When ‘the luck of the Irish’ kicks your butt

It’s almost St. Patrick’s Day, a sacred day to my people that we celebrate with vigor. It usually involves fatty foods, sweet breads and a little bit of imbibing. OK, I’m a liar. There is a lot of imbibing. Imbibing may even be part of the actual definition of St. Patrick’s Day.

I hate to perpetuate stereotypes of any kind. But that’s difficult when raised in a family who really bought into them, lock, stock and barrel. When you grow up with a huge family full of cops and firefighters, attending Mass every week, eating meat and potatoes religiously while listening to your grandfather hum When Irish Eyes are Smiling as he drinks a brew picked up at the families beer distributor, you may be Irish.

As a kid, I didn’t call it Irish soda bread, it was just soda bread. We didn’t feel the need to be redundant. I knew that Tom Collins was always invited to Sunday brunch but that Jameson guy was a little wild and was only brought along at night. I was adept at peel-top beer can opening before I could write.

My father was born in the Bronx and is a graduate of the only university in the nation that is run by the Irish Christian Brothers (Iona College). I spent my first year of college at the same institution. To say we’re proud of our heritage would be a bit of an understatement.

It’s sort of a joke in our house, actually. My husband tries to convince us that he’s all Italian. Yet, his paternal grandmother is half Irish and his mother was a full-blooded Irish woman. He’s more Irish then I am, but was raised to believe the Italian side. Yet all it takes is one look at my strawberry blonde, blue-eyed, pasty skinned children who react to sunlight by burning up like vampires who forgot to hide at daybreak, to know that he’s kidding himself. I mean, seriously, their skin is practically translucent. He’s even taken to calling it “Irish potato skin,” and tries to blame me for passing it on. Yeah, whatever.

So I grew up living the stereotype, with a tremendous amount of pride. I had no idea that other children (besides my kindred Irish friends) weren’t worried about banshees or being labeled shanty, nor did they even have the slightest idea what I meant when I brought it up. I was constantly looking for the little people and didn’t realize that the term meant anything other then leprechaun-like creatures. My parents could get rid of me for hours on a summer day by telling me they thought they saw a four-leafed clover over there (with a general wave in the area of outside) and suggesting I find it so I could have the good luck.

And then there was the guilt. Good Lord (blimey, I used His name in vain!), the guilt was something out of this world. It wasn’t until later in life when I met my dear Jewish friend that I knew any comparison for the torturous guilt that was tossed at us like yesterday’s dirty socks. By age 10, I was pretty sure that the devil was just waiting for me. I was not going to pass go or collect my $200, it was straight to hell for all the odious crimes that I had committed in that first decade. What with the original sin (how could I be sure it really got washed off with that baptismal water?) and then the age of reason, a kid could be a full-fledged criminal by age 9.

Best to not think about what a disappointment one could be and instead, listen to some bagpipes and raise your glass to, well, to pretty much anything. I’ve never heard of any culture with as many toasts, as the Irish. I’ve seen them called proverbs, but let’s call it what it is. If it rhymes, doesn’t require total sobriety to say all the words and you can just picture a guy speaking it while standing on the bar, it’s a toast. There are entire websites devoted only to Irish toasts. My personal favorite:

May those who love us love us.
And those that don’t love us,
May God turn their hearts.
And if He doesn’t turn their hearts,
May he turn their ankles,
So we’ll know them by their limping.

Did I mention that we’re vengeful people? No worries, most of the time we’ve had too much to drink to be any real threat.

Now that I’ve honored every single stereotype possible, I think I’ll keep it going, for the complete package. There are lots of green ways to deal with over celebrating being green. Over the years, I’ve learned quite a few tricks for curing hangovers. Let me just be clear, I don’t recommend overdoing it. Excessive drinking is not healthy, at all. It creates a toxic environment in your body and kills brain cells. One drink can be good for you, but more then that is not a great idea.

However, the reality is that once or twice in your adult life, you may have one too many. Should that happen to you, there are some options to decrease the I’d-just-like-to-die-right-now-ok-thanks feeling. Though many are fans of the “hair of the dog that bit you” school of thought, I’ve never been able to even consider having a little sip the next day. The best overall option is nux vomica, a homeopathic remedy specifically indicated for over-indulgence, of any kind. Take a dose before bed. Then, when taken every 15 minutes after you first wake up, for the first hour, and then every hour after until the sight of water doesn’t make you want to cry, it’s gentle and effective.

Hydration is super important. Try to have a lot of water during, and after, imbibing. The next day, though it may seem cruel and unusual, try some tomato juice with cayenne pepper, sugar, and lime. This can replenish necessary electrolytes and help your blood sugar.

According to howstuffworks.com, “Soak in wasabi to stimulate detoxification. As much as a third of toxic body waste is cleared through the skin…Turns out that at the root of this go-to miracle tonic’s power, wasabi (which is actually a member of the cabbage family) has the ability to increase blood circulation through the organs and promote oxygenation of the cellular tissue, helping to clear cells of metabolic waste. When infused into the bath, wasabi’s stimulating nature has been known to help ease a hangover.”

Though I haven’t tried this myself, it makes sense. And let’s be honest, you probably need a bath anyway.

If you’ve gotten to a point where you can eat, bananas, soup and honey are all good options, though not together. Bananas will replace the potassium your body needs. Clear soups are gentle, hydrating and filled with vitamins and nutrients. Honey is a wonder-food.

According to the Mother Nature Network, “This potassium- and antioxidant-rich pantry staple boasts numerous hangover-helping qualities. Ingest it by itself or, better yet, spread it over a piece of dry toast or a cracker, since you do need to eat something during a hangover (even if your appetite tells you otherwise). In fact, the Royal Society of Chemistry believes eating a breakfast of honey-on-toast is one of the best ways to beat a hangover.”

So if you go to Jamesport’s first St. Patrick’s Day parade next weekend and find yourself wondering the next morning why the luck of the Irish seems to have not only evaded you but also kicked you in the teeth, try any of the above.

Have a time-honored hangover cure to share? Send it my way at laurie@riverheadlocal.com.

Laurie Nigro, a mother of two, is passionate about natural living. Laurie resides in downtown Riverhead and is co-founder of the River and Roots Community Garden on West Main Street. Contact her by email to laurie@riverheadlocal.com.