Today was still very, very cold, and I hibernated until almost nine. Travalon watched the Wolves while I did a lot of DuoLingo, and we didn't leave the house until after noon, to get to the Union by one for the Balkan singing session that was part of the Folk Ball. We thought Cecil Markovitch was going to join us, but he had come for an earlier Folk Ball event and hadn't found anyone there, so he had gone home. We managed to find a parking spot right in front of the Union somehow, and we joined a bunch of other people to sing songs in Macedonian, Bulgarian, and Croation. Travalon made a couple of videos.
Our luck continued because the event ended just before our parking meter was going to run out. We went home for a little bit before swinging by Mamastep's house to pick her up on the way to the Burns dinner. I wore the plaid scarf I'd gotten at the random gas station in Kentucky that was selling all sorts of things, with a pin that used to belong to my grandmother. It kind of looks like a marijuana leaf on it, but Mamastep said she thinks it's more likely a palm tree. Which makes more sense, knowing my grandma.
Travalon wore the scarf I got at the Highland Night Forward game, which was fitting because we were in the Forward clubhouse.
You should have seen the room. So much plaid! So many kilts! We found a table for four and were joined by a gregarious woman who was there with her husband, son, and daughter-in-law, but they all had to sit at adjacent tables because other people with smaller groups had taken all the tables. On the tables were little bags full of Scottie dog-shaped shortbread. It was Happy Hour when we got there, but at six there was a short prayer, something along the lines of, "Some have meat and cannot eat, and some have none but would, but we have meat and we can eat so all thanks be to God," but with a brogue. Then a piper led the guy carrying the plate of haggis, who recited a Robert Burns poem over it before cutting it with a huge knife. We each got a tiny shot glass of whiskey to toast the haggis, and we each had a small cup of haggis. I had thought Burns dinners were always haggis, neeps, and tatties, but ours was bangers and mash, which means sausage and mashed potatoes. Since Travalon hates sausage (he thinks it's the wurst!), I told him to ask if there was more haggis. The answer was no, but he came back with a big pile of mashed potatoes, so that was the tatties part. As far as the neeps part, we didn't have smashed turnips like all the Burns dinner photos online, but we did have a mix of root vegetables, so I'm guessing there were some turnips in there.
After dinner some very cute little girls did highland dancing, then a trad band played, and then there were the toasts to the lassies and laddies, which were hilarious and not G-rated. The Scottish country dancers gave a demonstration and then had some audience members join them, and then the leader was presented with some service award. At the end everyone sang "Auld Lang Syne." There was also a silent auction, and I really wanted an adorable pillow of a plaid "heeland coo," so I told Travalon to go look at it and see if he liked it too. He did, and he put a ridiculously high bid on it. Here's the pillow.
Somehow, at the last minute, he was outbid, so we did not get the pillow. Mamastep bid on a set with a shortbread mold and a cookbook (I think?), and every time she checked, she was still winning, but at the last minute she was outbid too. There were highland dance lessons, and I was tempted to bid on those, but I'm too old and fat, and my knees are too bad, to do all that leaping around. Still, I'd love to wear a cute little kilt and knee-high argyle socks. (Nobody else would want to see that, though!)
On the way there, we had seen the flavor of the day at Culver's was "Georgia peach." We remembered fondly some peach ice cream we'd had in Georgia some years ago, so on our way home Travalon wondered if we should stop. I said, "We can afford it, since we saved $80 on not winning a pillow," and it was good, but not as good as what must have been homemade ice cream that I believe we got at a gas station. It was right up there with the peanut butter ice cream we also got in Georgia, in Jimmy Carter's hometown. (I got way too much because I ordered mine in a commemorative cup, but then it was super helpful having the cup along on the trip.) Of course, that was probably homemade too, and the best ice cream I ever had was the time that guy made some at a party at Rich's house, out of cream, sugar, and freshly-picked strawberries, and then he made it with liquid nitrogen so mist rose off of it like it was a witch's potion. I thought it was just a cool party trick, but after tasting it I realized how much better ice cream is when it's made with simple ingredients. So if you want good ice cream, either go to Georgia or to Rich's house. Though there was the time someone at Rich's house made vanilla fume ice cream when she burned the sugar trying to do something clever... so this rule doesn't always hold true.
Famous Hat
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