Happy St. Patrick's Day! Have You Had Your Cabbage Today?

Happy St. Patrick's Day to one and all. I hope God has smiled down on you this day, and perhaps sprinkled you with just a little luck o' the Irish. I love St. Patrick's Day, and have been enamored with all things Irish for many years. Many of you (I use the term "many" very loosely.) will remember a post made a few weeks ago about by dreams to open an Irish-Mexican Pub. Just in case you forgot, here is a link to that post. Please hurry back.

Ok, now that you are done with that little refresher, we can continue. As I was saying, I love St. Patrick's Day, and was determined to cook an authentic Irish meal that definitely included cabbage. I am sure the vast majority of readers' minds are going to corned beef and cabbage. There are two problems with that thought. The first is that corned beef is not Irish. The Irish do not cook corned beef in Ireland, and they certainly don't eat it with corned beef. It is my understanding that in Ireland, cabbage is cooked with bacon. However, it was impossible to get Irish style bacon in the US, so the early immigrants substituted with the next best thing they could find...corned beef. Thus the tradition of corned beef and cabbage began in the US.

The second, and decidedly more important, problem with corned beef is that my wife does not like corned beef. Trust me. No luck o' the Irish can save me from the ire of a red-headed wife. Therefore, corned beef was not to be on the menu this year. What to do?

During my travels across the vast internet I came across a very neat website called the Irish American Mom. If you have even the remotest affinity with things Irish, you must visit this site. WAIT!!!! You must visit the site...but later, please. While visiting the site I saw instructions for cooking cabbage Irish style. Perfect! It involves boiling with some good fatty bacon. Even more perfect! The cabbage question had been solved. Now, what to have with cabbage. I figured if this Irish-American mom knew how to cook cabbage Irish style, she could certainly come up with something for me to have with my cabbage. It took just a wee bit of scrolling down the page and, BINGO! There was a link to something called Irish Guinness Beef Stew. You simply can't go wrong with a hearty beef stew. What person can resist a picture like this?

This woman definitely knows how to use a camera to make people hungry!

Admittedly, it seemed like a rather heavy dish to be cooking when the temperature is already in the eighties. However, the calendar says it is still officially winter for a few days, so we are having beef stew, by gosh. Upon first inspection, this recipe did not seem all that different from any standard beef stew. However, the very name of the recipe slaps you in the face with one major difference. Guinness. No drink says "Ireland" quite like Guinness. This recipe called for a bottle of Guinness Stout. A stout is a good dark beer that usually has a particularly creamy head on it that will grow like "The Blob" if you pour it too quickly. In all honesty, I had never had a stout before finding this recipe. There was no way I could use it in a recipe without trying it first. Unfortunately, none of the stores immediately close to me sell Guinness Stout in a single bottle. I was definitely not going to buy a six pack of something I could potentially detest. That's when Kathy comes to my rescue. Kathy is a co-worker who has also been a wonderful friend to my family for close to twenty years. She also happens to have a fondness for beer. Stop thinking those thoughts! I am not implying she is a lush. Far from it. However, she does enjoy a good beer, kinda like a wine taster enjoys a good wine. Anyway, she was kind enough to bring me two different stouts to try. Neither was Irish, but this should be a good enough taste test. Stout proved to be the perfect accompaniment to a Berry-Cherry pie.

Before you begin to wonder if this blog is about food or alcohol, let me get on with the story. The other surprising difference between this stew recipe and the standards is dark chocolate. I know that may sound strange, but it is actually used quite a bit...in Mexican cooking. The idea behind it's use in this recipe is that a small amount of dark chocolate will cut the bitterness of the Guinness stout.

As usual, I don't always follow rules when cooking. I did with the cabbage, but I just couldn't with the stew. I promise I didn't change it too much. Also, you need to remember that in one of my earliest posts I encouraged the idea of taking a recipe and changing it to make it your own. My change was minor, and had more to do with money than anything else. I still was not ready to buy an entire six pack of Guinness. I still had one stout left from the Kathy taste test. This one just happened to be a Young's Double Chocolate Stout. Cool! I could kill two birds with one stone. My stout already has chocolate in it.

However, this just proved to find me facing a new dilemma. This was a "moral" dilemma. I am using an American stout. Can I really call this an Irish stew? I run to the dining room and grab my bottle of Jameson. I pour 1/4 cup of this fine Irish Whiskey into my stew. Problem solved.

This stew has to simmer for twelve hours in a slow cooker. I started it just before going to bed, and woke up to a wonderful aroma on St. Patrick's Day. By noon, the perfect St. Patrick's Day meal was ready. With the first bite, I knew I was going to be blessed with more than just a touch of the luck o' the Irish.

See all of that juice? That's what the roll is for. Yummy!!

What lessons did I learn from this meal? That stew is awesome! I certainly feel that a double chocolate stout is a perfect substitution for a regular Guinness stout and some dark chocolate. Unless you just have to have something "Irish" in the stew, forget the Jameson. It certainly did not ruin anything. However, I really can't say it helped anything either...other than my conscience.

