We’re having Toads in the Hole for supper tonight. It’s not an Irish dish, but it’s different than our usual fare, and I don’t like corned beef and cabbage. We bought some more or less traditional Irish soda bread over the weekend. That’s good stuff. I could eat that more often.
The last few years on St. Patrick’s Day, I’ve tried to talk myself into having a beer for the first time. This year, I won’t do that, but I did have my first beer back in January when I went to The Fresh Market, revealed my ID, and brought home a single can of Guinness Stout. I followed the directions by pouring it, chilled, into a cold glass. “A tiny plastic widget jets a stream of bubbles into the GUINNESS® beer when the can is opened. The result is black, white and beautiful,” according to the fans.
My experience varied.
I’m not sure what I expected, perhaps something that tasted more like barley and less like the spine-shuttering liquid in my chilly glass. I couldn’t drink more than half. Perhaps I should try Harp or even one of those sissy fruit beer I hear some men like, but I don’t plan to burn a path anywhere to find one. After all, what would St. Patrick do?