Tuesday, 19 January 2016

To a Macaroni Pie

Politics has been a bit fraught this week, and I'm sure you need another how-you-should-vote article like a hedgehog needs a steamroller, so I thought I'd give everyone a nice break.  Happily, this accords with my long-standing policy of being a snivelling coward, so it's a win all round.

It's Burns season, so here's another wee pastiche. I present it in the spirit of peace, love and understanding, so those losers at the Forfar Bridie People's Front had better not accuse me of hectoring or organise someone to slag me off in the National.  And who knows what the Deep Fried Mars Bar Cult will think of it?  They probably don't know themselves, not yet having had their instructions from Central Control.  God, it's a minefield out there.

To a Macaroni Pie

Fair fa’ your sharp, acidic tang
Great Chieftain o’ the Scotch Pie gang!
Ye staun aboon the whole shebang
Steak, Mince or Mutton
Sworn foe of every hunger pang
And strainin’ button!

Behind the Co-Op checkout’s shield
Ye stand in majesty revealed
Proud pasta tubes in pastry sealed
Wi’ milky sheen
And topped wi’ grated cheese congealed
Like plasticine.

His lunch see rustic Labour crave
And bung ye in the microwave
Until your stodgy guts behave
Like lava streams
And scalded diners rant and rave
Wi’ anguished screams.

What setting suits your charms the best?
A banquet for an honoured guest?
Or watching Strictly in a vest?
Each maun be prized.
The eve of a blood glucose test?
That’s no’ advised.

Is there that owre his wilted greens
Or trumpety Aduki beans
Or juices packed wi’ carotenes
An’ mingin’ flavour
Regards this dish for kings an’ queens
Wi’ stern disfavour?

Poor devil!  See him at the gym
Astride a treadmill to keep trim
Sae puritanical and prim
That joy’s forbidden!
The wind could sweep him on a whim
Intae a midden.

But mark the pasta-nurtured chiel!
Life holds for him a rich appeal
The cauld blast canna mak him kneel
Or idly drift
He’s blubbered like an Arctic seal
And hard to shift.
Ye Powers wha strive for mankind’s good
And keep them healthy, fit and rude
Auld Scotland wants nae rabbit food
That maks her bony
But one thing stirs her gratitude:
Baked Macaroni!


  1. Yankee Doodle went to town

    Riding on a pony

    He stuck a feather in his hat,

    And called it macaroni.

    Yankee Doodle keep it up

    Yankee Doodle dandy

    Mind the music and the step

    And with the girls be handy

    Traditions place its origin in a pre-Revolutionary War song originally sung by British military officers to mock the disheveled, disorganized colonial "Yankees" with whom they served in the French and Indian War.

  2. Brilliant, could start a new tradition, in this house at least.

  3. Nothing much wrong with macaroni, had macaroni cheese with lobster for Christmas Dinner, and totally wonderful. As a pie, it deserves the praise, pasta was to the Italian peasant folk what oatmeal aka porridge is to us, filling and cheap.

  4. Macaroni pie....sounds good to me!😃

  5. Macaroni pie?...sounds good ta me!😛

  6. Dinnae ye be ower hasty

    Tae glamourise a cheesy pasty

    The baxter's shop has heros many

    That ye maun finish wi'a Rennie

    Of a'these treats I must extol

    A broon sauce slathered, bacon roll

  7. A new Burns supper icon deserves its own tartan; but who could design the McAronie ?

  8. lol

    Schrodingers cat

  9. Brilliant William, worthy o the Bard hissel.

    Mind ye, hiv thae no said Pasta wis, shhh, whusper eet, guid fur ye?

    Better keep yon wheeshit ur it micht pit us Scots aff sed pehs by bamboozlin wir neebur inspiret deith wish.