Chapter 7
The haggis turned out to be much better than Branwen expected. A bit salty and earthy, but not nearly as strong or strangely metallic as some of those liver sausages she had in mind. Sort of like breakfast sausage mixed in with firm oatmeal, but with a more complex, spicy flavor. Nowhere close to the smooth liverwurst of Braunschweiger.
The soup and potatoes and the pink mound of mashed turnips were lovely as well. Neeps and tatties, John informed her.
She enjoyed listening to him talk to people at their table, and watching everyone around them get more friendly and a bit louder as whiskey, wine, and ale made the rounds a few more times. The dessert alone—a trifle that earned its name of Tipsy Laird from the fumes of whiskey and brandy rising from the cake and even the whipped
