The 17th of March. It’s always cold. It can snow and town is full of the worst shades of green. Fast forward to today. It’s lovely and the last trappings of the summer sun can still be felt. Today would be the perfect day for a national holiday.
St Patrick’s Day celebrates a man who destructed a whole strata of Irish fauna - those poor snakes - while today we can give a big bula bus to a lovely species of flora. The flower that tells us the time is nearly there to assert our Irishness. It’s time to eat a spud.
Yes, today is National Potato Day. The perfect day for a real national holiday.
How old was I when I was inculcated into the ancient fellowship of the spud eater? Who knows. My mother mentions squashing a raw egg through some mash when I was really young.
Mash. now there’s a thing. Never, ever think you can make it out of a packet. You boil them. You add scallion, butter and milk. Et voilà, you have mash heaven.
Chips. They must be thick. Never, ever fry them to a dark brown.
Roasties. Just let them luxuriate in what ever meat juices you are roasting. Any parboiling has always struck me as being namby pamby.
I am so Irish that I used to have potatoes with curry as a child. I now allow myself rice.
Embrace the day. Embrace your Irishness. Ate a spud. TODAY.
