St. Patrick’s Day Special: Celtic Stew

St. Patrick’s Day is a big deal in my family. I don’t know if you’d noticed,

 

 

but we’re pretty Irish.

 

So every St. Patty’s Day we go downtown to this fantastic pub and eatery, The Irish Lion, for their intoxicating atmosphere and mouth-watering food… and the Guinness. I get all dressed up like an Emerald Princess in the outfit I’ve made over the years and hand out goody bags to everyone who walks by.

 

 

This particular St. Patrick’s Day, my grandma came with us to the Irish Lion. We waited our usual hour in the foyer for a table to open up. My mom and I were entertained by a bagpiper and the pub owner, who was handing out light-up Guinness tokens and fun hats and such. But my grandma sat silent, eyeing the crowd of people with anxiety.

 

Eventually we got seated. Our host handed us menus. I ignored them and ordered my favorite dish, Blarney Puffballs. They’re these little heavenly clouds of deliciousness: potatoes mixed with cheese and herbs, deep fried, then served with sour cream. Supposedly an “appetizer,” but who are they kidding. They’re not shareable when I’m around.

 

 

My grandma complained about the menu until she found corned beef and cabbage. My mom got Celtic stew with soda bread, and they ordered a pint of Guinness apiece.

 

A bit of background: my grandmother and booze have an interesting history. She went for years thinking it was the devil’s orange juice, and therefore not touching it with a ten-foot pole. Then, for her 60^th, my mom and aunt introduced her to alcohol. She suddenly changed her tune.

 

So it was still quite novel to me that she had ordered a beer.

 

 

Apparently it was still novel to her, too. Before the meal had come, she’d sucked her first one dry and ordered a second.

 

When the meal did come, she picked at her food and looked ours over.

 

“What’d you get, Shelly?”

“Celtic stew, mom.”

“Oh! Well…interesting… what’s in it?”

“Um, potatoes, carrots, and lamb.”

“Hmm.”

 

And that was that… or so we thought.

 

We began to have the best conversations. I don’t even remember what all we talked about, but we laughed until my stomach hurt – and normally all my grandma does is complain.

 

She ordered a third Guinness. The bagpiper came upstairs and we listened to his performance. Afterwards, we were quiet as my mom and I finished up our dinners.

 

Suddenly, my grandma leaned over, suppressing a giggle, and whispered in my ear.

 

“Baaaaaaa.”

 

I was extremely confused, but she had laughter dancing in her eyes. I smiled, and she straightened up, grabbed her glass, and spoke quietly into her beer with a wink to me.

 

“Baaaaaaa!”

 

 

Then my mom stopped chewing, and it occurred to me what my grandma was doing.

 

“Mom, this celtic stew is really good. I bet you’d like it. Wanna try?”

 

My grandma shook her head and cooed, “Baaaaa,” trying to look sad but having some serious difficulty.

 

 

I started laughing really hard, which only caused my grandma to lose it completely. She giggled and baa-ed continuously through the rest of dinner.

 

The check came and the waiter cleared our plates. We left, walked back to the car, and I drove us home.

 

When I dropped my grandma off, she waved to my mom and giggled, “Baa-ye!”

 
 
 

My grandma’s such a cute drunk.