Irish Salad

by Ann Bogle

Scandinavians settled in Minnesota because it resembled Scandinavia. This morning I vomited salad I ate last night at an Irish pub.  The salad was called "chop chop."  I paid $19 for the food and two beers.  I met the owner whom we help to become rich with our simple appetites.  We were rich farmers from Scotland and Sweden.  He is Irish but unlike other Irish people I know, Irish-American people, he is from Ireland.  He is red-headed, swarthy and muscular.  He imported the mahogany bar from Ireland.  I wish my simple appetites might feed two in our decision instead of helping him if he's a tax-evader like so many of the restaurateurs.  Asian restaurants serve vegetables with love.  Overnight, I felt drunk, as if headed for hangover, but I hadn't drunk enough to cause it.  What caused it?  Superstitions dialed in sleep.  Today I was thick with religious devotion.  I had thought about delicious corned beef and cabbage not to be served at that public house on St. Patrick's Day.  I wanted the Irish of Binghamton, the fire department, and the Irish of literature to comfort me.  To avoid this drunkenness not caused by drinking.  I was so balanced before it was revealed.  Ladylike reserves be restored to me.