A view on St. Patrick's Day from the Irish-born

One winter day about 10 years back, Neill Laughlin was walking his dog past a Fishtown pub when he happened upon a curious scene: The establishment was overflowing with boisterous and visibly intoxicated individuals, each one, he said, "dressed in green and wasted at noon." Sincerely mystified, he asked a few patrons what they were whooping up.

"Don't you know? It's St. Patrick's Day!"

Born and raised in Belfast, Laughlin, co-owner of Sassafras in Old City, knew full well that March 17 was still three weeks away. These kelly-clad mirthmakers, the earliest birds of the Erin-Go-Bragh set, weren't going to let a pesky thing like the calendar stop them.

For Laughlin, who was handed a beer the second someone placed his accent, it was just one of many surreal experiences surrounding Ireland's most famous holiday in America. Over the years, the Irish in Philadelphia and beyond have watched St. Paddy's shift from a single day of faith and family into an excuse to stay sauced over a fortnight-plus. The gulf between these two interpretations raises some interesting questions about how cultural celebrations become secularized, and/or soaked in alcohol, on American soil.

As unrecognizable as this phenomenon may be, Irishmen like Laughlin and his co-owner, Donal McCoy, take it in stride. "There's no malice there," McCoy said. "They're just out to have a good time, at the end of the day."

That's not to say Sassafras is volunteering to shelter the green-shirted masses. He, Laughlin, and their colleague Feargus McCaughey will mark the occasion at their bar the same way they do every year: by serving McCaughey's homemade soda bread, with Kerrygold butter or with bacon, egg, and Irish cheddar.

Before moving to the States, McCaughey apprenticed at a family bakery in Belfast for a few years, then worked as a union baker there, where he learned to make Northern Ireland's version of soda bread, without the raisins, sultana, or currants found in many kinds of soda breads from other parts of the country. The dough is cooked on a griddle, which gives it a really nice toasty and crunchy texture on the outside, with a light crumb on the inside.

"It's not like any other soda bread you've ever had here," McCoy said in his Belfast brogue.

For the native Irish, it's an authentic taste of the old country, triggering memories of the holiday and the way it was celebrated when they were growing up.

"You would go to Mass, and older folks would wear a little sprig of actual shamrock," said McCoy, who grew up Catholic in Belfast. He remembers watching people plucking the greenery from their lapels and dropping it into a post-worship pint of Guinness, a custom called "drowning the shamrock."

The celebration would conclude with a big, Sundaylike dinner of savory pies, stews, a roast, or a meat-and-potatoes feast from a local carvery.

"It was very much a family day," said Fergus Carey, owner of Fergie's Pub, Monk's Cafe, and other bars. He remembers his father taking him and his siblings to Mass, then into Dublin to watch the annual parade, still the most common public display when it comes to St. Paddy's. (Never Patty's, which the Irish are quick to point out is a misnomer. "Patty? We don't know her," joked Laughlin. "I'm sure she's lovely.")

Drinking has long been associated with St. Paddy's. Historically, Irish Catholics have viewed it as a get-out-of-Lent-free card; even if you'd given up alcohol for the 40-day period of abstention leading up to Easter, you could throw back a few on March 17 without feeling too bad. It's been speculated that this loophole has led to an association with alcohol consumption. But there's a big difference between sharing a couple of pints and the riotous ways in which we see the day honored in 2016.

Local Irish heritage groups do their part to keep celebrations low-key. "I always classify us as the anti-green-derby brigade," said Louis Carberry, incoming president of the Second Street Irish Society in Pennsport, a charitable organization and social club. When marching in Philly's parade, which took place March 13 this year, his group wore simple fleeces embossed with their crest; in the past, they've donned tuxedos and wool sweaters. He tries not to stress over the Erin Express revelers. "It doesn't offend me - I find it laughable," Carberry said. "I give a pass to the college kids."

Irish-born Seamus Boyle, a board member of Philadelphia's Irish Society and a former president of the national Ancient Order of Hibernians, takes a slightly stronger stance. "There's nothing wrong with taking the drink and having a good time," Boyle said. "But I think there's too much emphasis put on the crazy partying. That's not what it's all about."

But Boyle is no teetotaler. Last week, the Irish Society hosted a toast to St. Patrick in Boyle's native Northeast. "I really think of it as a special day," he said. "You don't have to be a prude to enjoy it."