Sherry Chapmanby Sherry Chapman
First published in February/March, 2007, Volume 4, Issue 1, The Hatchet: Journal of Lizzie Borden Studies.
I trust everyone has cut their hair and trimmed their nails, so that headaches won’t come on you in the comin’ year. Here we are now with St. Patrick’s Day comin’ up, and Easter. Thyme sure goes fast when you’re havin’ fun. But I’m not, so I wonder why I still feel the thyme whizzin’ by. Things in the household are not goin’ so well. That’s all I’ll say. Mrs. Borden gets treated like the dried up farmland of Ireland that can’t grow potatoes no more. That’s all I’ll say. I’ve turned in my quit notice two thymes already, but I’ve felt so poorly for Mrs. Borden I’ve agreed to stay. That’s all I’ll say.
The whole house, top to bottom, should be cleaned good in preparation for Easter. My, ‘twill take a lot of time and energy from me. I got the kitchen and downstairs foyer and dinin’ room. If I start soon, I should be able to just finish in time for Easter Sunday. New clothing is to be bought for Easter, and I’m lookin’ forward to that. Miss Emma often tells me of sales going on at Sargent’s. If they’re havin’ a sale on cheap dress goods, I’m going to have one.
If yer Irish or not, ‘twon’t matter with what we’re makin’ today. It’s always a favorite in Ireland on Easter. I don’t make it usually, since I get Sundays off here and, since Easter is always a Sunday, I am usually off celebratin’ with my kin that lives nearby. My cousin, Katie Sullivan, gave me her recipe. It always turns out just right for her and, just between us, she ain’t the shiniest lump in the coal bin. Well, let’s go into the kitchen and make us some of
Cousin Katie’s Irish Soda Bread
Accordin’ to Katie, yer gonna need:
3 and a half cups of plain flour
1 or 2 big spoons of caraway seeds, if it’s to yer likin’
1 small spoon baking soda
1 small spoon salt
1 and a half cups of buttermilk
She says to get your stove hot – to 425 degrees (they got a more modern stove than the Bordens). Take a bakin’ sheet and grease and flour it. In one bowl, put your salt, flour, baking soda and those caraway seeds if yer gonna use ‘em and mix it. Put in the buttermilk and form a ball out of the dough. It’s okay if you knead to use more buttermilk than it says. Sprinkle a bit of flour on your workin’ table and need the dough for about a minute, until it holds together. Then ya shape it into a round shape, about six inches around. Put it on the bakin’ sheet. Now we’re gonna put the cross on it. The cross isn’t a religious symbol like most people think. Back in my grandmother’s time you would put the cross on the dough so you could divide it up into four big servings when it was done. You take a sharp knife and make a 1 inch X across the top that reaches almost to the edges.
Bake it until ‘tis golden brown and makes a hollow sound when ya tap it on the bottom. Katie says it takes about 40 minutes. But she’s got a good oven. In the Borden oven, it might take as long as a hour. I’m not complainin’. There’s plenty to do during that time the bread is bakin’. I’ve got old magazines the girls gave me to catch up on my readin’. And I have been meanin’ to write my dear mother back in County Cork.
When it’s done, take it off the pan to cool off. If you don’t serve it right away, wrap it in a kitchen towel. You gotta try to keep it from dryin’ out too much. Any left-over bread should be wrapped real good and kept as moist as ya can.
At our family gatherins here on Easter, beef is the main meat. There’s a lot of games and fun for the wee ones. And a cake dance for the grown people. The best dancer wins the cake. Then in the evenin’ there’s a big bonfire with story tellin’.
Mary Doolan told me she overheard her Dr. Kelley with a patient the other day and I can’t resist sharin’ it with you. Dr. Kelley says to this guy, “I’m very sorry but I can’t diagnose your trouble, O’Casey. I think it must be drink.” An’ Mr. O’Casey says, “Don’t worry about it, Dr. Kelley. I’ll come back when yer sober.” Ain’t that a pip! She told me not to tell nobody, but writin’ ain’t really talkin’.
Well, may you have food and raiment, a soft pillow for your head. May you be forty years in heaven before the devil knows you’re dead.
