I have a cat named Paddy — he’s a redhead (red tabby), like me, my late father and late grandmother (we’re not the carrot variety like Paddy, but auburn) — her father was pure Irish. Paddy was named for the padparadscha sapphire (gorgeous orange-pink color), but now I think of him as very Irish when I say his name and my husband pronounces it in his fake, but very convincing, Irish accent.
With Scottish, English, Sicilian, and Spanish in the ancestral mix, I am not Irish through and through — except for today. I’ve donned my sparkly handmade green and purple earrings (Swarovski crystals) and will crack open an ice-cold beer later on today (Corona Extra — I know it’s Mexican) to accompany my spicy, scrumptious, mouthwatering cauliflower buffalo wings (chicken wing-sized cauliflower florets lightly blanched and coated with equal parts flour and coconut or almond milk with a tablespoon or so of baking powder — pop in the oven until golden and take out and coat with Frank’s hot sauce or other cayenne or hot sauce infused with butter or oil and return to the oven or saute in olive oil until deep golden and crispy) served with hot mayo dip (half fat mayo with chili powder, smoked paprika, hot sauce or curry or use blue cheese dip) — then enjoy a dinner featuring the traditional Irish dish colcannon (potatoes with cabbage – I cook both together then mash, add vegan butter or margerine and nut milk until creamy), succulent vegetarian chicken breast strips (by President’s Choice), glazed baby carrots with cinnamon and raw honey, and ancient grains (quinoa, oats, millet, kaniwa) with sweet peas and golden raisins. And I’ll ponder the term, “the luck of the Irish” and trust that one day a little Irish magic will rub off on me just because I have a little Irish twinkle in my eye.