Growing up, I didn’t see the appeal of St. Patrick’s Day at all. My non-Irish grandmother would boil corned beef and cabbage, and people featured on tv news would drink too much. It was just the tradition fallacy: we had to eat a very bland meal because we had been doing so every year. If this was supposed to be good, I thought, surely we would have it more often.
I embraced St. Urho’s Day, which I’ve written several posts about on this blog. It was a way to be close to my grandfather, to embrace my Finnish heritage, and to celebrate the comedy of a completely made-up holiday.
Two things happened last year, though, that have shifted me.
First, I used some of my recovery time from surgery to continue my grandfather’s genealogy work. I’m actually a little bit Irish. The Irish ancestors I know about so far are Malones and O’Ferrells.
And then I lived in Dublin for three months, which I absolutely loved. Ireland is dear to my memory and my heart, and now that I’ve had my own local pub and other haunts, it’s one of my former homes.
Thus, today I am making corned beef for the first time. It’s in the crock pot. Since I don’t like boiled cabbage, I’m going to have some spring rolls as an appetizer.
(I’m not worried about being inauthentic: in Ireland, the dish isn’t corned beef and cabbage; it’s Irish bacon and cabbage. Side note: Irish bacon is about as appealing to me as boiled cabbage.)
I’ll pair my dinner with one of my Irish whiskies. And I’ll pet my cats, since it’s also St. Gertrude’s Day.
