For lunch today I had (leftover) roast beef, mashed potatoes, and corn.

Just like my family used to have -- and it was also a frequent (every Sunday) meal at my paternal grandparents' house.

You know, the Irish side of my family.

So it's a family tradition. The stereotypes about the Irish are all true.

Tracing back the tradition of "meat and potatoes" is the same as tracing back my last name.

If you visited my paternal grandparents' home during a gathering, you'd know our ethnicity.

Besides the physical traits (which were present in many), there was the ubiquitous presence of beer, cigarettes, colorful language, exaggeration, swearing, card playing, getting loud/energetic, etc.

If my dad encountered an old women, she was an "eight-hundred year old woman."  If my dad's sister wanted to express old age, she'd say, "as old as Mathuseleh".

Yes, I agree Matthew, the stereotypes are true.  My mother used to tell me that when she was growing up her father made roast beef and potatoes every Sunday.  It never tasted good, as the Irish always tend to overcook everything.  

He used to make a huge roast, and they would eat the leftovers all week.  She learned to hate roast beef.  

One grandfather was as you describe, beer, language, cigarettes, etc., while my other grandfather took the Irish Catholic pledge and never touched alcohol his entire life, and he lived into his eighties.  

 :ready-to-eat:
Sunday dinner at Irish (Dad's side) Grandparents was corned beef and cabbage, stewed mini-onions, crinkle-cut carrots, string beans, celery stuffed with pimento-cheese spread, boiled potatoes, homemade dinner rolls with butter, milk for children, tea for adults.  For dessert there was apple pie with vanilla ice-cream.  The pie would be served warm with a slice of cheddar cheese on it.  The adults would have tea and dessert in the living room and talk.  Children ate dessert at the table and cleared it before going to play outside in good weather, or in the huge basement "rumpus room."  This was in the country in Connecticut.

 :alcohol:
Sunday dinner at Russian/Polish/German (Mom's side) Grandma's was meatballs with rice in them called "porcupines," stuffed cabbage with sour cream, sauteed mushrooms, turnips, buttered noodles, candied carrots or sweet potatoes, pickled beets, Russian bread with honey-butter, malted milk for children, vodka for adults. (Sometimes grandma would make eggnog with a teaspoon of vodka which we children could drink.) For dessert there would be different cakes and cookies.  The adults would retire to the living room to play cards and drink coffee.  We children liked to go up onto the roof and play under the clotheslines.  This was in Brooklyn.

 :smile:
Those were the "good old days" when families stuck together.  Now, the Sunday rituals are gone.  I might be privileged to join another family for a meal,  or, if I visit my family, we either go to a diner or get a pizza or Chinese food because nobody likes to cook on Sunday.  If I'm by myself, I often get a take-out meal from a diner and find a nice scenic spot to park the car and  eat, read, pray, etc.  My apartment is too tiny to have family over, and they don't like the driving or lack of parking in NYC.  Recently, most of my Sundays are spent driving to and from Mass, so I end up grabbing a burger at some drive through place and eating it on the road.