A Sad Day for a Scots Poet

For more than a decade, it's been a lunchtime ritual.

Except for today.

Lunch would start with a pint of Scottish ale. A small snifter with a dram of whisky would also be brought to the table but I would keep that aside, to wait for a toast.

An amuse bouche of haggis on a crust of bread would be offered. I would accept it, happily. There was no question about what the lunch would be. On this twenty-fifth of January, it would be what it always is: a small bowl of Cock-a-Leekie soup; for the main course, a plate of haggis with mashed potatoes, mashed carrots, and mashed turnips, with a mushroom gravy generously covering it all. I wouldn't touch the actual mushrooms: they were the only thing on the plate that turn me off.

Throughout the soup, the piper would play his bagpipes, just as he has done since I've first attended this tribute to Scots poet, Robert Burns. The owner of the restaurant and host for the event, Ken Goodhue, would welcome his patrons and have us raise a glass to the revered poet. The whisky glass was lifted high and "Sliante!" could be heard throughout the room.

A plate with a large, rotund haggis would be held up high by another man in kilt and full tartan. In a thick brogue, he would dramatically recite Ode to Haggis in the Scots' tongue. It's so much better in the Scot's tongue.

Coffee was offered, as was a slice of cake with white and blue icing—the colours of the Scottish flag. It was a meal that would make any Scot proud (and like the seventeenth of March, where anyone who partook in the celebrations is an honourary Irishfolk, celebrating Robert Burns' birthday makes you an honourary Scot).

Today, on January 25, 2021, I'm mourning a loss. It's a sad day for Robert Burns. The great Scottish pub of Ottawa, The Highlander Pub, sits with its doors locked, its windows blocked from viewers. Last summer, Ken announced that because of the closure of Rideau Street, due to the construction of the LRT line (whose doors opened directly across from his pub) and due to the forced closures because of COVID-19, the pub's 18-year run was coming to an end.

This was one of my favourite pubs in Ottawa. Often, Ken would walk around, greeting his patrons and striking up conversations. I had had some exchanges with him over his vast selection of single malts and blends—The Highlander had the best selection of whiskies in the city. In one conversation, when I mentioned that my favourite malts come from Islay and that my absolute favourite is Laphroaig, Ken excused himself for a moment, only to return with a small glass of a rare 25-year-old Laphroaig for me to enjoy.

He didn't ask if I wanted it. I refused payment for the glass. It was one of the best malts I've had the privilege of tasting and Ken was simply happy to be able to share it.

I'm going to dearly miss this pub, especially on Robert Burns Day. Today, I won't have haggis. I will, however, raise my glass to the great poet, to The Highlander, and to Ken.

Slainte Mhath!