My parents throw a big-ass St. Patrick's Day celebration every year about this time (since the big day is rarely on a weekend, we have to settle on a slight anticipatory-type party). Anyway, I'm leaving soon to head off to the land of whiskey, stout, and lager, corned beef and cabbage and boiled potatoes, and best of all, my mom's soda bread.

It sounds like something that one wouldn't get that excited about, and I admit that it took me several years to learn to appreciate it, but my mom's soda bread is heaven on a plate. My Aunt Margaret, who spent the last 10 years of her life as the matriarch of our very fun, very large, and very Irish family would only eat my mom's soda bread - no one else's was good enough for her. This point of pride extends to all of our immediate family.

I drank enough this last weekend to last me the rest of the year (almost), so I won't be partaking, but I'll still have a good time. After all, I get to chauffeur my grandma and my brother and all the drunk people at the party. Yay me. See you next week!