May your pockets be heavy and your heart be light. May good luck pursue you each morning and night. ~Irish Blessing
It’s a little known fact, but I do have some Irish blood on the Martinez side of the family.
Like many other Americans, one of my ancestors married an Irish immigrant. As a baby, Susanna Adams left Ireland with her father—I believe the story is, and many years later, married Felipe Martinez, my great-great grandfather.
This marriage gave my family an Irish immigrant story, and it likely gave my grandfather light colored hair and a lighter skin complexion than some others in his hometown of San Ygnacio, Texas. It also gave me (and several others of my generation, aka my first cousins) green eyes, or at least greatly contributed some of the DNA that only two percent of the world’s population has.
Irish Eyes Are Smiling
My grandfather, Eloy Martinez, died a few months before I turned nine. I was young but I have many memories of him. I can remember his walk, his accent, the way he’d light his cigarettes, the way he’d eat his tacos, and the way his eyes would shine when he laughed or smiled—which was often. He was always happy, and he remains that way in all of my memories.
Besides memories, I have a few things that belonged to him, and a few things he gave to me. My favorite blanket that I’ve had since kindergarten is one that he brought back from Mexico for me; as well as a ring that he told me to save to wear when I was older. The ring is white gold and has what he said were green emeralds, that he also said matched my eyes, which matched his eyes.
I’ve actually been meaning to take the ring to a jeweler to have it cleaned and repaired. I don’t know if the emeralds are real, but I don’t really care. The ring will always be special because my grandfather gave it to me.
And I won’t lie, I never cared about having green eyes as I had nothing to do with this fact (I was born like this, after all), but I did like that it was a special bond I shared with my Wello.
(Yes, I misspelled welo, a nickname for abuelo, the Spanish word for grandfather. It’s a family thing…)
My grandfather before he married my grandmother. 
I loved my grandfather’s smile and the way his eyes would shine.
Luck of the Irish!
Now, while I love history and my own family history being an obvious favorite, I don’t necessarily take any pride in it in the way many people talk about being proud of “being something.” I was raised to be proud of accomplishments, and well, I didn’t have anything to do with my own birth, or being born a healthy American, in Texas, with green eyes or brown hair or a clear complexion. I’m grateful, for sure. I’d even say I’m lucky in many ways.
I’m truly lucky because I was raised with a sense of adventure, and encouraged to be curious about life and all that can be experienced.
Much of my curiosity has taken me to foreign places, which has allowed me the opportunity to see beautiful things, meet amazing people, and taste incredible food. Some of that food has been kind of fancy, but much of it has been the everyday meals that the locals eat. Everyday meals like breakfast.
Top of the Morning to You!
I’ve always loved a good savory breakfast, and trying breakfast foods during my travels abroad is one of my favorite things about visiting new and far away places.
Ireland (and the UK, but this blog post is about my Irish breakfast..) probably has my favorite breakfast plate, and I love making what I can here at home, whenever I can get a hold of the right ingredients.
I love Irish cheddar! 
Gotta have the Heinz beans in tomato sauce.
And as you may have noticed (if you’ve been following me on social media) I love a good holiday as an excuse to make a special meal or have a food event.
Yes, a food event is a thing.
St. Patrick’s Day
As food events go, I love St. Patrick’s Day probably only second to Thanksgiving. Whether a parade in New Orleans, the church carnival in St. Ann, Missouri, wearing my best green so as not to get pinched at school, my mom or grandmother making corned beef and cabbage (yeah, yeah, not really Irish), or just watching a John Wayne and Maureen O’Hara movie, childhood saw many a great St. Patrick’s Day celebration.
As an adult, I’ve mixed it up a bit but you can bet there will at least be Guinness, and whatever Irish meals I can cook up.
This year, and last week, it was all about breakfast.
Some Irish rashers and bangers, soda bread, the beans, tomatoes, good cheese, Guinness, Irish whiskey, and well, some good fried eggs, and while maybe not a full Irish breakfast (I couldn’t find the puddings…), it definitely ranks as the most important meal of the day, and the best thing I ate last week.
My Pot of Gold
May you have all the happiness and luck that life can hold—
And at the end of all your rainbows may you find a pot of gold. ~an Irish Toast
Can I really claim to be Irish? I guess not. My family has some Irish DNA, and I love Guinness. My eyes are green and I love eating the things they eat over there on the emerald isle; oh, and have I ever mentioned that I poured my own pint of Guinness at the Storehouse in Dublin?! (Best. Day. Ever.) But, all of that doesn’t make me Irish. It makes me happy, though. And that’s enough for me, and I think it would be enough for my grandfather, too. At the end of the day, and at the end of my rainbow, I want to find good food and happiness.
St. Patrick’s Day is always a good day for both.
Elda XO
