When I lived in Austin, I worked with a woman who loved to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day. She was a quiet lady and I was a little surprised at her enthusiasm. But she explained that her husband, a doctor with Irish roots, was continuing his family’s long tradition of having a corned beef supper.
As she described her gathering, it sounded so genteel and elegant—the opposite of what I had come to expect from St. Patrick’s Day. But as lovely as that evening was, she said her favorite part was the morning after. “We take the leftovers and make corned beef hash,” she said. “It makes for a fine breakfast.”
Now, corned beef hash wasn’t in my regular rotation. Matter of fact, I didn’t even try it for the first time until I was an adult. Growing up I’d been familiar with the dish, but my impression was that it was a strange canned food and something to be avoided.
Soon after my conversation with my co-worker, I found myself visiting an old Texan friend in Northern California. We went out for breakfast one morning and she ordered the corned beef hash. As I was mulling over the menu she suggested I follow her lead. When I expressed my doubts she said, “It’s brisket and potatoes. You’ll like it.”
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