Scottish expats, who read about the event in newspapers, threw their own pageants and needed their own whisky and haggis. Exports rose and an industry was born.

Two centuries on, haggis is served across Scotland, from chippies to sophisticated dining rooms. Traditionally fried and served with “neeps ’n’ tatties” (mashed potatoes and swedes), it takes increasingly innovative guises – haggis pakoras, anyone? You can even buy a vegetarian version, as Nicola Sturgeon told American viewers. But whatever form it takes, haggis is more than a delicious or nutritious meal: it is a statement of allegiance.

For Robert Burns, haggis embodied the Scottish character: unassuming, resourceful and resilient

Over the past decade, which saw a close-run referendum on Scottish independence and the subsequent resurgence of the Scottish National Party, haggis sales have risen. These days the Scottish diaspora often celebrates Burns Night with more relish than those in Scotland. Last year haggis exports reached £8.8m ($12m), following a reported 136% increase in the amount of haggis shipped around the world since 2009. Hong Kong is one of the four biggest importers of the stuff. There is some hope that America’s 50-year ban on importing sheep lungs may finally be overturned in the coming months (perhaps surprisingly, cross-border haggis smuggling has attracted less attention than that of Cuban cigars).

This year Burns Night, set against a backdrop of rising Scottish nationalism and angst over Scotland’s role in post-Brexit Britain, will take on a new significance. Virtual events are being staged by posh butchers in Edinburgh, in the hope of luring valuable foreign consumers. But for more Scots than usual – in this especially bleak midwinter – festivities will evoke the scene painted by the poet in his “Address”: the haggis will be eaten at home, with family and without fanfare.

Stripped of its pageantry, the rituals will once more be a celebration of community, of triumph over adversity, of Scotland’s people and its produce. This will be Burns Night by the Scots, for the Scots, with not a drunken Englishman in sight. Whatever the origin story of haggis, I’ll raise a toast to that.■

ILLUSTRATIONS: TOM GAULD