Suet & Saltwater. Reviving Old Traditions In New Scotland

 New Scotland, more commonly known in Canada by its Latin name Nova Scotia, was named in the 1621 Royal Charter allowing Sir William Alexander rights to establish and settle the land as a Scottish colony. The area included modern day P.E.I., New Brunswick, the Gaspé Peninsula, Cape Breton Island, and Nova Scotia. ​

With limited options and a chance at a new life, Gaels came flooding into this region during the Highland Clearances that lasted over a century, from 1750-1860. This migration was the result of a mass eviction of people from the Scottish Highlands and Islands. Some left by their own choosing, most were forced out after the Battle of Culloden on the 16th of April 1746, where the British won a decisive battle over the Scots that would forever change history and clansmanship in Scotland. 

Clans were disassembled and forced off traditional lands where they had been living for generations. They were driven into smaller, overcrowded, and underproducing crofts, which eventually pushed them out of farming, into fishing, then out of the country entirely. Communities collapsed, famine set in, and those that remained were left with little choice but to starve or emigrate to places like Nova Scotia.

     Today, Nova Scotia is home to the largest population of Gaels in the world, outside of Scotland, and there is an intentional effort to keep the traditional way of life, culture, and foods alive. On this adventure, I’m near Iona, looking for century-old dishes that are still at the heart of this community.

    I’d made a pit stop nearby to see some friends, actually, my high school teacher, Nat Sapach, and his wife, Sandy, at their home on the shores of saltwater Lake Bras d’Or, in the center of Cape Breton Island. The ride past Christmas Island and over the Grand Narrows (a bridge that lifts and allows boats to pass through, sitting right next to the old train bridge that used to operate with a swing span that could turn sideways), then up past Plaster Cove, is a stunning water-side road.

    Nat and Sandy moved to Alberta in their twenties, searching for new opportunities, and spent a long career shaping and moulding the minds of the future as school teachers. There was a limited number of subjects I passed in high school with great success; however, Mr Sapach’s English class recorded the highest volunteer attendance of all my classes…interpret that however you’d like 🙂.

The man has such an open-door policy that after more than twenty years without setting foot in his classroom, I called him up to grade another one of my papers. After completing my last book, KLaiR, a story about motorcycling from Canada to Argentina, I needed someone to review my work who knew both me and literature. Without hesitation, my high school teacher became my first ever book editor.

Exiting the road to the Sapach’s, the trees of the driveway arch overhead like guardians of a secret path, ushering you down a gravel road toward a cloud-white home crowned with a red brick chimney. Here, the house sits gracefully perched at the edge of the bay, as though keeping timeless watch over the water. 

Descendants of the Gaels, the property has been in Sandy’s family for generations. She and Nat come back every summer to spend time here. Nat mentions to me that the deed is passed down every generation with the stipulation that if they ever plan to sell, the sale price must not exceed $1. As you might imagine, their children and grandchildren are expected to keep this tradition alive.

 Greeted by the same warm hospitality they’d been giving students for decades, I’d spent the night here when I’d previously passed by heading to Newfoundland. That night, I listened to stories about the area over beers with Nat and woke to the scent of a warm breakfast filling the house, prepared by Sandy. Even at forty-something, enjoying a beer with one's high school teacher came with a bit of mental hesitation.

In an area steeped with Scottish Gaelic traditions, I was hoping to uncover some of the cultural and regional dining delights. After a bit of asking around, I found it. Along with my wife, who’d flown in for the adventure, we rode to The Baile nan Gàidheal / Highland Village. Home to a group of Gaels dedicated to keeping both their cultural and edible traditions alive. On today’s menu was the Scottish classic Marag.

Marag Gheal (White pudding), pronounced Marick, could best be visually described as an extra-large sausage, roughly 5-6 inches in width. However, the ingredients are a bit different from what you might expect or how you might make your typical sausage.

 In a time before beef brisket was labeled with a barcode and everyone was pleasantly unaware of the process between the farm and the feast, Scottish farmers would utilize every bit of a butchered animal and anything else grown on the farm. In the case of the Marag, onions from the garden were mixed with suet from the cattle and oats from the field. Suet, the main caloric component of this concoction, is beef fat, but more specifically, the hard fat from around the kidneys and loins of a cow. An excellent addition to a laborious lifestyle, suet is full of fat-soluble vitamins like A, D, E, and K.

We were greeted by Amber Buchanan, known by her Gaelic name Òmar Bhochanan, for a brief history of the region's Gaels. Amber is a pillar of the Gaelic community known for her efforts in connecting and revitalizing Gaelic culture, heritage, and language. According to Amber, this area on the bank of Lake Bras d’Or was settled by Barrafolk, people from the Isle of Barra on the west coast of Scotland. The ancestry of this region is incredible, with family bloodlines running back five, six, or seven generations whose lineage can be traced directly to Barra.

