This morning
we got up by four, to hunt the roebuck, and, in an half an hour,
found breakfast ready served in the hail. . . . The following
articles formed our morning’s repast: one kit of boiled
eggs; a second, full of butter; a third, full of cream; an entire
cheese, made of goat’s milk; a large earthen pot full
of honey; the best part of a ham; a cold venison pasty; a bushel
of oatmeal, made in thin cakes and bannocks, with a small wheaten
loaf in the middle for the strangers; a large stone bottlie
full of whisky, another of brandy, and a kilderkin of ale. There
was a ladle chained to the cream kit, with curious wooden bickers
to be filled from this reservoir. The spirits were drunk out
of a silver quaff, and the ale out of horns: great justice was
done to the collation by the guests in general; one of them
in particular ate above two dozen of hard eggs, with a proportionable
quantity of bread, butter, and honey; nor was one drop of liquor
left upon the board. Finally, a large roll of tabacco was
presented by way of dessert, and every individual took a comfortable
quid, to prevent the bad effects of the morning air.
Haggis
and Oatcakes
Now we are
upon the article of cookery, I must own, some of their dishes
are savoury, and even delicate; but I am not yet Scotchman enough
to relish their singed sheep’s head and haggis, which
were provided, at our request, one day at Mr Mitchelson’s,
where we dined. The first put me in mind of the history of the
Congo, in which I had read of negroes’ head sold publicly
in the markets; the last, being a mess of minced lights, livers,
suet, oatmeal, onions, and pepper, enclosed in a sheep’s
stomach had a very sudden effect upon mine, and the delicate
Mrs Tabby changed colour; when the cause of our disgust was
instantaneously removed at the nod of our entertainer. The Scotch
in general are attached to this composition with a sort of national
fondness, as well as to their oatmeal bread; which is presented
at every table, in thin triangular cakes, baked up on a plate
of iron, called a girdle; and these many of the natives, even
in the higher ranks of life, prefer to wheaten bread, which
they have here in perfection.
Tobias Smollett
(1721-71)
The Expedition of Humphry Clinker (1771)
