Sure, there will be parades, funny hats, silly buttons, green decorations and wild parties during the week of March 17. But what really makes or breaks holidays and special occasions?

Let’s face it — it’s all about the food.

Halloween and Valentine’s Day are lucky enough to have chocolate as their traditional treat. Easter gets savory ham and cheesy scalloped potatoes. Thanksgiving hit the jackpot with succulent roasted turkeys, mouth-watering dressings, tartly sweet cranberry sauce and pies loaded with whipped cream. And who doesn’t love Christmas and Hanukkah foods like cookies, doughnuts, prime rib, latkes, brisket and gingerbread?

With the luck of the Irish on its side, you’d think that St. Patty’s Day would be associated with delectable culinary delights. But corned beef and cabbage?

First of all, what is “corned” beef, anyway? Is corn even an ingredient? Does the corning process make an otherwise inedible piece of meat safe for human consumption? Is it one of those cuts of meat that grandfathers hang from rafters in basement corners, so that it smells like sweaty feet and grows a hazy coat of mold spores? Is the term “beef” just a genteelism for “pickled squirrel meat my Paw-Paw shot in the backyard”?

Corned beef is undeniably delicious in a grilled reuben sandwich, sliced and piled high on buttered marbled rye with melted Swiss, tangy sauerkraut and creamy Thousand Island dressing. But when boiled with cabbage, it can be a smelly, stringy affair.

I’ve enjoyed well-prepared corned beef and cabbage on many occasions; however, those were the times that, by sheer happenstance, the cooking time was precisely correct for that particular size cabbage, acidity, elevation, boiling point and tilt of the Earth’s axis.

What average cooks don’t realize is that, within mere seconds, the otherwise crispy, sweet vegetable can become an overcooked ball of sulphur-gas-emitting mush that will stink up the house for at least a week. Corned beef and cabbage cannot just be tossed into a Crock-Pot. Properly cooking this finicky dish requires a doctorate in chemistry, a precision timing device and catlike senses. But who wants to stand around on St. Patrick’s Day watching cabbage steam for precisely six minutes and 39 seconds? There’s green beer to drink, after all!

Speaking of which, green beer is festive, but let’s not kid ourselves. Order a green beer in any pub on St. Patrick’s Day and it’s likely to be the most tasteless brew on tap. Why? The rich gold, amber and brown tones of the better beers turn an unappetizing hue of olive drab when mixed with green food coloring. It’s the watery, faintly yellow beers that make the prettiest kelly-green tones, but beware that the attractive color is masking a gut-rot swill that will stain your tongue and leave your head throbbing in the morning.

To make matters worse, my Irish mother-in-law, Alice Murphy, bakes a loaf of Irish Soda Bread every year around this time, and the whole family raves. I just don’t get Irish Soda Bread. I’ve never been a raisin fan, but also, the dry, bland loaf has always confused me. It’s not sweet enough to eat like coffee cake or dessert, but it’s too sweet to use as a pusher for the corned beef and cabbage. What good is it?

“It’s good with butter,” my mother-in-law would say. But doesn’t everything taste good with a thick slab of butter?

There’s one saving grace of St. Patrick’s Day cuisine. That sweet frozen delight with a creamy hint of something vaguely herbal like mint (or is it parsley?) that tingles the senses and cools the cabbage-scalded tongue. Whether eaten past midnight with a Supersize Fry and a Filet-O-Fish after guzzling green beer, or sipped by itself from the drive-thru window on the way home from work, the McDonald’s Shamrock Shake mercifully delivers us from culinary evil.

The bottom line is, St. Patrick’s Day isn’t “all about the food” like other holidays and occasions. It’s really a day to experience the luck of the Irish. Obviously this luck doesn’t stem from the lousy food, but rather it comes from being fortunate enough to share some fun with good friends and family.

Read more at themeatandpotatoesoflife.com and in Lisa’s book, “The Meat and Potatoes of Life: My True Lit Com.” Email: meatandpotatoesoflife@gmail.com