When I set out to post a recipe for St. Patrick’s Day, I had the grandest of intentions. I planned on a feast of Classic Corned Beef braised in a jiffy in the pressure cooker, served with a buttery mash of potatoes and cabbage for a side of Colcannon.
And then Eve and I had a fucking drunken brawl. Maybe it was a little too much St. Patrick’s Day pre-gaming or the fact that the hussy can’t get behind corned beef and cabbage. Or the true bottom line that while I always have the decorum of Emily Post, drunk or no, Eve turns into a bawdy sailor after a bottle of whiskey or two. Here’s how it went down:
I’m going to put this out there right now. I cannot, I repeat, cannot fucking keep up with the Irish. I need protein and complex carbs to soak up the tempest of Jameson’s in my stomach and I need it fast.
Oh. I can keep up with the Irish, just not in the kitchen. In almost every other room in the house, I’m a totally equal player. Plus, I can swear the Irish right back into the arms of their mommies.
Well, if you promise to keep this a secret, I can help you tackle the kitchen piece.
Meh. Let them cook. I’ll be happy to rock the other locations in style.
Or you could be a twat. So readers, you guys get the secret recipe and not that malaise-ridden bitch of a best friend, Eve. But promise, just one of you, to make me some because right now I am too fucking drunk to cook for myself.
So while Eve cops a ‘tude, I’ve decided to say fuck it and bail on all of the laborious cooking for something to soothe my seething temper. Like a slurry of guinness, irish cream and vanilla ice cream. And because she’s my bestie and I love her oh-so-much, I’ll even let that twat Eve have a sip. Happy St. Patrick’s Day!