St Patrick in Venice

At Casa Fitzpatrick-Graham this past Saturday (17 March) we hosted a notable green event (not for some silly tree-huggers):  St. Patrick's Day dinner for various Irish we know here. Attendees had names such as Fitzgerald (Joan), O'Halloran (Francis & Liesl), Leckie (Geoffrey and Elizabeth) plus the hosts (Howard Fitzpatrick and Laurie Fitzpatrick Graham Riley). I would like to think that some other ex-pats here in Venice also had a festa, but I have some doubts.   

All were asked to contribute a reading or similar in honour of Holy Catholic Ireland. House decorated with orange, white and green flowers, of course. Bogus shamrocks on the table (I asked my daughter to send some live shamrocks but she reported thay are available only the day or two before 17 March, which was too late for us).

Evening began with some Irish whiskey, from above and below the border. Geoff, telling us his family were Ulstermen, self-catered with a bottle of Bushmills (northern origin) whereas we southerners stayed loyal to Jameson.  Of course, prosecco was on offer to those who have gone native but it was properly nationalised with green food dye donated by diva Liesl.

Instead of our usual grace, Laurie recited part of St Patrick's Breastplate:

Christ to shield me today
Against poison, against burning,
Against drowning, against wounding,
So that there may come to me abundance of reward.
Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down, Christ when I arise,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.

Amen. Starter was mazzancolle (huge prawns sauteed in oil and Irish (Republic) whisky) served on a green bed. Then Irish beef stew (Lenten dispensation received) cooked in Guinness with a lovely pastry crust, a side of the mandatory colcannon, and finally a beautiful dessert concocted by author/cook Fitzpatrick-Graham which was comprised of a crumbled dark, dark chocolate cake, halved cherries which had been marinated in sugar and grappa, and topped with cream and greek yogurt, all of which was assembled in a plain glass cocktail-shaped bowl so the result looked like a foaming glass of Guinness.   

Our post-prandial readings commenced. Geoffrey read from his favourite handkerchief upon which are printed many Oscar Wilde aphorisms. Very funny, Oscar. Joan read a poem by her poet friend Desmond O'Grady about going home again after decades away. I recited "Innisfree" by Yeats, also a poem about longing and about exile. Francis, aka Frank, provided us with an Irish toast and Liesl sang a lovely Irish air while at the piano. Laurie did another Yeats, "September 1913", and Liz (nee O'Shaughnessy) read James Joyce's poem "Gas from a Burner" which is a funny diatribe against printers in his Ireland. I have inserted it at the end of this blog.

Late night, great fun, lots of "slainte"s. I'll bet my daughters and their mates who all live in Dublin did not have such an evening. So there!

And so to bed.