That night she prepared meatloaf, boiled potatoes, peas, and 'gravy' made from that great Lutheran binder, condensed cream of mushroom soup. A fully delicious meal, and one which anybody who grew up in a large/religious family is likely familiar. Now view that starchy economical feast through a shamrock green lens.
The peas were fine, being untampered with. The potatoes? Well, the dye wasn't distributed uniformly so our spuds appeared to be afflicted with blight of some kind. The meatloaf was the worst, appearing for all the world to be the ground remains of Oscar the Grouch. It tasted good but looked like hell. Of course any kid knows what to do in this situation. Smother the offending food item in gravy, right? Wrong. Green mushroom soup...yeah.
If memory serves, we had a splendid time, laughing over our verdant meal, making faces and gagging noises, some theatrical, some not. I think Dad ate a second helping to be supportive, and Mom was a good sport, admitting that it was all sort of nauseating.
I'm tempted to inflict this same experience on my own larvae...
Happy St. Patrick's Day!