Irish Beef Stew

A few days before break every year, I talk to my parents on the phone about travel plans. One question that they always ask me is if there if anything special I would like to be waiting for me when I get home. My answer is always the same, Irish beef stew.

On cold fall and winter nights when I lived at home, my sisters and I would look forward to snuggling up in comfortable sweats and having a nice family dinner that warms us all up. My dad would always start by boiling a big pot of beef stock. In a saucepan, he would brown the stew meat so that the outsides were crispy but the inside was still raw. My sisters and I would try to help by peeling carrots and potatoes, and my mom would chop onions. When the pot was boiling, we would add the potatoes because they took the longest to cook. Next we would add the carrots, and finally the onions. The pot was left to simmer for about thirty minutes and then we would add the meat and all of the drippings from the pan. The delicious smell would fill the entire downstairs. I, being the impatient one, would steal spoonfuls of the broth as the vegetables and meat were cooking. After about an hour of mouth-watering and sip stealing, my dad would finally declare that the stew was perfection. My family and I gathered around the table with a soft loaf of French bread and our bowls full of stew. These nights were always special because working together to make our dinner had us all feeling closer.

Unfortunately, it takes about seven hours for me to get home from Kent, so I am unable to participate in the preparation of the stew, unless we decide to eat really late. However, the feeling of closeness remains as we exchange stories about our school and work experiences. The taste of the stew is always different, even though it is made up of most of the same ingredients every time. Sometimes we have it with plain sliced bread rather then French bread, but French bread is by far my favorite. To me, nothing tastes better than soaking up the last few drops of the broth on a piece of bread, and stuffing it in my mouth while it is still hot. I know that this is a tradition that I will pass down to my children when I’m older.