And I made my usual big deal over it.
I dressed eccentrically, in saffron and green.
I wore the paper shamrocks from last year in my hair.
I ate an incredible corned beef and cabbage for dinner, over at my parent's house, in the company of all my immediate family, a couple nieces, and our good friends from up the road.
I partook of my sister, Amanda's, incredible dark chocolate Guinness cake. (The Guinness cooks out, leaving just a rich, intense chocolate flavour behind.) It was wonderful.
This year, however, I did something a little different from usual. The the holiday fell on a Sunday, which is one of my days off, so I had a whole day to celebrate! Therefore, I started the day off right, by making an Irish Breakfast for myself and the sisters who happened to have spent the night. I set the table very prettily with my Book of Kells scarf, a potted shamrock, and a wee little statue of St. Patrick himself.
St. Patrick stands on a box containing a little bit of Connemara marble - a gift from a co-worker many long years ago. He used, once upon a time, to be holding a bishop's staff, but has been lost for a long while now.
The breakfast itself consisted of a bit of sausage, some Canadian bacon (since American bacon is nothing at all like the leaner, ham-like Irish stuff.) eggs, soda bread, fried tomatoes and Irish coffee... I have trouble with fried eggs, I know not why. They always taste beautiful, but seldom look so:
I like fried tomatoes with my breakfast. My sisters do not, so I was the only one who ate them. Usually, an Irish breakfast would have boasted white and black puddings as well. We had them not, partly because, so far as I know, there is no where in town to get them, and even if there were, the puddings are an acquired taste, and not one I think, that would have gone over well with the sisters. Sausage and bacon were quite sufficient of themselves, however, and were partaken of with great relish.
The soda bread was a bit heavier than I would have liked - next time I make it, I shall put in a touch more baking soda, and a little less flour. Still, eaten hot with butter and honey, as we had it, it was mighty tasty:
As you can see, I am quite good at making Irish Coffees, a skill I am rather proud of. The cream floats on top, you see, the way it is supposed to, so that there is a clear line between it and the black coffee. The first couple sips of it particularly - hot, sweet coffee, coming up through the cold, frothy cream - is so good:
It was an extremely satisfying meal indeed.
