On St. Pat's Day, everyone is Irish, especially me. I have red hair and can pass for Irish, but am more Scots. Who cares? It's St. Patrick's Day, and everyone is Irish. I wear green pants, green socks, and a green shirt, with a stick-on name tag that reads, "Pinch me anyway."

In my city, the police work overtime on all drinking holidays, New Year's, Cinco d'Mayo, and St. Pat's, to keep the streets safe, and I do my part. I go home early, after having a pint with some friends at a local Celtic tavern. I invite a few neighbors for corned beef and cabbage, but I never, ever boil the corned beef, or the cabbage-gross. I braise the beef, add some potatoes and carrots, then add the cabbage, season with some garlic and herbs, and let it all slow cook. I make some soda bread to go with it, and serve some locally-made stout beer.

I had a good Irish friend, for many years, who took me for a tour of Ireland. His name was Sean O'Donnell, but he went by Paddy, and he assured me that "No self-respectin' Irishman would ever drink green beer!" So, though they didn't know him, my friends raise a toast, "To Paddy O'Donnell, the best friend and proudest Irishman I ever had the misfortune to know." Paddy would have loved the sentiment, I hope.

Learn more about this author, Will Kester.
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