‘Saint Patrick’s Day,’ is a jovial holiday in my family. As a child, my mother dressed me in green bell bottom slacks, an itchy wool green sweater, topped with a long green coat, shamrock pin and then shipped me off to school. One year, when I entered the classroom, my friend asked me if I was Irish. I answered no. She studied me and then asked why I wore green clothes. I told her it was fun. I had no idea why I wore green or why we celebrated this holiday. All I knew is I couldn’t wait until dinner to eat corned beef and cabbage. I wasn’t a fan of corned beef, but I enjoyed the cabbage and boiled potatoes. I still smell the aroma in my parents kitchen.
I’m not a cook and when I tell people this, they can’t believe I’m Italian and cannot make a plate of baked ziti. Sure, I know how to make tomato sauce and meatballs, (if you call them meatballs,) but other than that, ask me to cook something else and we’ll probably have to call for takeout. So, to be frank, I never cooked corned beef and cabbage. There’s a diner near my home and my husband and I go there every year for the Saint Patrick’s Day meal. Also, before my mother-in-law passed away, she had us over on the holiday and cooked us a delicious Saint Patrick’s Day meal with homemade Irish soda bread. I taste those sweet raisins in my memory.