Happy St. Patrick's Day.
When it comes to story telling the Irish have golden tongues. With their lilting voices, the practiced phrasing of Irish story tellers can make the simplest of tales sing. Rather than bake for you, I thought I'd share one of my favorite Irish stories with you today. I lack the lilting brogue, so you'll have to use your imagination as you read the story of Murphy's Final Hours.
Picture a humble farmhouse.
In the bedroom lies Murphy the cobbler on his death bed.
Father O’Malley has given the good man his last rites
and the room is quiet as he slips in and out of consciousness.
Then, a wonderful aroma of cinnamon and sugar wafts up beneath Murphy’s nostrils and enlivens him.
The smell of Mrs. Murphy’s scones baking is so tempting, it makes the dying man sit upright in bed.
With all of his remaining strength, Murphy pulls himself across the house into the kitchen and there,
piled high on the table are mounds and mounds of perfect golden brown scones, hot from the oven.
Murphy inhales deeply, as a beatific smile spreads across his face.
With his last ounce of strength he approaches the table and with a shaking hand reaches for a scone…
‘WHAP!’, a wooden spoon comes down hard upon his hand.
“Fook off! shouts Mrs. Murphy. Those are for the funeral!”