I’m reposting last year’s take on St. Patrick’s Day because it remains at the heart of how I feel about this day. It’s a complicated family history of soda bread, one of the celebration’s food staples that fill stores and bakeries with disgraceful representations around this time of year. I baked three loaves yesterday for family and friends. My sister and brother made their own because that’s what we do–pull out Mom’s recipe and the cast iron skillet.
So here you go. Enjoy. The one thing I’ll ask of you is to eat more soda bread than get stupefying drunk because it perpetuates a very worn racist caricature started by the English and continuing on into America.