St Patrick’s Day.
I’ve never liked it.
And I’m at least one quarter Irish. (possibly more, we’re not sure of the exact country mix on my dad’s side)
All the 25 cent draft green beer in the world cannot save this holiday for me.
This is the part were all the better blogging books say I should illustrate my statement with a photo of said cooked cabbage.
But I can’t.
I loathe cooked cabbage so much the very sight of it makes me slightly queasy.
The smell of it makes me seriously nauseous and if you put me within 500 yards of cooked sauerkraut I will throw up from the smell.
Always something of a problem when you grow up in a family that is Irish and German.
How can you hate food?
“Easily”, I moan from my Gran’s back porch, where I am laying in the hopes the wind will blow the offensive smell away & my head will finally clear.
“Stop your overacting and get in here and eat your dinner” would come the voice of my mother or father.
They did eventually reach a point where I could refuse the cabbage or sauerkraut, but I still had to sit at the table & eat with them.
“Fine, skip the cabbage, but you will eat the potatoes & meat”
“But they were cooked with the cabbage! They taste like the cabbage!”
The smell is so overwhelming to me even the Wonder bread tasted like the cabbage.
(Other kids wanted to grow up so they could stay up as late as they wanted. I was just hoping I would survive long enough to finally be able to refuse to eat things I hated, but I was fairly sure the cabbage would kill me long before then)
When I was pregnant with DS1 and the office cafeteria served cabbage I would have to leave around 10:30am, when the cooking smells made it impossible for me to stop retching.
“Sorry Boss, can’t make that 1pm projections meeting Tuesday. It’s kielbasa & sauerkraut day in the cafeteria.”
I’ve been known to leave restaurants upon learning that cooked cabbage is on special that night.
I’ve been known not to enter them in the first place because I can smell it from outside.
Cooked cabbage is pretty much required by law to be served on St Patty’s Day.
Photos of recipes of it are everywhere on the internet.
The smell of it wafts from restaurants onto the street.
I don’t need to wear green today.
I already am green just from the ambiance.
We’re going out for sushi, it’s pretty much the only place I feel safe eating today.