Hi Jen First I hope that you are feeing better.
Yes I have eaten haggis, we normally have it with mashed potatoes and mashed turnip. Its a traditional meal that served when we celebrated Burn's day here in Scotland on the 25th January.
Robert Burns was our National 'Bard' (Poet) and his poems are written in old Scots dialect and are world famous, many of his poems were put to music. One of his famous poems is 'To A Haggis' and on Burn's night (25th Jan.)lots of people get together and have a night of celebration. This is when, after the haggis has been cooked its put onto a large plate and is carried into the hall, with great ceremony, where the people are sitting ready to eat. A woman carries the plate with the haggis and she is dressed in the old fashioned Scottish clothes,(the name she is given for that night is Poosy Nancy) just behind her is a piper, wearing his kilt etc and playing the bagpipes.The dish is then placed in front of the main guest and that person then stands up and recites the poem'To a Haggis and when he comes to the part in the poem when the haggis is bust open he then picks up the special knife (dirk) and slits open the haggis, when he has finished reciting the poem then 'dinner is served' After that some people will sings some of Burn's songs and then they have Scottish dancing and many have a 'wee dram' (a small glass of whiskey)
There are lots of jokes about haggis, many joke that they are little creatures that run about the hills and they get hunted. I'll leave that to you imagination Jen.

This is what a real haggis looks like.

This is a list of the ingredients in a haggis.
I'm going to try and link the poem To A Haggis but I think you will have real difficulty understanding it - I know I do!!
To a Haggis
Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great Chieftan o' the Puddin
-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy of a grace
As lang's my arm.
The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o' need,
While thro' your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.
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;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
Bethankit hums.
Is there that owre his French ragout,
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi' perfect sconner,
Looks down wi' sneering, scronful' view
On sic a dinner?
Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro' bluidy flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!
But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He'll mak it whissle;
An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned,
Like taps o' thrissle.
Ye Pow's wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o' fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae shinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if you wish her gratefu' pray'r,
Gie her a Haggis! *
* This stanza was originally written out as follows:-
"Ye Pow'rs wha gie us a' that's gude
Still bless auld Caledonia's brood,
Wi' great John Barleycorn's heart's bluid
In stoups or luggies;
And on our boards, that king o' food,
A gud Scotch Haggis!"