Happy St. Paddy’s Day!

The first time I saw Ireland was when I was a kid.  Mostly I remember that it was the greenest shade of green that I’d ever seen.   Ireland is one of the most beautiful countries that I have ever visited.  It’s easy to see why there are plenty of stories about enchanted things because there are parts of that country that hardly seem possible without some kind of magic.  This picture of the Giant’s Causeway should be proof enough.

My grandmother’s and my mother’s name was Atha and they were from the Dennis side of my family.   When I had colic, my grandmother would sing me Toorah Loorah loorah and rock me in the rocker that sits in my living room.   I got the green in my eyes, the red in my hair, and the ‘Irish’ in my  temper from her.  I also heard my share of old Irish wives’ tales like “things come in threes.”   Both my grandmother and my mother were terribly superstitious and it was hard to do anything as a kid without hearing something terrible that happened to a neighbor or a cousin or an aunt that had been foolish enough to do the same thing.

Grandmother used to love to cook and Colcannon was one of my favorites.

Colcannon Ingredients:

• 3 cups finely shredded green cabbage
• 1 onion, finely chopped
• 1/4 cup water
• 6 cooked potatoes, mashed
• 1/4 cup milk
• 1/4 cup butter or margarine
• Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste

Preparation:

Place cabbage, onion, and water in a saucepan or Dutch oven and quickly bring to a boil. Reduce heat, cover, and simmer about 8 minutes until tender. Do not overcook.

Add mashed potatoes, milk, butter or margarine, salt, and pepper. Mix well, stirring often until heated through.

Colcannon is served warm as a side dish.  I like it served with breaded pork chops baked with apples. That’s another Irish dish.  If you really want a nice treat try it with some warm soda bread and a little clotted cream

There’s a lot of great things that have their roots in Ireland including a large number of Americans.  I love to read some of the great Irish poets and writers and my favorite local bar is Vaughn’s. I like it because  it has that ramshackle looked of an Irish pub known for great brews and conversations.  (Jack Kerouac used to jump off at the tracks by my house and share a few drinks with William S. Burroughs there so while it’s now known for New Orleans Jazz, it did have a bit of a literature tradition too.)   Here’s  a treat from James Joyce’s Dubliners:

They walked along Nassau Street and then turned into Kildare Street.  Not far from the porch of the club a harpist stood in the roadway, playing to a little ring of listeners.  He plucked at the wires heedlessly, glancing quickly from time to time at the face of each new-comer and from time to time, wearily also, at the sky.  His harp, too, heedless that her coverings had fallen about her knees, seemed weary alike of the eyes of strangers and of her master’s hands.  One played in the bass the melody of Silent, O Moyle, while the other hand careered in the treble after each group of notes.  The notes of the air sounded deep and full.

The two young men walked up the street without speaking, the mournful music following them.  When they reached Stephen’s  Green they crossed the road.  Here the noise of trams, the lights and the crowd released them from their silence.

So, I raise a pint to you my friends and tell you to think kindly of the Irish today and be thankful for all the blessings that life has brought to you.

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