Hard to imagine a St. Patrick’s Day without some kind of stress (from a restaurateur’s point of view), but this one goes in the books that way. Granted, the celebration here was an abbreviated version, compared to some year’s events, and those planned elsewhere. The fire-marshal-at-the-door-year comes to mind, for example…He was most gracious though, that year, and said we could “carry on our party.”

Once again, Kristen the super-daughter stepped in to make it all work smoothly. I ventured out from the kitchen when I could, just so I dash among the tables spreading blarney. (One of my many vices.) She is always great at taking care of the guests and making sure everyone has what they need for a good experience.

I have the apron on yet, ready to tackle the stack of dishes and glassware that resulted from the St. Paddy’s Day lunch. The feel-good afterglow even knocks down the burden of hand-washing all those plates and bowls. I do miss the big sanitizing machine we had at Paddy’s Irish.

(We now interrupt the blog for this news-brief: I just fielded a telephone call with a question about how busy it would be tonight. Not all all. One of these days we’ll graduate to the Big Boy party circuit. Maybe. Having been in that league during my years at Paddy’s Irish in Tulsa, I’m not sure I’m ready to jump back into the party-pit.)

Today was genuinely enjoyable.

A fellow just popped in wondering about the evening’s Irish menu. I hate to disappoint potential partiers, but I had hardly recovered from the Saturday evening cooking and serving before I was back in the kitchen again, prepping for Monday’s lunch. Those carrots and potatoes still won’t peel and chop themselves, despite my repeated training sessions. Of course, after I admitted we’d already had our little party, he said he was planning to visit Main Street Tavern anyway…

So, there weren’t any bagpipers playing. Some are relieved when that happens, but I happen to enjoy them. We had no Celtic guitars and penny-whistlers. No riverdancers. There was enough of the Clancy Brothers to prompt a “Can you turn it down?” request. And that was okay, too.

Time marches on. Eventually, I’ll need a cane to keep up with it, I suppose.

For now though, I’m sure I’m not the only one a wee bit relieved that the festivities of the pot o’ gold type are over for the year. (Reference: Saturday evening’s ShamRock the Rose festival in the Rose District, and everyone who worked so hard to make that event come off as planned, or – at least – near to the plan.) At the restaurant in Tulsa, we had a tradition in place. There were alterations to the formula, to be sure, but it was a bit of carry on and keep it up.

Here, it was a first-time thing. (Last year, St. Paddy’s fell on a Sunday, creating its own set of difficulties.) But, from here on out, there is an experience to build on. And, Hey! Maybe next year we’ll even publicize our little party. Who knows?

Happy St. Patrick’s Day, all! And to those of you who allowed us to serve you lunch and a green beer or shamrock punch:

Go raibh míle maith agat!

(If you want to say it out loud, that’s – Guh Rev Meeluh Mah Og-ut.)

Roughly translated from Irish Gaelic: Thanks a million!

Come visit!

McHuston

Booksellers & Irish Bistro
Rose District
122 South Main St. Broken Arrow OK!