With a grandmother whose name was Kennedy, you'd think I'd be a lovin' the green . . .but 'taint so, at least when it comes to food.
Green peas are the very worst on my menu card. Green beans only if smothered with bacon and onions. Broccoli...give it a try, if buried in stir fry.
Lettuce is iffy, brussels sprouts a joke, and canned spinach never after working in a cannery where it was processed. And I've heard that potatoes with green spots on them will poison you.
Of course, I've heard a lot of things and realize old wives' tales are not the most reliable. But I have yet to eat a green potato, or even a green tomato, if it comes to that.
I have been known to nibble on cheese and even a chunk of dry bread with a little green around the edges (hey, trim off that mold and they're as good as new). But that's about as far green as I'm prepared to go.
Which makes St. Patrick's Day a little tough for this descendant of an Irish immigrant family. A wearin' of the green has not been for me. I don't don crazy top hats, sing My Wild Irish Rose or pin silly badges on my chest proclaiming 'I'm Irish, kiss me!' on March 17.
Of course, that may be because the other half of me is derived from sturdy, no-nonsense German stock.
One thing in common these two cultures have is beer. And I am not a great fan of that either, but this St. Patrick's Day, I might celebrate with a mug.
Wonder if green beer would be to my taste?