We are not Irish. My sister (the family historian) claims that a couple hundred years ago, someone on the English side mixed with an Irishman, but I am not sure I believer her, and regardless, it left no influence. St. Patrick's Day has little meaning to me, except a few terrible memories from college involving green vodka. The green bagels, the green beer, the Irish soda bread - I could skip all of it. Not out of animosity, just lack of interest.
My husband is also not Irish (unless some Irishman ended up in Southern Italy) but he is from Boston which means he grew up eating New England boiled dinner - corned beef and cabbage with carrots, potatoes, parsnips and onions thrown into the mix for good measure. Even before I stopped eating meat, I hated this food. Boiling cabbage smells like a dirty bathroom and the resulting meal resembles salty, colorless wet paper towels. But, for the sake of marital harmony, once a year, on St. Patrick's Day, I put a clothes pin on my nose and boil away.
I have not cooked meat in over two months, so I did not know how I would feel about cooking the beef this time around. I have been reading about vegetarians turning green just looking at raw meat, never mind being asked to handle it. It did not bother me in the least. Maybe I have not been away from it long enough, or maybe I am just simply not offended by the idea of meat. I threw everything in a pot and set it to simmer.
Sarah and Matt had a great dinner. Sarah seems to have inherited her father's love of the food rather than my disdain. As for me, I'll celebrate St. Patrick's Day with a drink - no, not green vodka, a homemade shamrock shake.
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