We really enjoyed the cabbage. I just happen to have an entire family of cabbage lovers. However, I didn't taste as much of a bacon flavor as I was expecting. I guess, if I know bacon is in a recipe, I want to be able to taste it. While the cabbage was great, I really could not detect the bacon. No problem. I think I will make "Southern Irish Cabbage." That just means I am going to be using a good slab of hog jowl bacon. If anything can impart a bacon flavor, hog jowl can.

Anyway, I would like to thank Irish American Mom for making this St. Patrick's Day a huge success. One more thing added to the fun of the day. The previous night, I was working on my genealogy on the laptop. Suddenly, it popped up. I almost missed it, but there it was. My great great grandmother, was born in Ireland in 1833. Now, that makes for a happy St. Patrick's Day!

Look, Ma! No Microwave!

Does anyone have a cow for sale? Apparently, it has gotten to the point that it would be more economical than buying from the grocery store. Neva even questioned if we should start buying milk two gallons at a time. Perhaps two cows for sale?

Just this afternoon, Joseph came up to me and asked if he could have a glass of vanilla wafers and milk. He is definitely his mother's child. Sometimes, I wonder if they both wouldn't mind trying to survive on vanilla wafers and milk. Now, I'm not talking about a bowl of wafers and a glass of milk. I'm talking the largest honking glass you can find, stuffed with vanilla wafers and milk. In an effort to save the bovine population from stress caused by over milking, I told Joseph, "No." That went over just as well as "I need you to change the cat litter today."

I started feeling a little guilty. After all, he is a growing boy. Just ask Norfolk shipyard. That's where we're going to be buying his shoes soon. There had to be something I could let him have for snack that would be satisfying, without causing some poor cow to be so sore she wished she had been born a bull.

Popcorn!

You know, those hard little seeds that come right off the stalk, already sealed in paper bags, ready to stick in the microwave. We all have fond memories of standing around the microwave, eagerly anticipating that first POP!  What has this world come to? How could any memory of standing around a microwave be considered fond. Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against microwaves. I find them to be indispensable. However useful they are though, I can't say one has ever evoked memories of the fond variety. My memories actually involve a black popcorn kettle and a hot stove.

It just so happened that Grandma Judi, from Pueblo, CO, sent us a whole bag of home grown popcorn. There's another conundrum. I've been to Pueblo. It's kinda barren. Not exactly where you would expect to find anything labeled as home grown. Nevertheless, that is exactly what I received; home grown popcorn. Guess what!?! This popcorn was not sealed in a paper bag, and something tells me that a microwave would have only crisped those little seeds up. It also just so happened that when Grandma (Linda, not Judi) let us move into the big house, it came completely stocked with the black popcorn kettle I really do have fond memories of. It was a special kettle made in celebration of the bicentennial celebration of the USA. In addition, the house also came stocked with a bag of Trails End brand popcorn (Yep! The same popcorn sold by the Boy Scouts. Joseph will be hitting all you readers up in the fall.). Cool, surely it will have instructions for cooking popcorn on the stove top. Place 1/4 cup oil in the pan. Good so far. Pour the popcorn in the pan so it makes a single layer across the entire bottom. Ok. So, how much popcorn is that? Huh. Anyway, I put half a stick of butter in the pan. I don't want oiled popcorn, I want buttered. I get it all good and melted. I still haven't figured out how much popcorn to use. I get out my cup measure, fill it with popcorn kernels, and start to pour...and pour...and pour. What do you know? It takes a whole cup to cover the bottom of this kettle with popcorn kernels.

The lid goes on, the stove is at medium-high, and I stir...and I stir...and I stir...and I stir...

Now that fond memory is coming back. How long do I have to stir this ^%# thing! Wait! I hear something. It is the sound of...

Sizzling! Oh great! I'm frying my popcorn. Not knowing what I've gotten myself into, I sure am glad I did not inform anyone about what I was doing.

POP!

Oh my gosh! Was that actually a pop I heard?

POP!

There it goes again!

POP! POP!

I'm getting so excited, I could almost...suffice it to say, I'm excited. Before I could blink an eye, the popping started in earnest. Hundreds of little explosions were occurring on top of my stove. Suddenly, I could no longer turn the stirring paddle. The lid began to rise. The popping continued. White fluffy kernels of popcorn appeared in the top of the kettle. Then they flowed out...as they continued popping. Oh, ^%$! Popcorn is going everywhere! It is now under the burner, creating little bonfires. It is all over the stove, and still popping! I pull the kettle off of the stove. Finally! I hear signs of the popping slowing down. I pour what did not go all over the kitchen into two large bowls. One bowl goes to Joseph. The other goes to me...to hold while Grandma enjoys it. After Grandma leaves (She was admiring Sissy's prom dress), Sissy decides she wants some popcorn.

Note to self, one cup of kernels is WAAAAY too much. This time, we go with half a cup. Perfection! Two more bowls of popcorn. One goes to Sissy, and one goes to Joseph. The boy has no idea how regular he is going to be later in the evening.

