Smoky notes of the islands: a Burns Night dinner

A wintry London night and the haunting note of the bagpipes summoned us to Burns supper at Boisdale of Belgravia. In the doorway Pipe Major Willie Cochrane paused for breath and shook my hand. ‘Are they giving you a nip of something later?’ I asked. ‘I’ve got one right there,’ he said, pointing to a glass of Johnny Walker tucked beneath the Boisdale pavement sign. ‘It’s good stuff. But don’t tell anyone.’ ‘Hey,’ I said, ‘my lips are sealed.’

Taxis arrived and a succession of notorious characters appeared. Lorraine Kelly, Kirsty Wark, Dougray Scott, Duncan Bannatyne and others, all nominees for Boisdale’s inaugural ‘Great Scot’ award.

I passed through the narrow doorway and the restaurant’s cosy intricate warmth enveloped me. Kilted lovelies wove through the crowd proffering dishes of Orkney herring, Aberdeenshire fillet of beef and flutes of champagne. The braver souls among us chased the bubbles down with Johnny Walker Gold Label cocktails.

We took our seats and Jock Wishart, a direct descendant of Burns, read a four-line grace penned by his ancestor. ‘Mercifully short,’ whispered Andrew Marr, on my right, as we sat down to wild smoked salmon and Hebridean crab.

Waiters appeared and paraded the main course through the room accompanied by ‘mash and bashed neeps’ and, of course, ceremonial pipe melodies. Boisdale’s proprietor, Ranald Macdonald of Clanranald, invited Jock Wishart to perform the traditional ‘address to the haggis’. He drew his sword and elegantly garrotted the ‘great chieftain o’ the puddin-race’ which spilled its steaming entrails over the plate. ‘Warm, reekin, rich,’ as Burns puts it.

The evening’s host, Andrew Neil, laconically recalled his very first Burns supper in his hometown of Paisley. ‘Only one person died.’ He then introduced David Coulthard, who took the mike and admitted, ‘I don’t really have anything interesting to say,’ before regaling us with a series of racing anecdotes.