This boiled offal-stuffed bag is banned in the US but is considered a delicacy in Scotland's finest restaurants.

Anthony Bourdain was a fan of haggis, but even the legendary American chef and TV personality acknowledged that Scotland’s iconic dish—with its mysterious blend of sheep’s organs wrapped in folklore—could be a tough sell.

“Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, haggis is one of life’s true pleasures,” Bourdain declared during one of his culinary adventures in Glasgow. “No food on Earth is more unfairly criticized than haggis.”

Traditionally, haggis is a mixture of minced lung, liver, and heart, combined with oatmeal, beef fat, onions, and spices, all stuffed into a sheep's stomach and boiled until edible.

'Instagrammable' isn’t the first word that comes to mind. In today’s world of clean eating and processed foods, haggis stands as a throwback dish, almost like something out of an 'Outlander' episode from another era.

But somehow, when haggis reaches its perfect 'warm-reekin’ (steaming)' state, it becomes far more than just a mix of humble ingredients. Its offal-based appeal has kept the tradition of nose-to-tail eating alive among younger Scots who have mostly turned away from the tripe, liver, and kidneys that their ancestors once embraced—or endured.

When prepared with care, haggis delivers a taste that’s both hearty and rich: it’s earthy, savory, and spicy, with a texture that’s crumbly yet moist, and crispy at the edges. Deeply flavorful and warming, it pairs perfectly with the classic sides of fluffy mashed potatoes and sweet, mashed turnips.

“It’s like a warm hug for your stomach,” says Nicola Turner, a 35-year-old office administrator from Helensburgh, a town on Scotland’s western coast by the Firth of Clyde.

A combination of spice and texture

For those growing up in the 1960s and ’70s, like crime writer Ian Rankin, haggis meals meant choosing between the classic meat-and-two-veg plate or the deep-fried version from the local chip shop, a favorite of both his friend Bourdain and his fictional detective, Inspector John Rebus.

Nowadays, countless variations of haggis have emerged.

“I’m pretty sure the first time I had haggis with AB in Edinburgh, it was in filo pastry with a jam-like sauce—maybe blackcurrant,” Rankin reminisced. “Bourdain loved both haggis and chip shops. Rebus, too, would have enjoyed the occasional haggis supper from his local takeaway. I definitely do.”

“The key is in the spicing and texture,” says Scottish food writer, novelist, and cook Sue Lawrence, who champions haggis as an adaptable ingredient. “If you didn’t know what it was, you wouldn’t immediately think ‘this tastes like liver.’ The way it's chopped up and the oatmeal texture makes it feel like a hearty, comforting mince dish.”

Lawrence uses haggis as a substitute for beef and pork ragù in lasagna, and in her pastilla, a North African dish where a hand-made haggis from the Isle of Mull replaces the usual poultry or seafood filling. The filo pastry is infused with ras el hanout spice blend, apricots, chile, orange zest, and almonds, then topped with a dusting of cinnamon and icing sugar.

These cultural fusions remind us that haggis doesn’t have to be uniquely Scottish. Similar recipes using quickly prepared innards from sheep and other animals have existed since the days of ancient Rome and Greece.

Combinations of offal and grains, like haggis, are found in the culinary traditions of many countries. Spain offers chireta, Romania has drob, and Sweden serves polsa, while Cajun cooking features chaudin, or ponce, a rice and meat-stuffed pig stomach.

Wild little creature

In England, between the 15th and 17th centuries, various versions of the dish—known as 'hagese,' 'hagws of a schepe,' 'haggas,' or 'haggus'—appear in cookbooks, likely predating written records in Scotland.

Linguistic evidence suggests that the word 'haggis' has Old Norse origins, implying that an early form of the oat-and-offal sausage could have made its way to Britain and Ireland aboard a Viking ship.

However, since Robert Burns popularized it in the late 1700s, the tale of haggis has been firmly claimed by Scotland, with a bit of playful exaggeration thrown in.

According to the folklore shaped by Burns, the haggis is a hearty meal carried by a determined Highlander driving cattle to market, or the perfect snack for a whisky smuggler on a moonlit journey through the glens.

Building on romantic ideas, the haggis was soon imagined as a curious wild creature, with one side of its legs longer than the other, forcing it to endlessly circle the hills it inhabited. A 2003 poll of American tourists in Scotland revealed that one in three believed they might spot such a bewildered beast during their visit to the Highlands.

Bourdain, a die-hard fan of haggis, may have been its biggest champion since Robert Burns, but the US Department of Agriculture remains unimpressed by the offal-packed dish. Since 1971, imports of haggis have been banned in the US due to a prohibition on consuming livestock lungs. Authentic traditional haggis is effectively illegal in the US, as elusive as Cuban cigars.

Elsewhere in the world, the story is quite different. According to Simon Howie, a leading haggis producer, the dish is more popular and widely enjoyed now than at any time since Burns penned his famous 'Address to a Haggis' for the entertainment of his Edinburgh peers.

Pudding kingpin

In his famously witty poem, Burns hails the 'Great chieftain o' the pudding race' as the ultimate humble, hearty food needed to fuel a nation of fearless warriors.

Compared to the fancy foreign dishes favored by the wine-sipping elites of the capital—like olio, fricassée, or ragoût, which he claims would 'sicken a sow'—Burns marvels at the transformative power of haggis on the sons of Scotland’s soil.

As the English version of the original Scots poem expresses it:

But behold the rustic, haggis-fueled man/

The earth trembles beneath his steps/

Gripping a blade in his strong hand/

He'll make the air sing with it/

And arms, legs, and heads will fall/

Like the heads of thistles chopped off/

These days, synthetic casings have largely replaced sheep’s stomachs, but the heart of most haggis remains the same: sheep and pig offal. Simon Howie, whose company Simon Howie Butchers produces around 60% of the two million haggises made annually, confirms this tradition.

“You can feed your kids a wholesome meal that isn’t packed with unwanted ingredients – for just a few pounds, you can feed three strong lads,” said Howie.

“From a kitchen standpoint, it's very straightforward. Once it leaves our factory, it’s already cooked. All you need to do is heat it up to serve it hot. It’s that simple: whether you’re a student with no cooking skills or a Michelin-starred chef, the process is the same to get it onto the plate.”

Haggis pakora

Thanks to its unique texture, haggis can be paired with lean meats like venison or used as a stuffing for poultry and game birds. Its bold, spicy flavor also lends itself well to canapés or as a crunchy crouton garnish for soups.

The rise in haggis sales is also fueled by growing popularity in variations inspired by Scotland's diverse ethnic communities.

In the 1990s, Glasgow’s Sikh community introduced haggis pakora, followed by innovations like samosas, spring rolls, and quesadillas, often made with a vegetarian version of haggis, substituting the offal with a blend of vegetables, pulses, and mushrooms.

These dishes go beyond simple culinary experiments. They represent a sense of identity and belonging, showing that two centuries after Burns claimed it for Scotland, haggis remains deeply woven into the fabric of Scottish culture.

Just ask Ross O’Cinneide, a 14-year-old fly-half for Stirling County rugby club’s junior team.

“Most of my friends and I really like haggis,” he says. “Mum makes it for us sometimes after rugby practice. It has this wonderfully warming feeling, and it’s great because it’s so authentically Scottish.”