For Scots, great writing consists of not only eating the stomach out of a sheep, but writing poetry about it afterwards :

His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An cut you up wi ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!

Then, horn for horn, they stretch an strive:
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
The auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
'Bethankit' hums.

- Robbie Burns

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Must get back to eating more sheep stomach this year.

MMMMMmmmmmmmm..... !

Slainte Mhath