"Dear," a voice says, ever so sweetly, from the living room. "May I have some popcorn?" Gotta keep the wife happy. The popcorn kettle gives birth to a third batch of popcorn. Talk about being shocked! That poor kettle sat idle on a shelf for who knows how many years, then gets use three times in one day.

So. Another fond memory was created today. And once again, it did NOT involve a microwave.

Fresh popcorn! No microwave required.

Greatings from Cancun, Ireland. Huh?

So...I've had a dream for quite a while. I often sit and daydream (Not at work! Really!) about one day opening an Irish pub. My brother's rolling his eyes right now. He just doesn't understand why I have a fascination with Ireland, and all things Irish (whiskey in particular) when he's traced us back to Scottish ancestry. I can't explain it, but I am positive there is a leprechaun somewhere in my family tree. Anyway, as I was saying, I've dreamed of owning an Irish pub. It would be complete with dark wood, a couple dartboards that look like they've been around since time in memorial, a kitchen cooking up bangers 'n mash, and a bar serving up Guiness, Murphy's, and shots of Jameson. Conjures up nice pictures in the mind, doesn't it?
There's a problem with my dream. In my dream, right next to those shots of Jameson are shots of Patrón (Tequila, that is). No self respecting Irish pub would sell tequila...would they? None of the Irish pubs I've been in have. Okay, admittedly, I've never set foot in a real Irish pub, but this is my blog. So, stuffit!
Anyway, as I was saying, no self respecting Irish pub would be serving tequila shots. What to do? What to do? Suddenly, I saw a movement out of the corner of my eye. When I looked to my side, what did appear? Twas a wee little man with a fluffy red beard...and sombrero.

"Who needs self respect?" he said to me with a big grin. "Serve them both!"

"What!?!" I replied incredulously. (Remember, this my dream.)

"You heard me right. Serve them both! And, if you really want to screw with their minds, serve both kinds of food."
This guy was totally brilliant! Nothing says "Authentic Irish Pub" more than Chile Rellenos and enchiladas.

"Or," he said, as we wrung his hands together, and chuckled an evil little laugh, "you can mix them."

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Yeesssssss!"

"What would I serve? Corned beef enchiladas? Molé and Mash?"

"Faith and Begorrah! I can see this is going to be a long night. Perhaps you should ponder this a wee bit before coming to any decisions"

With that he turned, and started to fade away. "Wait!"

"Aye, me boy. What might you be wantin' now?"

"I don't even know your name," I replied.

"O'Shea...José O'Shea!"

With a tip of the sombrero he disappeared.

Henceforth my pub shall be called José O'Shea's. I think it just might be the world's first authentic Irish/Mexican restaurant. Of course, I still don't know the menu, but I'm sure some of my readers will be full of ideas. I figure my menu can be in three sections: José (Mexican), O'Shea (Irish), and All the Way (I think you can guess.) Go ahead and consider this an interactive blog entry. Tell me what food combinations you think would make a good All the Way menu. Maybe I will try some and post the results. Maybe.

I do know one thing that will be on the menu. José O'Shea's World Famous Green Chili. That's what I entered today in my company's first annual Chili Gas...oops...Cook Off. Unfortunately, I can't call it "championship" because I had to settle for second place. I'm certainly not going to call it José O'Shea's World Famous Second Place Chili! It's all the fault of that Paula girl. She just had to make two chili's and win third and first place. On top of that, she's the one who tallied the votes! There's something fishy in Denmark. Sorry, we're talking Ireland and Mexico, aren't we? Really, Paula's a real sweet person, and would never cheat me out of anything. If I had to lose to anyone, I would rather it be her.

THAT'S A LOAD OF CRAP! YOU'RE GOING DOWN NEXT TIME, PAULA DENBOW! YOU'RE GOING DOWN!!!

Oh dear! I just don't know what came over me. If you haven't ever had green chili, prepare yourself. It is nothing like regular chili. But, that's not a bad thing. It's a delectable treat created from a cornucopia of God's good bounty.

You're looking at Chili Poblanos, yellow sweet peppers, jalapenos, onions, and tomatillos. Tomateewhats? Tomatillos. Those are those little round things in the nasty brown paper skins. You find them in the store with the tomatoes. Guess what? They're not even remotely related to tomatoes. When you peel the brown "wrappers" off, they look and taste like little green tomatoes. They are actually a berry though. In fact, they are related to gooseberries. Go figure.

Anyway, I took those deliciously fresh veggies, and combined them with garlic, chicken stock, three pounds of chicken, and a secret blend of herbs and spices, and Shazam!

Geez! Can you guess why it's called green chili? You ladle it over a bed of rice, and top it with a dollop of sour cream, or Greek yoghurt (Uh Oh! Now it's an Irish/Mexican/Greek pub!), and you have a wonderful concoction of peppery goodness. I'd give you the recipe, but then I'd have to kill you. I can't be giving away top secret recipes from my restaurant. Can I!?!

Anyway, we have one menu item down. We're hardly done yet, troops. Give me some help. I'm waiting with baited breath! (That could be from the eleven varieties of chili I ate this afternoon. Sorry!)