One of the very first “adult” dinner parties I had at the apartment I shared with my boy toy/now husband was a St. Patrick’s Day party with my friends from college.
We’d finally all graduated, some of us later than others *wink*, and most had moved from our small agricultural college town to the thriving metropolis of Salt Lake City. Actually, it wasn’t actually thriving or a metropolis but it did have a heartbeat and was poised for growth.
That night we had green beer (duh! we were still recent college graduates), 7-layer dip (so Irish of us!) and corned beef and cabbage.
While the rest of the party played a mean game of hearts, my friend Julie aka Wells aka Pepper (because we each had about 19 different nicknames) and I tended the corned beef and discussed the merits of adding beer to the stewed meat or not, comparing notes on cooking on the stove top or baking in the oven, and in general were thrilled that in the end our guests had consumed enough green beer to deem the dinner a raging success.