By Matt D’Arcy (descended from the Clan Ferguson through his mother)
(By clicking on each photo, it will present itself in a larger form)
Sunday January 25 saw what is thought to be only the second Burns Night Supper on Vale da Telha as Kate and Angus Lang organised this tribute to those three great Scottish institutions; Robbie Burns, whisky…and the haggis!
The event took place in the rear room at The Karisma. And as everyone knows, space there is at a premium which meant numbers were limited to just 30 guests.
But Kate and Angus—another great Scottish institution himself!—created a superb evening, not just because of the incredibly high quality of the food but also because of the way the whole evening was so skilfully managed.
The centrepoint of the evening was the classic, award-winning Macsween haggis which Kate and Angus had specially shipped over from 
Edinburgh. And, of course, after the welcoming whiskies on arrival there was more whisky to follow, to toast the cutting of the haggis.
With Billy “Braveheart” Hayes beautifully carrying off the traditional “Address To The Haggis” and Simon Axford providing the music of the bagpipes (unfortunately the pipers of the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards were held up by Portuguese Customs Officials at Faro Airport who wanted to know what was in their bagpipes, and what was under their kilts) the Taska turned Tartan for the night.
The classic Burns Night supper was highlighted by Billy’s wonderful and humorous rendition of the “Address To The Haggis”, spoken in an authentic Scottish accent and without the help of a teleprompter; a wonderful feat of memory.
It went like this:
Address To The Haggis By Robbie Burns—written in 1786 and spoken to the haggis in 2015 at The Karisma by Billy Hayes
Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o’ the pudding-race! Aboon them a’ ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm: Weel are ye wordy o’a grace As lang’s my arm.
The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o’need,
While thro’ your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.
(Now the speaker prepares to plunge his knife into the haggis)
His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An’ cut you up wi’ ready sleight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like ony ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin’, rich!
Then, horn for horn, they stretch an’ strive:
Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,
Till a’ their weel-swall’d kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
Bethankit! hums.
Is there that owre his French ragout
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad make her spew
Wi’ perfect sconner,
Looks down wi’ sneering, scornfu’ view
On sic a dinner?
Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as wither’d rash,
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash;
His nieve a nit;
Thro’ bloody flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!
But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread.
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He’ll mak it whissle;
An’ legs an’ arms, an’ heads will sned,
Like taps o’ thrissle.
Ye Pow’rs, wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o’ fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu’ prayer
Gie her a haggis!
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Ian Bedford provided a hugely entertaining 4-page menu card for the evening which went like this:
