- 3 cups coarse whole-wheat flour, such as Odlum's or Howard's brand
- 1 cup all-purpose flour
- 1 teaspoon salt
- 2 large eggs
- 1 1/4 cups buttermilk
Christmas with the Harringtons is always an event. The smaller kids run around the room, anxiously awaiting to tear open the beautifully wrapped presents. Every adult occupies a chair, talking to one another while sipping their drink of choice. Those in the middle, the young adults I suppose, are left to mingle with one another. We consist of myself, Laura, Sarah, Stew, and Jon, all are my cousins. Technically, Jon is an adult, everyone considers his twin sister to be, he still has a twinge of childness in him that makes him gravitate towards the middle.
The seating arrangment of us middle people varied from the adults'. Instead of us all sitting in our own chairs, we sprawl over the couch in our grandparents' basement. Sarah, Stew, and I all scrunched together on the main seating. Laura perched herself on the right arm of the blue, seventies style couch, her legs across Sarah and I's laps. John sat sprawled on the floor in front of the opposite arm.
The smell of ham, sausage balls, and cheesy potatoes floated down from the kitchen, making our topic of discussion the delicious meal we were about to eat. I was also looking forward to something else, though. My mom had brought a special present for the family.
Stir together the dry ingredients in a large bowl, and make a well in the center. Then whisk the eggs and buttermilk together in a smaller, seperate bowl.
In early September, my parents had taken a trip to Ireland for their tenth anniversay, which had passed the year before when we had taken a trip to Disney World. They chose Ireland for a couple of different reasons. Notre Dame, our favorite college football team, was playing Navy in Dublin. Another reason was seeing where both sides of the family had originated from. As it turned out, mom and dad's family were from the same county, County Cork.
While in Ireland, my parents had fallen in love with the Irish soda bread that went with almost every meal. Because it was so moist, crunchy, and full of flavor, my mom decided to share the experience with the family and made about sixteen loaves of the bread.
This is why I was excited. The gift would mean experiencing my parents' trip through their eyes for the thousandth time since they came home. I loved to hear about how clear the air was and how foggy it had been when they visited the Cliffs of Moor. The story of two jackrabbits chasing the plane as it landed astounded me everytime it was retold. There were only two McDonald's in the entire southern part of the country. Irish people even liked Americans! Plus, Ireland has no mosquitoes anywhere. Each story made me long to visit, maybe even live, in the green patchwork land. And no matter how many times I heard them, the tales filled me with a sense of security and peace I couldn't get from many other things or places.
Stir the egg mixture into the dry ingredients with a wooden spoon. Take the prepared pan and put in the dough. Using a spatula that has been dipped in water or buttermilk, smooth the top of the dough. Place the pan in the oven.
"Our tour guide introduced our bus driver as Donnie. Almost like Downie. And when he'd say it, our bus driver that is, that's how it would sound. But then we thought that his name might actually be Donny after we'd considered his accent. I think someone might've seen his spelled out somewhere and our thoughts on his name changed again. We think it might actually be Danny. Now there's an Irish bus driver traveling through the country thinking we were making fun of his accent the whole week we were there." My mom threw up her hands in fake frustration.
I smiled warmly. This was one of my favorites. Irish accents interested me. It is my favorite accent, and I tried speaking in one, and still do occasionally, but I can't seem to clip the vowels the right way.
While my mom told the story of Danny, my dad was avidly explaining to my uncles how to pour the perfect pint of Guinness. The trip to the Guinness factory head peaked my dad's interest in the making of beer so much that he bought a home brewing kit when he was back home. He's brewed four different types of beer in the last year and has perfected each recipe.
When the bottom of the bread sounds hollow and a skewer can come out of the center clean, the pan can be removed from the oven. It should be about thirty-five to forty minutes before this can happen.
My family listend to the many tales my parents spun, making witty comments at things they found funny or bizarre. Jon and Stew would whisper their remarks only to the adolsecent couch, making Sarah, Laura, and I laugh heartily. Some families would give us weird looks, but laughing crazily is not uncommon in our dry humored family.
Maybe it would bug some people that most of what the Harringtons, originally O'Harringtons, spoke was pure sarcasm. But we were used to it and loved it. I did more than anyone. It's what made, and makes, my family so enjoyable.
Sitting on that couch while having what I have dubed "The Christmas Discussion of Ireland" restored the sense of what family should be to our Irish-origined family. It brought us closer to our roots and made us a stronger group of people.
Let the bread cool in the pan on a wire rack for ten minutes. Then turn the bread out of the pan and let it cool for an hour, rightside up, for easier slicing.
Thinking of the country, or even just its trademark bread, brings back the feeling of wonder we all felt that day. The wonder that such simple stories could bring us all so much closer toghether.
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