I remember my mums scotch broth or scrumptious scotch soup she would say to us as we would warm ourselves up in the bitter cold of a Canadian winter. "This soup is flavoured not with fancy spices or anything of that sort. This is the taste of your heritage, of the good times we had." She would say this to me in a Celtic lilting melody that blessed her voice. Now I make my own special scotch broth. Instead it burns the back of my throat, it keeps out the cold. They served both at her funeral.