    Amber says the locals here were traditionally subsistence farmers, growing root veggies like carrots, potatoes, onions, and fishing. With more on the menu than Marag, they would also salt fish and make dishes like herring and potatoes, or bonnaich-éisg (fish cakes) made with fried onion, leftover potatoes, and salt cod. For a deeper dive, she then introduced us to Brenda MacLennan-Dunphy for a look into what's behind this classic dish cooked inside a historic kitchen.

    Brenda’s donning period attire with a simple red dress, a white cotton top, and a matching head cover. Her look instantly takes you back to these historical times. She escorts us into the kitchen of a home that's over 100 years old. The floors are constructed from planks of worn wood that creak as you make your way through the house; the interior is decorated with timely pieces like a hand-powered wash basin, clay pottery, and the most wonderful cast-iron stove vented via a tower of bricks. 

Brenda also hails from the Gaels of Scotland. Her mother's family is from Skye, and her father's family were from Kintail on the mainland. Brenda says that during her parents' era, the education system discouraged children from speaking Gaelic. As a result, her grandmother didn’t teach her Mother, but now she is taking up the family heritage, trying to learn and revive the language. 

She says it hasn't been easy, as the language has a lot of dialects, and one word that might sound right to one family is often pronounced slightly differently by the next. To help ease the pressure, the culture has a saying S fheàrr Gàidhlig bhriste na Gàidhlig 's a' chiste that translates into English as “Better broken Gaelic than Gaelic in the coffin.”

Not just language, they are trying, with great success, to keep the food traditions alive, and our timing was perfect as a fresh batch of Marag was heating in a cast-iron pan over the cast-iron stove.

The ingredients of the dish are considerably simpler than the traditional execution. In the past, they used cow intestine, which first had to be thoroughly cleaned and was often preserved by salting it. Then, equal parts raw onion, oats, and suet are mixed along with a touch of salt and pepper. The mix is then stuffed into the casing before being sewn shut using a blanket stitch with a string and a darning needle. The raw mix is then put in a pot of water to simmer, not boil, for several hours, and while simmering, it’s poked regularly with the darning needle or fork to allow the excess fat to escape and save the casing from exploding. 

Like a lot of traditional dishes, this staple was born more from necessity than desire. The premium cuts of meat were typically sold for income or to buy less expensive and longer-lasting ingredients like oats, and the farmer was left to live off the fat, intestines, and filler. 

Marag was typically made during butchering when the suet was available and served at cooler times of year. You might find it on a plate next to a fresh harvest of turnips or potatoes. This slightly modern version we’re enjoying today is served with biscuits and topped with butter and molasses. I’m told you keep repurposing the Marag until it's gone; this meal is not prepared to keep. You could reheat it for breakfast next to eggs or serve it the next night with potatoes and turnips rather than turnips and potatoes for a bit of variety 🙂

As I sink my teeth into this iconic taste of Scotland, with its hefty serving of onions that would have originally come pre-packaged in a cow's intestine, my mind is grappling a bit, and my mouth is waiting for a punch of earthly, sharp pungency. Yet, these bits of fat that have melted into heavy carbs and sweetened onion are now somehow soft and savoury. I ask Angie how it tastes on her side of the table. She was expecting it to be fatty, but she seems as pleasantly surprised as I am. 

After a few bites, I then savour the warm buttered biscuit drizzled in sweet molasses and picture this country and all the global influences that make it the incredible place that it is. Then I imagine the poor farmer who would have been sitting in this chair a century ago. I can only assume that, coming in from a long day in a dusty field and pulling up this creaky wooden chair to their fifth day of reheated onions, oats, and suet, the sight of a biscuit topped with butter and molasses would have been nothing short of pure decadence. 

Marag Gheal

• 2 cups Suet
  
• 2 cups Onions
  
• 2 cups Oats
  
• Salt & Pepper to taste
  
• Cow or synthetic casing
  

Dice or cube the suet into a similar size to the diced onion. Mix in a bowl with the oats and onion. Add an ample amount of salt and pepper. Taste the mix before stuffing it and adjust accordingly.
Then, stuff the mixture into a traditional cow casing or modern synthetic cellulose casing. 
Tie or stitch the end shut.
Then place it in a simmering pot of water for three hours, poking it regularly as it expands to allow the air and excess fat to escape, saving the casing from splitting or exploding.
Once cool enough to handle, you can slice it into one-inch rounds and pan-fry until crispy and brown.
Serve as a breakfast item next to eggs or as a dinner item next to turnips and potatoes.
If you’re looking to impress your guests with modern decadence, add a side of fresh biscuits topped with butter and molasses.

Shannon MacMullin from the Highland Village noted another option for those of you at home. She said, Casings - genuine or artificial can be tricky (or impossible!) to source.  You can also make marag in a frying pan without casings and it's every bit as good!  Just add all the ingredients + some water 1/4 - 1/2 cup.  Cook over med/low heat with lid on until oats are cooked.  Then remove the lid, cook until desired crispness, and enjoy!  Often served with curds and chow, too.

Tapadh leibh (Thank You) to everyone who helped bring this historical creation to life in Canada's Gaelic region.