My ex-bless his soul is half Italian and half Irish. The Irish half was his red-headed, freckled-faced father, who oddly enough everyone called Red.
Red didn’t like me much. Thought I was a bad influence on his much too shy young son.
In an effort to forge a new peace agreement I found out that one of his favorite treats for Saint Patrick’s Day was Irish Soda Bread. Off I went to the supermarket, armed with a recipe passed down from his grand old mum, Gran Margaret Mary O’Connor.
I mixed and I kneaded and I added the correct ingredients. What could be a problem for someone who considered herself the best baker in the family?
I made four, round mounds. They felt a bit “hefty” to me, but truth be known this Italian gal had never eaten the stuff.
On the intended day, we went to his parent’s house, where we would all feast on his Italian mom’s version of corn beef and cabbage. My husband provided the Guinness stout and I proudly offered two of the round mounds as my contribution to the celebration.
They could have been used as the proverbial “blunt objects” in a murder. They might have been if my ex had not kicked me squarely in the shin as his father announced, “Look at this mum, the I-tie thinks I needed a couple of new garden stones.”
TO THOSE OF YOU WHO ARE IRISH
AND TO THOSE WHO WISH THEY WERE
fOIS In The City
Happy leprechaun Emblem "Red's" gran was given another name for privacy.