Sláinte
Every part of my upbringing, and beyond, had “Irish” written all over it. My family was all Irish; my Mom’s Grandparents were originally from the counties of Clare and Limerick, in Ireland tracing back to a 9th-century chieftain called Maelruain. Eventually, their name became Anglicised, first to O’Mulryan, and later the simpler Ryan. The other side of the family was McGrath, and together they immigrated to America somewhere between 1901 and 1903, where they raised their three children, Cyril, Dorothy, and my Grandfather, Donald. With the Irish upbringing also come many of the usual stereotypes, and while most of those details are awfully fun to entertain, (like my Great, Great Grandfather owning and running a pub in Ireland for years), Al’s reference to my family as “shanty, lace-curtain Irish” was less than amusing. I think Pa would have made “short” work of Al?
My Mom, Ma, and Pa at Perino’s Restaurant in Los Angeles
The Irish Files…
My Grandfather, “Pa” was one of those larger-than-life, charming men, who does everything with an aplomb that few people ever really understand, much less experience personally. He earned and enjoyed enormous success early in life and only very few of my memories growing up didn’t include him! Most Friday’s during the summer months would find him taking his Granddaughters on errands, followed by lunch and “some little thing.” First stop, the bank; I never heard the exact details of his transactions, but he would introduce us (whichever of the three-four of us that were present that day) as his “Assistants,” making us feel VERY important, and we would follow behind like little chicks trailing their mama. The lunch that followed was always appropriately high-brow at either one of his two local, golf clubs, the La Jolla Beach & Tennis Club or maybe the La Valencia Hotel. Pa was profoundly stylish, suave, and generous, but also insisted on good manners; “yes please, no thank you, may I please be excused,” and perfect table manners were not just expected, but essential. As kind as he was, he was also exacting, and an errant elbow on the table if a plate was also present, would be an immediate target for the tines of a well-placed fork. Whatever you may be thinking, I was a quick study, and happily took a couple “jabs of a fork” in order to earn those Friday outings. A day with Pa was an education I far preferred to any other. Our outings always concluded with a trip to “Susan’s” in La Jolla, a charming, old-school toy store, where we (whichever Grandchildren were accompanying Pa that day) would get to choose “some little thing!” Large ticket items (bikes, dollhouses, etc…) were not things we contemplated, but otherwise there weren’t really limitations imposed, and my weekly purchase was always the same. A “Madame Alexander” storybook doll was what I chose each and every visit. By the time I had my own daughter, my doll collection was out of control!
One from the shelves of memory, together with a pic. of my very own, living doll.
Pa ADORED my Mom, and for all of the years I remember before Pa’s passing in 1981, and afterwards too, Ma and Pa lived in very close proximity to Mom, regardless of which husband she was married to. It was the norm that where Mom went, so did Ma and Pa. We all dined out for dinner once or twice a week, and attended Mass and Sunday Brunch every other week. Pa liked to live large and was famous for indulging my Mom, (and us, oftentimes) with shopping trips to Beverly Hills for the day, Palm Springs for long weekends, New York for a week, Mauna Kea, in Hawaii, or European adventures for longer trips. Ma was more of a quiet soul, and while she would always do the “out-to-dinner part” of their/our life, and most usually the out of town trips too, Ma DID NOT DO LUNCH, or actually much before three-ish, at all. Pa proudly carried the “party torch” and did it up BIG! One year shortly after my Mom and Dad were divorced, Pa decided Mom needed an outing, and flew us all (Pa, Mom, my sisters and I) from San Diego to Los Angeles for a day of shopping. We started at Georgio’s in Beverly Hills, did lunch at The Brown Derby, then on to Saks Fifth Avenue and a few more smaller boutiques, before ending the day’s excursion with dinner at Perino’s, and our flight home. The man knew his stuff. Pa treated people right, and somehow made everyone…from us, to wait-staff, to the bank tellers, a handyman, business partners or Frank Sinatra, (who he also knew, and who we watched from the front-row at three to four concerts)… made each and every person feel like a million bucks. He’s the person who taught me that every business deal worth making, leaves enough room for each party involved to feel like they won; and was also the one who taught me the expression, “they may be a son of a bitch, but make em’ yours!” Regardless of that one phrase, he didn’t swear; he was never a cheat, nor was he cheap, and he always put his family first…PERIOD!
*Note: stay tuned for another blog post in the not too distant future about more on the Ryan clan, (some of the nitty-gritty, not so fun to remember part, that’s got next to nothing to do with Ma or Pa) but it will suffice to say for now, Pa was as Irish as it gets.
Pa loved both his Bourbon and his Beef!
Today I raise my glass and toast to him; while Pa’s favorite, Old Fitzgerald Bourbon, is almost impossible to find these days, my Whiskey collection is growing by the day, and there’s obviously an Irish bottle among the group…so, together with a good piece of rare Prime Beef, and my Whiskey Bread pudding, which I make in his honor, I wish everyone a Happy St Paddy’s Day!
Ryan tradition right here, complete with his Silver “jigger:” he rarely measured, but Ma did.
PS… In addition to the other Irish embellishments of my upbringing, we were raised, as was my Mom, with Kerry Blue Terriers being our main breed of childhood dog. They were wonderful as could be with us…the kids and their family, but “scrappy” is one adjective that doesn’t begin to cover what they were like if some strange dog came a callin’ and heaven help the person who might leave the front gate, or backyard fence door open….Paddy, Mac, Kerry, Lacey or Shamus (you get the picture; we loved the breed) were off to the races! Tenacity is a trait that surely must accompany Irish blood…be it human or canine.
Whiskey Bread Pudding
Bread Pudding:
2-3 cups, sliced cubes of Sourdough Bread
2 Eggs, 2.5 Cups of Whole Milk, 2 Tbsps Melted Butter
2 Tbsps Mexican Vanilla, 2 Cups Sugar, and (roughly) 1+ Cup Chopped Pecans.
Arrange the bread in a “deepish” baking dish. Beat eggs in a good sized bowl; add and beat in the milk, melted butter, and Mexican Vanilla extract. Beat in the sugar slowly until sugar is dissolved and mixture looks smooth. Pour mixture over bread, and press with spatula to ensure bread is soaked in the liquid. Gently press the Pecans on top. Bake for 45-60 mins. (depending on oven) and remove to cool on a wire rack.
Whiskey Sauce:
1/2 Cup Sugar; 1 Stick Butter; 1/2 Cup Heavy Cream; and 1/3 cup Whiskey (I prefer Maker’s Mark, but you choose your fave) Heat Sugar, Butter, Cream and Whiskey in a saucepan over low heat, stirring constantly, to a slow boil. Serve with the Bread Pudding, and top with a little Whiskey Whip Cream. (Whip 1 Cup Heavy Cream until soft mounds form. Add and whip in 2+ Tbsp. Whiskey, and 1/2 Tbsp Sugar)
