Burns' Night Supper. Sort of.

For years, I have dreamt of hosting a Burns' Night Supper.

Yes, okay, this might be an odd thing to dream of.  Don't judge.

But I love anything to do with Scotland - history, culture, lochs, bens, castles, tartan, kilts, all of it.  So, a dinner to celebrate all things Scottish is right up my alley.

Of course, Burns' Night Suppers are generally just a good excuse to get together and drink, but according to my research, there are a few other traditions associated with the event.

Bagpipes, haggis, neeps and tatties, poetry, whiskey-soaked desserts, funny toasts to the lassies and replies from the lassies, and more.  Oh, and lots of whiskey.

So, this year I finally got my plans together - menu, decor, invitations, music, entertainment - and even convinced a few folks to join us for a Burns' Night Supper.  Grown-ups only, no less.

Well, you may imagine my chagrin when yesterday I found that the stomach bug I thought had departed for good was still hanging around me.  I debated, but finally decided that I would take a lesson from Typhoid Mary and not risk spreading anything.

As it turns out, the snow we got today made the roads around here pretty treacherous, so we probably would have cancelled anyway.

It's not like the supper I had planned was totally authentic anyway (no haggis!), so I hope we can reschedule even if it's not on - or even very near - Robert Burns' birthday.

I did decide to go ahead and fix the pork loin and bake the scones and roast the potatoes I had planned on.  We could feast as a family, even if the whiskey drams were served in super-hero plastic cups.  

I kid.  No whiskey.  For the kids anyway.

And, as it turned out, no meat for any of us.

At some point in the afternoon, a child went to toast an English muffin for a snack and unplugged the crock pot to plug in the toaster and didn't re-plug the crock pot!  I didn't notice until I went to cut the meat and found it luke-warm and too pink to eat.

Maybe it's a good thing we didn't have guests for dinner!

So, I grabbed halloumi (goat cheese from Cyprus) from the fridge and fried it up to go with the scones and potatoes.

The theme for the day seems to have been "Go With the Flow."  So, that's what I did.

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After supper, John and I shared some Glenfidich in front of the fireplace.

A perfect ending to an imperfect day.