Irish Pride

A week from today is St. Patrick's Day and I am really dreading this holiday, probably more so than the big ones.  Mom was fiercely proud of her Irish heritage and she would go all out on St. Patrick's Day.  Corned beef and cabbage, Irish soda bread, the Clancy Brothers playing in the house.  She would don her green and wear it proudly.  It was a day Mimi cherished and she would run around talking in a brogue all day wishing the luck of the Irish to everyone she met.  So next week is going to be a tough one.

Mom made no bones about the fact that she would have liked an Irish son-in-law, and she made sure Pete knew in no uncertain terms that an Italian surname was not going to cut it in her book.  I wouldn't say they got off to a rocky start, but Mom's inability to pronounce Pete's last name and the fact that he doesn't have a lick of Irish in his lineage didn't really help.  Mom was actually baking Irish soda bread the first time she met Pete and I am convinced this was some sort of subliminal attempt to get him to change his surname to something Gaelic.  Subtlety was not one of Mom's strong suits.  But, hard as she tried, there was no changing the fact that she ended up with one Italian, one English and two Polish sons-in-law -- there has got to be a good joke in there somewhere . . .

As a family, we focus a bit more on our Irish heritage than we do on the Italian.  It's not that we aren't proud to be Italian, we are and the kids know it.  It's just that the Irish have way cooler music, tend to be a bit more of a partying crowd, and have their own holiday. The kids all adore their Notre Dame apparel and Pete has one of the largest collections of Irish music this side of Dublin.  We even toyed with having Regan take up Irish dancing but she got so mired down in sports that she couldn't find the time, and I'm convinced that Thomas is part leprechaun.  I think even Pete would admit, with no disrespect to his Italian ancestors, that having some Irish in your background is pretty cool.

So, as we head into the Irish holiday, I do so with a very heavy heart.  I miss my mom immensely and I miss her zest for life.  I miss the cards she would send the kids for St. Patrick's Day and the "top of the mornin'" greeting she would have for me on the phone.  I miss her smile and her wit, and I really miss the banter she and Pete would throw around whenever they were together - those two made quite a pair. I can, however, say that I will not miss her Irish soda bread.  Bordering on blasphemy, I admit I cannot stand the stuff. That said, I don't want to rob my kids of this great tradition so I'm going to start tonight and attempt to make it, hoping I can turn out at least one decent batch by March 17th and make Mom proud.

Slainte!

Irish Soda Bread

4 C flour
1 C sugar
1 tsp salt
1 tsp baking soda
2 sticks butter, softened
1 C raisins
1 1/3 C buttermilk
1 egg yolk (to brush top)

Preheat oven to 350.  Mix all dry ingredients.  Cut butter into dry mixture.  Add raisins. Mix in buttermilk a little at a time.

Knead dough on a floured surface.  Shape into 2-3 round loaves.  Cut cross in top of loaf and brush with egg yolk.  Bake for 1 hour.