St. Patrick’s Day is a sort of ersatz holiday for me although I am plenty glad for all that green, its variations filling the elementary school hallways when the smallest sprites tell goofy jokes, believe that green milk is leprechaun shenanigans, and maybe gold could be found at the end of a rainbow. St. Patrick’s Day is a happy harbinger of spring. Truth is, I have a lot of Irish ancestry to claim, my mother’s family named Patrick, and a researched genealogy that verifies the ties, but it’s food that makes it special.
On St. Patrick’s Day my mom would cook corned beef and cabbage. I don’t recall any other time of the long year filled with meal preparation for six kids and a husband that this fare appeared. I can see—and almost smell—the strands of limp green cabbage, like streamers that have lost their pluck, lifted out of the water, shiny with beef juice and dripping, as mom served them alongside the thready pieces of unusually dark pink meat. Occasionally one of the many peppercorns she used to season the water would hide in the folds of the pale, seaweed-like cabbage, and if I wasn’t careful, I would get a very peppery mouthful.
Yesterday after a full day with leprechaun charmed elementary students, a Friday that seemed endless, I headed home with food prep on my mind. I am often an Oscar-times-ten Grouch after teaching; I love it, but it exhausts me, and the thought of fixing a meal? Forget it. (So lucky that there’s pizza), but yesterday I was undertaking a cabbage dish in homage.
The New York Times Cooking site had featured a recipe for haluski, buttery cabbage and noodles, economical and simple to prepare, compliments of Ali Slagle, and I was determined to give it a try. Not to be deterred, I didn’t change into comfort clothes right after I got home (pjs), nor did I pour myself a glass of wine. I began thinly slicing onions—doubling them because…onions— and treating the cabbage the same.
My husband, who usually cooks when I teach, knew that I was committed to this gastronomic venture and wisely stayed out of the way. His experience with childhood cabbage was a way-too-frequent overcooked mush, so my promise of haluski was more a threat than an invitation. Undaunted, I forged ahead.
In the end, the dish was exactly as Slagle had vouched, “The strands of caramelized cabbage become happily tangled in the noodle’s twirls. This version includes a final step of tossing the cooked cabbage and pasta with some pasta water and a final pat of butter, so each bite is as comforting as can be.”
Comfort on a fork, comfort both my husband and I slurped happily—feeling lucky on March 17, 2023!
Jump off; Find Wings 
Haluski was a staple in our house when I was a kid. Think Slovak heritage. Nothing like the cabbage and noodles swimming in butter. Totally unhealthy, but totally delicious. This is still a big seller at the local church bazaars.
The dish sounds good, along with her happy memories of St. Patrick’s day. In my family, cooked cabbage was for New Years Day… a dime hid in the dish, and the person who got it (no searching, just luck) was said to have good luck in the New Year.
Sounds and looks delicious. I love the paragraph referring to your husband’s expectations! Glad he got to change his opinion of cabbage. I’ve come to the conclusion that St. Patrick’s day is a way bigger event in the US than in England or Australia. I barely notice it’s greenery at all.