Luck O’ the Irish to Ya!

Posted On March 17, 2011

Did you ever wonder where the beer green tradition really came from?  Does anyone even really like the taste of green beer?  According to Ask.com, it’s probably an American tradition as Irish people would probably never dream of adulterating their brews.

I like how we make our traditions our own here in the US of A.  I’d certainly be lost without my spaghetti and meatballs, which are decidedly not truly an Italian delicacy, but rather something Italian immigrants pulled together to appease the American palate.  My son certainly would not be happy, as that has been his breakfast nearly every day for at least the past couple of years.  Who am I to judge that one?  I figure, hey it’s complex carbs and protein, what a better meal to start the day?

I tried to get my kids to both put on some green in spirit this morning.  I’m from a Polish/German background, but my husband’s lineage has some Irish in it.  I managed to convince my younger son, but the 11 year old was not so interested.  He probably didn’t like the fact that he’d have to go ALL the way upstairs to change his clothing selection.  I said, ok, how about I paint a little shamrock on your face for you?  He said, mom, don’t you think I’m getting to old for that?  Not even the younger one wouldn’t even go for it.  I simply replied, son, you’re never to old to have a little fun 🙂

Someone posted a picture on Facebook today of a bar that opened at 7 am in celebration of St. Paddy’s day. Boy does that bring back some old memories of some of those old college days.  I used to date a guy with a last name of Kelly in my college years, so needless to say, I was one of those crazy people that used to go celebrate with the best of them in the wee hours of the morn. We used to hang out in this bar called the Phyrst.  It was a dive bar of all dive bars.  You had to wait in line out the door sometimes, which creaked down into an old basement with the walls lined with patrons that had spent their days imbibing at this favorite watering hole.  It was definitely a dark and well lived in kind of place.  One of my friends commented years later, if there had ever been a fire there we’d be goners and fried up like bugs in bug zapper.  You’ve probably been to a similar establishment at some point of your life–you know the what I mean.  It’s the kind of thing that the first thing you notice is the smell of stale beer and sweaty people.

My fella also used to bartend at this place, so it got me the privilege of skirting through the line sometimes.  People literally waited in line for hours for a chance to get a key table.  The tables were old beat up picnic tables, and you sat at them in anticipation of hearing the owner and his band (when he played on Saturday evenings and on St. Paddy’s Day).  The evening (and the day for St. Paddy’s day) was filled with wall to wall people, many beers a la mason jars and and drinking games and chants at the tables if you were lucky enough to score one..  I always had a great time there, as Ernie, the owner of the bar was a sweet man. He had gotten to know me fairly well as I regularly perched myself right in front of him during his show on most Saturday nights.  They used to play music to sing along to, and it was hard not to get sucked into the festive atmosphere.  I had many a friend drink from my shoes as well–not sure exactly how that came to pass, but let me tell you those shoes were not pretty.  I had saved a pair of shoes called my beer muck shoes for this place because you’d ruin a pair of shoes from all the the gunk on the floor caused by the beer that was spilled while you were banging on the tables playing the games and singing the songs.  Even the obligatory bar pool tables had their own character, and you learned to take advantage of the slope that they offered.

I even managed to drag my mom and dad to this place on my graduation weekend.  They really got into the spirit, and enjoyed singing along all the songs with the best of them. I can still remember singing “green alligators and long necked geese”, all the while doing the gestures to go along with each animal. At least you got to burn some calories while you were swilling back your beer! The bartender fed my mom extra potent kaluha and creams that night, and although they both enjoyed themselves, my poor mother had the worst hangover the next day–it was so bad she had to lay down in the back seat for the entire 4 hour drive back to Philly.  It was fun while I was there, but I’m glad I grew out of that phase.  Beer at 7 am doesn’t really have that same appeal as it used to…

Celebrating on this day also brings to mind  another pleasant memory, as I managed to score my future husband’s phone number while hanging out with some friends celebrating the Luck O’ the Irish at a local pub.  I had met him once before, oddly enough on an evening with a bunch of single folks that were just tired of dating and wanted to just gather as friends.  I wasn’t sure though, as after he left, another friend of mine said when I held up his business card with his number, oh, you got one of those too?  He gives them to everybody.  Talk about deflated.  But, I did call, and I’m glad we happily crossed that friend line!

So, hat’s off to all of you celebrating today.  I can certainly appreciate tipping a beer to some merriment and fond memories.  So, thanks to whomever came up with this sometimes bleary eyed day of drinking, as I’d have to say I’ve got lots of very fine memories to look back on as a result!  Erin go Bragh!