Page 37 of Thanking Her Brother's Best Friends

By 1850, we had become the largest ethnic group in Boston. Most Irish immigrants of this time were poor, unskilled laborers from rural backgrounds. They settled in the slums of Fort Hill, the North End, and the South Cove.

My ancestors were not just destitute. They were also weakened by typhus contracted on the coffin ships that brought them to the golden land where opportunities would apparently grant them a new lease on life.

Many of them were sent to a quarantine hospital and almshouse on Deer Island. Hundreds died, only to be buried in unmarked graves. In 1849, a cholera epidemic ravaged Boston.

Over five hundred Irish were killed.

The health inspectors in the city described the slums the Irish lived in as a hive of human beings, existing without comforts and common necessities. They thought my ancestors huddled together like brutes with little regard for age, sex, or decency.

It was under these circumstances that my great-great-grandmother, Kathleen O'Toole, like many of the Irish women of her time, found work as a domestic servant.

From there, she met, fell in love, and built a home with Mike O'Toole, a laborer who helped build the business district behind Faneuil Hall.

Boston during the 1860s was marked by stark class divisions and social inequality.

But even amid the struggles, Irish Americans survived because of our shared cultural identities and rich traditions.

The West End community gathered in local establishments, which eventually became social hubs where they could share stories, enjoy live music, and revel in spirited tunes and traditional melodies.

My great-great grandparents settled in a small, modest tenement apartment in the West End.

The smell of the apartment still lingered in the recesses of my mind, as did the faded wallpapers and pictures of nameless people. My mother insisted each of them was important because they crossed the oceans in search of a better life.

On one such evening, I sat with my grandmother, Mary, in the kitchen by a worn wooden table. The scent of freshly baked soda bread mingled with the faint warm tint of peat burning in nearby fireplaces.

Among the other dishes on the table, one item wouldalwayscomprise potatoes. On most days, it was a simple mash.

When there was a special occasion, my mom or my grandmother would roast potatoes in their skins with home-churned butter, salt, and pepper. Even today, this is the sole meal I turn to on days I need to remember where I came from.

Like other evenings, my grandmother would eat and share stories. Most of them were about the community she grew up in.

"One day," she'd say, her voice raspy and gentle, "you will see that the world is a better place because people have their traditions to go back to. Without those, you become like a tree with no roots. People who break from traditions necessarily make their own."

I was too young to understand most of what she said, but I remembered the vivid recollections of music, dance, and storytelling.

She loved talking aboutceilidhs,festive gatherings where friends and neighbors would come together to share tales of the homeland, recite poetry, and sing songs.

In time, that kitchen became a microcosm of more than food or the intermingling of cultures. The flickering gaslight would cast our shadows on the worn walls.

My shadow would follow me around forever, mold my spirit, and transform the way I looked at food.

My thoughts were momentarily disturbed by Dominic throwing a kitchen towel in my direction. "I thought you came here to look at the menu, but for the last hour, all you've done is stare at that bloody wall. What's up?"

I tossed the towel back at him, and he caught it with a fielder's ease, grinning from ear to ear as he did so. "You're still cut up that you didn't get to meet Selene, aren't you?"

"Shut up," I grumbled. "You could have totally told me she'd come, and I'd have left work immediately."

Normally, work meant being in the office right next to Aiden's on the top floor of Harvest and Hearth. But on that day, I had to go give training to a group of new front-of-house operatives.

We had come a long way from our humble beginnings. After graduating from high school, I went on to study further and work in kitchens.

Over the years and with experience, I ventured into restaurant management.

This was also when Aiden and Dominic approached me about opening our own venture, and lo and behold, here we were today.

Touch all the wood in the world, Harvest and Hearth was doing monumentally well.

I was responsible for curating the menu, ensuring compliance with health and safety regulations, engaging with customers, and everything related to management.

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