This is the time of year when people who were born and raised in Michigan by parents who were also born and raised in Michigan claim to be Irish.
â€œI know technically Iâ€™m from Traverse City,â€ said the woman I met at the story slam at Housing Works, â€œbut I have a Celtic heart. I love everything about it. The books, the music. Also, I speak Irish.â€
I was genuinely impressed by this. â€œWow. How did you learn it? Did you go to classes?â€
â€œNo, I just picked it up.â€
This seemed a little farfetched to me. Of course, Iâ€™d heard of people who moved to France or Spain, or holidayed in Italy, who got the hang of â€œanother drink, pleaseâ€ and â€œyes, I would like to eat thatâ€ pretty quickly. In fact, I picked up a little Polish myself when Jon and I lived in Warsaw â€“ â€œyes, a vodka chaser would be warmingâ€ and â€œno, I do not have the exact change, I am sorry.â€
The common denominator here is language immersion. In Ireland, not so much.
â€œWhat’s the scandal?â€ said the girl. â€œTo be sure, to be sure.â€
It took me a moment to realize what just happened.
â€œSee?â€ she smiled proudly. â€œWhat do you Tink of Dis?â€
I was literally speechless.
The more frequently nonsense such as this occurs, the closer St Patrickâ€™s Day must be.
Â Wild Irish Rose (per glass)
So the grenadine was a huge plus for me, also the name, which sounds terribly Victorian Era Music Hall Dancer – did you see Wild Irish Rose last night at the Palladium?1 measure whiskey (2 â€“ 3 oz) Â¼ measure grenadine Â½ measure of lemon juice Soda Â
- Shake the whiskey, lemon juice and grenadine over ice and pour into a tumbler
- Top up with a splash of soda