Friday September 26, 2008 
Friday September 26, 2008 As promised, the update on haggis, sheep, whiskey and more...plus a strange tale of the famous Scot for sheep switch of the 1800's...
First, haggis. Now that I've spent a week in Scotland's Outer Hebrides Islands, I understand why haggis might appear to be surprisingly delicious. To survive in a climate so hostile means you really can't be turning your nose up at nourishment, even if was cooked in a sheep's stomach. And as it happens, sheep stomachs are quite plentiful, being attached to the rest of the animal. As a non-mammal eater, I managed to avoid eating sheep (sounds better when you say lamb, but who are you kidding?), but those Scots are sneaky – they hide haggis in everything. I learned you have to be quick to ask what that brown stuff is before foolishly eating it.
Second, whiskey. Now admittedly, it's taken me years to develop any kind of nose for wine. Previously, when people sniffed deeply before sipping and then commented on the strong leather smell, I was left bewildered. I just smelled... grapes. But years of hanging out with people not from Cleveland have educated my palate, or at least increased my bluffing ability. Yes! Yes! I smell leather! And citrus! And tobacco!
Well. Who knew you do the same thing with fine single malt scotch? We had dinner at the Scotch Single Malt Society Wednesday night, and sampled a number of Scotland's finest. Here's what I learned:
- As you bury your nose in the glass, be oh so careful of that first whiff. It can take a layer of tissue off your sinuses and throat. The result? The main odor I picked up from my first inhalation was of burning flesh – mine.
- Add water, not ice. The water opens up the whiskey and releases its smell (perhaps this is advice for a wimp like me, but nonetheless, it worked.)
- And yes, whiskey can carry strong different scents and flavors, from licorice to lavender to our tried and true friends leather and tobacco.
We came home with a few bottles of great single malt, and all I can say about that is the customs officer in Denver commented that we were bringing back the best booty of anything he'd seen in a month. Oh, and that my favorite, for those of you who have asked, is the 18-year-old Talisker,a sweet, slightly peaty addictive little number. Mmm, mmm, good.
Third. I suspect I know why my husband's great grandfather changed the family name to McKenzie from MacKenzie. The answer lies on the Isle of Lewis, part of the Outer Hebrides Islands and the homeland of my husband's family.
Between 1830 and 1850, the Highlands Clearance took place. Not a big sale at the kilt factory, the Highlands Clearance refers to the systematic deportation of Scots in less desirable positions (or less desirable status – I'm not really sure.). Why? To make room for more sheep. Those darn people took up valuable grazing land that a sheep could really use. So an exodus was forced.
Scott's great grandfather was one of those chosen to go. He ended up in Canada, which was positively loaded with MacKenzies. But I suspect he may have been a bit bitter at having been forced to give his slot to a sheep on the Isle of Lewis, and perhaps changed his name from the Scottish spelling of MacKenzie to the Irish spelling of McKenzie as small gesture. Perhaps. It's a story that's worth thinking about over a wee dram or two of fine scotch.
Of course, there are so many reasons for a wee dram or two of fine scotch, so why limit yourself?
Posted by terrymckenzie ( Sep 26 2008, 02:39:00 PM PDT ) Permalink Comments [0]
Tuesday September 09, 2008 Sheep, Haggis, Scotch and More
It's not the land of my forebearers, but it is the land of my husband's. So finally, we're off to Scotland (historical note: Scott's great grandfather changed the name from MacKenzie to McKenzie, under the mistaken impression that Mac was Irish and Mc was Scottish. He, of course, was 100 percent incorrect. Oops.). This is the second attempt for us. We had a great trip planned back when our children were small, but a few weeks before we were to leave,on December 21, 1988, Pan Am flight 103 exploded over Lockerbie, and that took the joy out of the trip for us - plus reminded us that we didn't want to leave our young children orphaned.
With our children fully grown, we're giving this another shot, and are looking forward to a weeklong wilderness hiking adventure. Unlike Atacama, which almost killed me, these hikes are supposed to relatively easy. Plus we'll be at sea level where, I'm told on good authority, there's plenty of oxygen (Atacama is at 14,000 feet). We'll be wandering around the Outer Hebrides islands, checking the wildlife, foliage and, we hope, some of Scotland's fine whiskey!
To get us started, we're having lunch with Crawford Beveridge in Edinburgh on Friday. I've asked Crawford to give us some tips on the best tipples, and I'm guessing he'll do a fine job of getting us started. From there, we board a train to Inverness, meet our friends Irwin and Heidi, and prepare to do some hiking. After the wilderness portion, we return to Inverness and Edinburgh for more explorations.
Scott and I have known Irwin since college and medical school days. That brings us to a friendship spanning, what, 30 years or so? We don't see each other often but always have a great time together when we do.
So to my kind readers, you'll see this space blank for a bit because I'm choosing to leave the laptop at home. I'll come back with adventures featuring sheep, haggis, scotch and blisters, not necessarily in that order. Keep my seat warm while I'm gone!
Posted by terrymckenzie ( Sep 09 2008, 04:14:53 PM PDT ) Permalink Comments [0]
Tuesday September 02, 2008 Remember being a kid and worrying that your parents didn't love you as much as your siblings? My kids grew up convinced that I really loved the dog more than either of them. Or so they say now...
My response is that the dog never rolled her eyes at me, missed curfew, mouthed off or ignored homework. She always cleaned her plate, and always loved my cooking. Plus she adored me without qualification. I was her hero, her woman for all seasons.
Of course, I hastened to tell my offspring, she wasn't very neat, pulled on her leash, and didn't always have the control over her bodily functions that I might have preferred. And she hid food under the sofa cushions, items which were eventually discovered due to their permeating odor. So perfect she wasn't. But she was darn close.
I couldn't help but think about this last week, when our daughter and her husband were visiting us from Chile. It was lovely having them home - we don't see that much of them, and so we look forward to their visits. Part of the fun is that we get to see Carolyn's high school buddies, too. And it's great to see them all as the wonderful adults they've become. But the reality is that our daughter is her own self, and doesn't hide her reactions to the bumbling idiocy of her parents.
So what does this have to do with my dog? Maybe it was the little facial exchanges between our daughter and her friends and spouse that said silently but clearly, "I'm so sorry you have to put up with my parents. They can't help it - they're just dotty." I would look suspiciously at them, and then at our current dog, Boo Boo. Boo gazed at me with absolute adoration in her eyes - she didn't care if I was dotty or annoying. Our daughter? Grinned and ducked her head. And later would point out what stupid thing we said that triggered the shared eye roll. Boo? She snuggled close and rested her head on my knee.
Part of our daughter's reaction, I'm convinced, is infrequent exposure to us. Our son, on the other hand, as a Los Angeles denizen, sees us weekly, more or less, and has built up some immunity to our foibles. Or at least he is better at hiding his reactions.
We used to say, "Oh just wait until they have children of their own. Then they'll understand." But now I say, "Just wait until they have a dog of their own. Then they'll understand." Please....!
Posted by terrymckenzie ( Sep 02 2008, 02:52:21 PM PDT ) Permalink Comments [1]
