Vaguely Irish

Another strangely beloved holiday has come and gone; the day of green clovers, rainbows, pots of gold, little ginger bearded men protecting their lucky charms and of course beer drinkers.  I am referring to none other than St. Patrick’s Day. 

Traditionally seen as a religious holiday falling in the middle of the Catholic Lent observance, St Patrick’s Day has now seemingly become an excuse to begin drinking at 8:00am on March 17th, breaking up an otherwise dull workweek.  I mean, I’m all for celebration, but being confronted first thing on the morning commute with a bunch of obnoxious tween drinkers is not the pairing I’m looking for with a nice cup of coffee…and I can only imagine the hangover coming along with such a full day of imbibing.  Ahhh, drink on my friends, drink on.

As I am want to do as of late, I started looking into this “holiday” trying to discover its roots and purpose.  I know we have a huge parade in New York City marked with a lot of crazed energy and green beer, but how did this whole thing begin in the first place?  Clearly it has to do with someone named Patrick who was a saint, but the why and how I never considered.

A young man kidnapped from his home in Britain, the later to be famous St. Patrick was brought to Ireland and made a slave/shepherd for six years before a vision from God told him to escape and return home.  While back in England, he had another angelic vision telling him to become a priest.  Once his training was complete, he returned to Ireland to bring Christianity to the nature worshipping pagans that resided there.  This removal of paganism became known as “driving the snakes” out of Ireland. 

The legends surrounding the man Patrick say he may have used the clover as a teaching device representing the holy trinity (most clovers only have 3 leaves) and he died on the 17th of March in the 5th century.  Because this day falls during Lent, the time when many good Catholics give up one or more of their vices, it is used as a reprieve of sorts allowing people to go back to their drinking, maming and marauding for one special day.  The old saying about feast or famine seems to apply in the case.  Like a dehydrated man eating sand at a dessert mirage, beer endlessly flies into gullets for 24 hours as everyone tries to cram in as much vice as possible before returning to their Lent observance.  A suggestion if I may...give up Lent and drink regularly.

Traditions for this holiday also came with the influx of Irish immigrants to America during the potato famine.  People began to wear green, eat corned beef (a thriftier cut of meat marinated for a length of time to tenderize it) and cabbage and the annual parades began first in Boston then moving to New York. 

Now that we’ve had our history lesson, I can focus on the part I like to observe:  the making of Irish Soda Bread.  For the past couple of years now I’ve made this quickbread as a tasty treat to accompany just about anything, but it’s also very delicious on its own or served with salty butter.  I remember my grandmother making it when I was a kid, and to be completely honest, I don’t think I really cared for it very much.  It has raisins as well as a 1/4-cup of caraway seeds and buttermilk. As I have grown older and my tastes have changed, I’ve found a soft place in my heart for this sweet and salty bread.

Combining whole milk and apple-cider vinegar, which curdles within 5 minutes becoming thick and rich, creates the buttermilk in this recipe.  Most recipes calling for buttermilk use only a little bit and you end up having the rest of the carton left in the fridge for ages, eventually spoiling, left sad and alone in the doorway.  I like that you make your own and don’t have any leftover to feel guilty about.

I also tried to observe the day by sporting a shirt with a clover on the front.  It was a present given to me by a friend I hadn’t seen in 7 years until earlier this week.  One of my best friends from college, Lisa, came to visit for work.  She, Brian and myself had a lovely dinner at a place called Artisanal.  It is known for it’s cheeses and has a huge cave on site full of beautifully ripening discs of frormagerie heaven.  Can you say fondue???  I know you can!  Both the meal and the company were spectacular followed by a lovely pairing of citrus desserts (my favorite).

The other big dessert treat I tried out this week were Chocolate-Black Pepper Cookies.  This one does sound a little strange, but if you’ve ever had a piece of chocolate mixed with a little bit of cayenne you have found greatness.  These cookies call for regular black pepper (which is what I used), but I’m sure the cayenne would be amazing.  I’m really into the pairing of salty and sweet, so I figured why not add a little pepper into the mix and see what turns up?  Again, these cookies are super easy to make and can be done with the hurried time schedule of a busy gal on the go.  Rich and fudge-like with a peppery bite, these cookies are definitely worth a try.  My only recommendation is leaving off the additional pepper called for in the recipe.  Pepper goes into the dry ingredients as well as gets ground on top of the cookies right before they go into the oven.  I tried them both ways and found the cookies with the extra pepper to be a bit cloying, but hey, that’s just me.  Do what you will.

As the weather has begun to warm this week I have taken to eating my lunch outside once more.  I’m working near Washington Square Park and can easily pick up some food and go bask in the rays of a warming sun while listening to jazz bands play in the background.  In a word…bliss.

New York City in the springtime is truly one of the most magical places on Earth.  The people begin to smile again, the trees start to bud and the tulips are poking their leaves out everywhere just waiting to have enough energy to cover the landscape with an array of colorful flowers.  I think I appreciate the plant life in the city even more than out wear I live because it’s in such stark contrast to the concrete jungle surrounding it.  Those plants work hard, and are rewarded with the shear number of people who witness and appreciate their blossoming. 

I didn’t go clover hunting on my lunchtime excursions, but I found treasure just the same on an average afternoon in the middle of the city:  It’s a park with sun and laughter and a place to breathe for a moment in an otherwise hectic day.  I suggest packing a loaf of soda bread and some chocolate cookies for a picnic.  It’s just who I am.