The secret to enjoying haggis: Lots of scotch

Eight words you never want to hear at a party: “The haggis is a little runnier this time.”

Yaaargh!

Gazing into the pot, I could see what the person who told me this was getting at.

Invisible spiders crawled up my neck as my mind attempted to accept this stygian mass of sheep livers and hearts and kidney parts and, well, gawd knows what else.

The ooze reminded me of that old horror film that spooked me as a kid.

“The Blob,” I believe it was called.

No matter, I thought, as I forked a wee bit o’ haggis onto my plate.

The prodigal columnist returned to Bruce Ridley’s famous party Saturday night with the full intent to behave.

Last time I wrote about haggis, I took a rather sarcastic (if you can believe it) tone. True, the piece won an award, but this time I planned to sample the pride of Scotland with my mind as open as my mouth.

Besides, haggis plays a small part at one of Spokane’s most generous and good-natured events.

Whoever started all those cruel clichés about Scots being stingy never met the Ridleys.

Each year, the state industrial appeals judge and his family open their South Hill home for a spirited tribute to Robert Burns, Scotland’s immortal bard.

Burns is famous for giving the world “Auld Lang Syne.”

He also authored a less-known though tongue-in-cheek “Ode to a Haggis” that Scots still find hilarious.

“Fair fa, your honest, sonsie face,

“Great Chieftan o’ the Puddin race!

“Aboon them a’ ye tak your place …”

It helps to know the brogue, I’m guessing.

Hard to believe that the Ridley bash began with just nine people in 1979.

Between 90 and 140 people now show up to enjoy an evening of bagpipes and dancing, a poetry contest, great conversation and that long table adorned with meats, casseroles, salads, breads and desserts galore.

And haggis.

No proper Burns affair would be complete without it.

So what, you might ask, could you add to make such a wonderful event even better?

Scotch, lads and lassies.

Ridley is a highly regarded collector of single malt whiskies, with some 155 different varieties stored in his basement tasting room.

Cragganmore, Springbank, Bowmore, Dalwhinnie …

The judge is also a recognized authority on scotch, able to rattle off names and nuances connected to practically every brand.

The man has led groups on tours of the distilleries of Scotland, considered the Whiskey Motherland.

But best of all is that Ridley loves to share.

Though I’ve been to several of these shindigs, it still amazes me to see so many happy guests sipping fine whiskies provided by this gracious host.

Just off his living room, Ridley took me aside. He gave me an impromptu tutorial on the art of whiffing a fine scotch.

Not just any fine scotch, either.

The amber liquid in Ridley’s snifter, he said, was a 32-year-old scotch called “Old Fettercairn.”

To add a shot of perspective, I later found a similar bottle of Old Fettercairn selling on the Internet for $262.

Ridley held the snifter sideways to his face.

Consider the snifter’s opening as a clock, he told me.

Now note the varied scents that can be smelled, he added, by moving your nose from the 12 o’clock position down the middle to 6 o’clock with several stops in between.

Spices. A touch of vanilla. A bit of pear. Peat. Green grass …

As big as it is, my beak is lacking. I pretty much just smelled booze while sniffing the clock snifter.

Even more embarrassing, I dribbled scotch all down my chin and shirt when Ridley gave me the go-ahead to take a swig.

What landed in my mouth was good, though.

Mighty good.

If only I could say the same for haggis.

Ugh. I gagged like Pete Carroll’s last play call after putting a forkful of haggis in my chew hole.

Now, I could see eating the stuff if you were trapped on an iceberg and had to choose between haggis and, say, your dead friend’s foot.

Or if you had five or six more snifters of Old Fettercairn to go with it. Haggis, I’m pretty sure, would taste like filet mignon after that.