Thanks to all of you kind folks who have written in with haggis recipes, advice and lore. I must admit that I don’t feel spiritually or gastronomically fit enough to prepare Angus, as I’ve named him, for Burns Night on Saturday (besides which, I can’t find anybody willing to try it with me). My wife and three-year-old son are behaving as if I have a human head in the freezer. I told Matthew I had a neat thing in the freezer to show him. “Look, it’s a sheep’s stomach stuffed with minced guts and oatmeal!” I said cheerfully. He tapped it, then ran off to tell mommy about the gross thing daddy has. “Hey, some really good oatmeal cookies came with it,” I said to Matthew, offering him one. The kid’s a cookie monster, but this he wouldn’t take. Julie, knowing what the deal was, said to him, “It’s okay, honey, it never touched the haggis.” She’s decided that’s going to be the title of our yet-to-be-written book on crunchy-con parenting: It Never Touched The Haggis.