After a large meal, Max, the assistant Crocksman, always needs a nap.Hats do not exist that fit my head. 10 gallon? Pa-sha! Make it 20. After adolescence, I haven’t worn a hat. I sport a Vandal stocking cap when it’s unbearably frigid (wish I’d worn one this morning), but as far as non-stretchable hats are concerned, I’m completely SOL. This is disappointing because I recently found a hat that I KNOW would have rounded out my wardrobe like nobody’s business. Had it fit, of course.I should clarify my wardrobe situation. I live in a one-bedroom/one-bath/one-closet apartment. Most of my T-shirts sport beer brands or various events sponsored by my current employer, or both. So, I guess I’m not allowed to use the word wardrobe to describe the well of cotton and wool that I pull from every morning. But I think that had that hat fit, I could have made reference to my wardrobe without irony.The hat was a tweed hat of a familiar style that I don’t recall the name of, though I’ve seen it referenced as a Donegal Irish tweed hat, much like this one. It belonged to my late grandfather on my mother’s side (this distinction will be more important after next week’s column). All of my favorite accessories have been passed down from grandparents. My glasses belonged to my great grandfather (also on Mom’s side, but of no blood relation to the grandfather I’m speaking of), and my wool Filson jacket that the Children’s International pitchman on the street insists is flannel was handed down from my grandpa with the tweed hat (got that?).Alright, the Irish hat. My grandpa was proud of the fact that he was Irish. He made at least one trip to Ireland. He had little Irish knickknacks that said things like, “I’m Irish, that’s why.” The only problem was that there wasn’t an ounce of Irish blood in him. It’s something of a family mystery why he claimed Irish heritage. My mom and grandma contend that — being the jovial, good-natured man that he was — my grandpa just enjoyed Ireland and its people.Last summer I was having dinner with some of my cousins when the topic of our heritage came up. I’m 50 percent Dutch on my dad’s side (again, more on this next week), and am a bit confused what I am on my other side, the side that I share blood with these cousins. They volunteered that we were part Irish. WHAT!?!?! It was a Santa’s not real moment, but I had to break it to my young cousins that we are — he wasn’t — actually Irish.I’m sure if I were an Irishman, I would have cooked a hell of a better corned beef and cabbage than I did yesterday. The brisket/corned beef wasn’t very tender, I didn’t use enough pickling spice (which I used instead of a spice packet because the brisket I bought didn’t come with one), and although it was in for a good 12 hours (on low), I just don’t think that was enough. I should have left it on high for the last hour or so. Sometimes that transforms a piece of borderline beef to this side of heaven.What I loved about it was the use of apple juice. This was my first time, but certainly not my last. I bought about 6.5 pounds of brisket on Sunday and think I only used up about 3.5 or 4 of it yesterday. I’ll use up the rest this week, and maybe I’ll try another variety with the apple juice. If anyone has some suggestions in that arena, I’m all ears.This week’s recipe went something like this:– One Brisket (3 pounds)– The spice packet it comes with (or pickling spice, at least two tablespoons)– One cup of brown sugar– One tablespoon of dijon mustard– Four cups apple juice– One medium onion, wedged– One cabbage, wedged– A few potatoes, cut into one-inch chunksInstructions: Put the brisket in the crock and cover with the veggies. (I put the brisket on TOP of the veggies, because I’ve heard this make the veggies softer. I didn’t, but it made the brisket drier and not very tender.) Mash up the juice, brown sugar, and mustard in a separate bowl, and pour over the brisket. For more detailed instructions, check out the recipe at RecipeTips.com.