Monday, March 17, 2014

Happy St. Patrick's Day! And now a lesson in being Irish.


....It always seemed a little odd to me that there is a holiday that celebrates being Irish. I mean yeah we are actually that awesome that I can understand wanting to be Irish, but other people are awesome, too. Like Norwegians (Vikings ruled), or Australians



or Brazilians

but we don't have holidays where everyone pretends to be Brazilian. 

Whatevs, that is not the reason for this post. 

The real reason is the massive misconception that Americans have regarding soda bread.

Every year on St. Patrick's Day (or maybe St. Paddy's, but it is NEVER EVER EVER "St. Patty's." Patty is a woman's name. Patrick is shortened to Paddy), I see people making this thing that they call "Irish soda bread."



I understand how corned beef became known as an Irish thing*, but not this. Mainly because

1. Irish people are the pickiest eaters I have ever met. They do like strange things in their food, such as weird seeds that do not belong in bread, or raisins that also do not belong in bread. I am considered a freak in my family because I eat "weird" food and enjoy it, and because I put veggies like peas and carrots in my shepherds pie (this is a huge no-no in my family, shepherds pie should contain meat and potatoes only).

and

2. Irish people are poor. Raisins are expensive. Perhaps not here and now, but way back when in Ireland, they were expensive.

If you went to Éire and asked for soda bread, you would receive this:



Plain brown bread. 

But just because it's plain, doesn't mean it isn't delicious. Especially slathered in butter, or dipped in soup. So here is great-granny's recipe.

You will need:
- 4 cups flour
- 2 tsp. salt
- 2 tsp. baking soda (where the name "soda bread" comes from)
- 2 cups buttermilk

To make it:
Mix the flour, salt, and baking soda together. Make a well in the middle of the mixture and pour in the buttermilk. Mix it all together until well blended. Knead the dough on a lightly floured surface, and then press into rounds that are about 1 - 2 inches thick. Use a butter knife to cut crosses into the top. 

Traditionally, the bread was baked in cast iron pots over a stove. You can do that if you like--put a little flour in the pot or pan and bake the bread over medium-low heat, 10 - 15 minutes on each side. I've never had success with that, and neither did Granny. You can bake the bread in the oven at 375 degrees F for about 20 minutes.

It tastes even better the next day. I made those two massive loaves and they're already gone....

Enjoy your St. Paddy's days, kids! Try not to get too drunk. 







*We do not eat corned beef in Ireland. No one in my family even knew what it was until I explained it to them. It was something Irish immigrants  in the US made because the meat was cheap and Irish people are poor.


Thursday, March 13, 2014

I've got more guts than I've had guidance; I search for sense, but I find silence


I think my newer cat, Poison Ivy might be slightly *challenged*.

I tried finding an interactive cat intelligence test like that one Hyperbole and a Half used on her dog, but have not found one that will assist in proving my theory.

I love my cat. The fact that she's a little slow makes me love her even more because it makes her more adorable. Like when she gives me that blank stare.

she cannot grasp that counters and tables are not for sitting or sleeping
Or when she displays her total lack of grace and balance.

It always begins with up to 20 seconds of this, complete with strange noises. Ivy makes lots of strange noises.

and miscalculations
 
and skidding across various surfaces
and lots of flailing


I'll just say that it's a good thing she seems to have a rock-hard skull. 

She likes sleeping in the dryer.



She really likes sleeping in sinks, too. Not sure why.


(She used to fit in the sink, before she got really fat.)

and steal my breakfast
Now, not so much.




This one time, Poison Ivy set herself on fire.

Ivy, despite her size, is still basically a child. She wants to play, so she while I'm doing my makeup, she does everything in her power to get my attention. Usually this means playing fetch.

Not kidding--she'll bring me her fav toy (twistie-ties from the bin bags) and I'll throw it into the other room, and then she'll run and chase it and bring it back so I can throw it again.

And again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again.

If she gets bored doing that or if I take too long throwing the twistie-tie, she'll jump up on the counter to knock all my makeup onto the floor.

Sometimes I leave scented candles on the lid of the toilet while I'm doing my makeup, so my bathroom can smell like a pine forest.

I have tried demonstrating to Ivy that flames = burning, but she has failed to grasp this. Instead of going floor-->toilet seat-->counter, this one Saturday she decided to stay on the toilet seat and sit there.

And she sat on the candle.

I heard a sizzling, crackling sound and looked down

and Ivy's tail was on fire.

And Ivy was just standing there while I shrieked and panicked, like she had no idea why I was flipping out.


Thankfully, she has thick enough fur that the fire was extinguished with no injuries. Burning cat hair is a truly horrific stench.



AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW