We’ve recently become acquainted with a lovely (and somewhat deadly) couple – Peter and Amy Wardle. What makes them “deadly” will become apparent as I proceed through the recounting of this particular evening. Lately, Peter and Amy have taken it upon themselves to host an annual Burn’s Night Supper. They have been doing this for at least five years and perhaps longer. Much longer would put Amy back into puberty so I’ll just say five years and leave it at that.
For more about who Robert [Rabbie to us] Burns was and the places he slept and the women he slept with and the Counties he set about impregnating single…er, handedly you could go here;
To absorb some of the finer (and grosser) points of a Burns Dinner and how they can sometimes play out and be conducted you could try here;
http://www.rabbie-burns.com/index.cfm
and here;
http://www.rabbie-burns.com/the_supper/index.cfm
Last year was my first Burn’s Night Supper and since it was my turn in the barrel and Pete had somehow gotten the impression that I am high verbal and not terribly shy he asked me to perform “The Immortal Memory” speech, where Robert Burns life is reviewed and celebrated. I found this to be a fascinating task and ended up with reams of material. In fact I went on far too long and the kitchen staff had to be paid overtime while wine and cheese aged at a ferocious pace. But it seems I didn’t embarrass myself any more than anyone else who’d had that much to drink – and we’d ALL been drinking – so we were invited back. Huzzah!
While I performed this speechifying Pete was lying in wait – clever bastard that he is – with his own variation on “The Ode to a Haggis”. To wit, what Pete had done was adapted Ernest L. Thayer’s CASEY AT THE BAT in it’s entirety into some sort of mad epic about smuggling haggis from the UK into the Pennsylvania hinterlands of Bucks County.
Line for line. Stanza for stanza. It was a brilliant and evil trump card. But I am a patient man. Or, I am learning to be. So I decided IF my opportunity ever came around again I would retaliate. And lo and behold the invite came. This year Pete switched things up in the batting order and asked if I would do the “Toast to the Lasses”. Pete is also under the impression that on top of not being shy, that I also happen to like women. Just how he acquires these notions I’m not quite sure. So I said, “sure Pete, no problem. Say, would you mind if I also wrote another piece for the table while I’m at it?” Looks off into the corner. Whistles a happy tune. Drums fingers. “That’s fine? Great.” Trap = sprung.
So, comes the evening and I did do the Toast to the Lasses and that went rather well, as did the Lasses response. All well and good. But the piece I had been waiting to read was my newly minted “Toast to the Hosts”.
Join me now as I rise, check my jacket pocket, look again, pat my outer jacket pockets, look inside said jacket once more, check front and back pants pockets, looking uncomfortable I begin to twist, grimace, bend slightly at the waist… AND PULL THIS OUT OF MY ASS!!!
[Readers and former diners and sharers of finger food we'll be pleased as punch to know that this was an optical illusion and that the manuscript was paper clipped to the inside of my belt. I am only willing to go so far for Art.]
All you will need to know for the rest is that there are more than a few wine courses with this dinner and that Pete always wears a kilt. And that all of this really does rhyme if you mangle enough UK regional accents. No. Really. Ok, screw you.
So, to the tune of my father’s all-time favorite poem, Rudyard Kipling’s GUNGA DIN
http://www.bartleby.com/103/48.html
I give you my Toast to the Hosts – Pete & Amy Wardle.
Ruddy Pete (formerly Gunga Din)
Or, digging up and defiling a dead poet laureate.
YOU may talk of wine and beer
When you’re seated safe in here
Or you’re sent to liquor stores to buy some plonk
But when it comes to drinking
And getting really stinking
It’s the Wardle’s that you’ll hie thee to for drunk!
Now in PA’s dismal clime
Where I used to spend my time
A Servin’ of Her Majesty the Queen
Of all that guzzling crew
The finest man I knew
Was our gourmandastic beastie, Ruddy Pete.
It was Pete! Pete! Pete!
That trans-Atlantic haggis smuggler, Ruddy Pete!
Wine! Get it! Hurry! Now!!!
Go and milk the vineyards cow!
We don’t care how you get it Ruddy Pete!
Now the Scottish Kilt he wore
Was nothing much before
And sadly less than aff of that behind
But amongst the Wardle Clan
Easy access was the plan
As he and Mrs. Wardle did recline
But back now to this Burns Dinner
And this groaning board for sinners
You should see the way these folks would entertain!
Vertical or horizontal
With wine or women, there’s a mouth full
Many courses, was that Wardle plan sublime.
Yes it was Pete! Pete! Pete!
You British transport, where in mischief have you been?
You’ve stuffed these guests to bursting
No more eating, no more thirsting
Better bring an extra leg to Ruddy Pete’s!
Oh he would drink and carry on
‘til our last glass of Port was gone
And ‘e didn’t seem to have no use for beer
Be it white wine or with red
He’d have us swimming to our beds
Gotten well and truly snockered, have no fear
For with a cellar full of plunder
He would drink the table under
Where guests no longer sober – disappeared!
Hey G’day and good luck to you
Wardle’s drinking? Glad I knew ya!
You’ll be pissing 9% between the tears!
For it was Pete! Pete! Pete!
With his EX-sober guests left swerving down the street!
When post-prandials run out you can hear those ingrates shout
It’s another State Store run for poor mad Pete!
Now I shant forget the night…
No! I shant forget the night
Or that gastronomic plight
When wine and haggis came and knocked me off my feet
With my stomach full of bullocks
Says this sadistic UK lummox
“Have another little drink!� says Bloody Pete!
Soze he lifted up me head
All my senses having fled
And he gives me one more glass of wine serene
It was “complex� and it spoke!
And it said, “Ain’t he a bloke?�
Pontificating Wine from Ruddy Pete
It was Pete! Pete! Pete!
Here’s a houseguest with a headache most compleat
He’s goosing kitchen staff
And he’s farting just for laughs
For Gawd’s sake, give him water Ruddy Pete!
So they made me take a seat, room stopped spinning, there’s a treat
When the booze tab came and drilled the bugger clean.
“I’ve got this one� he sighed – and just before he died
“I hope you liked your drinks says Ruddy Pete!
So I’ll meet him later on in that place that we’ll have gone
Where it’s always closing time and no latrine
He’ll be squatting on the coals
Decanting plonk for poor damned souls
And I’ll get a swig in hell from Ruddy Pete!
For its Pete! Pete! Pete!
You vineyard boosting bastard Ruddy Pete!
Though I’ve rebuked you and I’ve punk’d you
Only Bacchus has out drunk you
Here’s to our gracious hosts and Ruddy Pete!
- Barney Dannelke
De-Composed on Burn’s Night at Cannon’s 01/25/06
