We have been asked for advice on traditional Irish St. Patrick's Day dishes. We decided to get something off our chest instead.
Before the arrival of St. Patrick in Ireland people had many freedoms. Women could work and rise to the highest levels in their careers. Women and men both entered and left marriages with their own wealth. Divorce was legal and nobody was stuck in an unhappy or abusive marriage.
There was a form of democracy. It involved swords and beheadings, but none the less there was an element of competitiveness, rather than simple hereditary succession.
It was a rule of society than no person should do any harm, loss, or injury to another as they went about their business. People lived in large wooden houses with their extended families and hundreds of cattle – very similar to the TV show Dallas.
There was a universal obligation to every person in ancient Ireland to provide hospitality to strangers including food, music, and fireside entertainment. Men slept with men and women slept with women and brothers slept with sisters and nobody passed a bit of judgement.
Trade was open and encouraged. It was a time of love, community, and beef. Best of all it was a time when every self-respecting Irish family had a British slave – usually Welsh as it was a convenient place to steal a young lad from. Sometimes they even had an English slave, but the constant moaning made these captives less valuable. Alas, but it was too good to last.
In 400AD St. Patrick arrived. He was one of the Welsh slaves, but a bit too smart for his own good. When he arrived in Ireland, he brought with him Christianity and its associated qualities such as homophobia, sexism, closed monasteries, walled cities, social castes, and Catholic guilt. St. Patrick travelled the length and breadth of Ireland declaring this, that, and the other as “his well”, “his monastery”, “his bunch of shamrocks”. He challenged the democratically elected Kings and Queens of Ireland and told then there was only one true King who didn’t go in for ballot papers. Conveniently, of course, St. Patrick was his representative on earth.
He was by any definition a tyrant and a dictator. Like all bishops, he had a passion for poverty and misery – for others though, not for him. So, it is not surprising that when we celebrate St. Patrick, we do so by standing in the rain watching tractors drive by, eating shite salted meat from old cows, and drinking ourselves into a maudlin state. We are celebrating the oppressor and taking away the voice of the victims of St. Patrick – the incestuous free-loving beef-eating singing-dancing glorious Celts that he set out to destroy. I put it to you dear reader, that after 1600 years we are finally almost back to the levels of freedom we had in pre-Christian times and that now we should raise up and rejoice. We should embrace our paganism. We should eat copious amounts of cow this St. Patrick’s Day, but not one single gram of corned beef or cabbage. Actually, fuck cabbage.
This St. Patricks Day lets have rib-eye steaks, fillet steaks, bbq brisket, short loin, sirloin, any bloody loin. Let’s make quarter pounders from the finest chuck, let’s make a ladder to the stars with beef ribs, let’s have porterhouse steak with our porter, let’s have bottom roast and top roast, let’s have foreshank, flank, and pot roast. Let’s shag our sisters, divorce our husbands, marry a druid, and behead a Queen. Let’s open our doors to strangers and celebrate companionship and fireside fiddling. Let’s reclaim Ireland for the snakes.
To inspire you here are some pictures of beef that we here in GNL have cooked over the last while. No cabbage. No judgement.