St. Patrick's Day Revisited

Kiss Me ... I'm Irish!  One eighth, that is, but it's my favorite eighth, from my father whom I miss and miss some more.  To honor my Irish heritage, and tangentially my dad, around my fiftieth birthday I had a rubbing from an Irish tombstone, a delicate stream of shamrocks, tattooed onto my left ankle.  Of course, it's a little ironic that my dad absolutely hated tattoos, on anyone, and so I don't think he felt particularly honored when he saw mine, which happened in the aisle of the grocery store where we ran into each other one afternoon, shortly before he died.  Do you think?  Nah.  Anyway, he saw it, and in my dad's characteristic style, said simply, "get me a file".  Then he said it again.  Gotta love him. 

Back to the present:  Ahhhh ... third Nia class of the day over, dear daughter came home today for spring break, and all is right with the world.  With my Irish luck a liquor store happened to be open today (!) and I was able to score some Irish Creme -- not Bailey's, because it only came in humongous sizes, but some brand X which is probably better than Bailey's anyway.  I'm going to mix what is called on the box a Mudslide, equal parts Irish Creme, Vodka, and coffee liqueur over crushed ice.  Neither it nor anything like it can be found in The Bartender's Guide, and my faith is a bit shaken -- and stirred.  There is only one St. Patrick's Day cocktail in it, and I refuse to drink it.  Because ...

Because when I began this project I knew that there were some places I just couldn't go.  Unlike Julie, who chose to do every recipe in Julia's book, including the aspics, I drew some parameters, including drinking anything green -- no creme de menthe, no chartreuse, no way.  The Guide's St. Paddy's cocktail has both.   Blech. 

The Mudslide is sounding better every minute.  In fact, see ya ...