We are a fickle holiday bunch, aren’t we? No sooner have we turned off Pi(e) Day’s convection oven, we jump smack dab into St. Patrick’s Day. In this case, the shamrock-riddled holiday falls on a Sunday, prompting a full weekend of eating of the green.
Sugar-riddled cookies smothered in various shades of verdant and orange lie in wait on the bakers’ racks. Scones run the gamut from humble to extreme. Irish Soda scones studded with little more than currants share rack space with a scone of epic sweetness proportions. Not only is the Confetti scone ablaze in technicolor sprinkles, it is glazed with chocolate then capped off with the tiniest of Sprinkle King shamrocks. Odds are high the scone with the most sugar will be washed down with an oat milk espresso drink, thus mitigating our concern for the planet and our personal health.
My tastes better align with the Quaker Oats guy, relatively old school and old-fashioned. I’ve not boarded the almond milk nor the oat milk train because I prefer the real deal in my coffee, whole milk, and milk in my oatmeal, not oatmeal in my milk.
Personally, St. Patrick’s Day is one of those holidays prompting a 'duck and cover' reaction. I will take refuge in the way back of the bakery at a small worktable, within earshot of a massive ice cuber. Every now and again, a kindly barista will wander back to fill a cavernous bucket with ice, breaking the silence of my Guinness bundt cake reverie. Key Lime pies are also on the St. Patrick’s Day docket, with a subtle hint of greenness and the sprightliness of a leprechaun, but far less critical to the weekend festivities.
The next holiday on my radar is the hit and run holiday of Purim. I’m gearing up for the triangular goodness only a hamantaschen can offer, just as soon as I clear out the Guinness chilling in the walk-in.
Studies show that 5.5 million pints of Guinness are downed around the world on a daily basis. On St. Patrick's Day that figure is doubled. I’m happy to do my part, if only by peeling back the flip tops on the heady stout. Five cans of Guinness are needed to yield 9 pudgy bundt cakes. According to the parchment paper list tacked to the commercial freezer, 30 cakes are indicated for the weekend. Pi will not factor into my bundt cake mathematics because that holiday is blissfully over. Treading cautiously into the Ides of March, I will keep my head low, avoiding the sweet surprises of this not-so-magically delicious weekend.
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