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Tag: St. Patrick’s Day

It’s a Happy St. Pat’s Day to ya!

March 17, 2014 /

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!

Sure’n I recall a fain eve full o’ St. Paddy.

March 16, 2011 /

The night was party-perfect and I was helping host one of the bigger celebrations in Tulsa. It was Eire-crazy, enough so that we had to post an Irishman at the front door. There was a line outside.

St. Pat's hats

For the US Irish: a BIG day.

A man and his daughter worked their way to the front, and Robbie says in his fain Dublin brogue, “Aye, the fire marshall says we’re full-up.”

“I see you are,” the man answered. “I’m the fire marshall.”

I was summoned immediately, the words “fire marshall” shouted into my ear over the blaring Irish music. Yikes, I thought, in an adopted Irish brogue. I ran to the front.

Well, ‘ran’ is an overstatement. I leaned and elbowed my way through the human-carwash to where Robbie stood. The man in front of the podium introduced himself and said he was happy to see that we were limiting entry.

The way he said it made it clear that – in his scanning of our happy crowd – we were clearly over capacity. I hadn’t counted but I figured it was a cinch we were. As fire marshall, the man had the option of marching everyone outside and then counting the re-entry until our maximum seating capacity was reached.

He didn’t.

He leaned in and said to me, “My daughter has never been to a St. Patrick’s Day celebration before. I thought we’d try your corned beef.”

I was nodding my head and smiling like a fool.

“If you can find us a table,” he continued, “we can eat a quick meal and you can get back to your little party.”

I told him I’d be back to escort him there presently.

Seating had been a premium since before noon, and those standing about were eyeing potential tables like Irish-vultures. Amazingly, I found a group just starting to push back their chairs.

I grabbed a waitress and had her stake a claim while motioning for another to quickly come clear away the dishes. Another run through the robo-wash and I directed the fire marshall and guest to their sparkling spot.

St. Paddy’s Day continued uninterrupted: the Irish music blared, the bagpipers paraded, the green beer poured, and corned beef was consumed.

I covered the cost of the meal. It was the least I could do. He realized we were trying to do the best we could in a crazy situation. After a smile and wink, the fire marshall went out the door.

I hope his daughter enjoyed her first St. Paddy’s. It was quite the party for us.

A decade later, I think about donning the kilt and finding a celebration… but the bad knee won’t hold up standing too long, and the workday Friday begins at the usual hour.

The restaurant business is a tough way to make a living, about as tough as profiting from book sales.

But there are days I miss the raucous, happy bleeting of bagpipers making their way through my establishment.

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