Once again we’re at O’Shea’s. We had no desire to hunt down a decent restaurant in the neighborhood. This place was close and had impressed us with their excellent Irish Breakfast. Our thirst for proper alcohol and the willingness to abuse it was great. John, as we’re finding out, does not share our boozy enthusiasm. Never trust a man that doesn’t drink, is what I’ve been taught. We’ll have to keep a close watch on our wallets and our chastity, it seems.
Let’s get this food thing wrapped up. John orders some kind of beef stew, Barbara gets the Fish and Chips, and I get the Madras Chicken Curry. We’re drinking Chieftan IPA…not to be an opinionated asshole, but I’m gonna be an opinionated asshole. IPAs out here are kinda weak. They’re too low key. They’re easy to drink. A proper IPA should taste like it’s created by the fusion of rusty nails and cat piss. This Irish fluid trying to pass itself off as an IPA is way too smooth and easy to take. It’s unnatural.
All this grub goes down in a hurry. I’m famished and this curry is exceptional. I have nothing else to compare it to, so it’s the best Madras Chicken Curry I’ve ever had. Perfection. We order more beer and add deserts to the night’s festivities.
Saturday night in Dublin is a bit of a blur for me as I write this blog. Not sure if it’s the 48 hours of no sleep or the food and beer. Doesn’t matter, there’s more to cover
For instance, we could smell some awful burning plastic odor as we approached the neighborhood of our flat. Around that bigass church, down the street, and directly across from our apartment was a small trash fire. Just burning behind an iron fence under some trees. Barbara was a bit concerned. Wondering if we should call 911 or whatever the European equivalent was!
Shortly after, a roving band of teenagers stormed through the hood. They were loud and crass and showed no regard for us Dublin noobs. They spoke in tongues and were carrying around with them a big stick and some sort of fireworks. Barbara asked them if they thought we should call the fire deptment. They made some indecipherable mouth sounds and pointed at Barbara’s wine. One of the kids went over to the fence near the fire and tried to ignite a plastic back hanging off the end of the stick. It just got weirder as it went along.
These kids were amusing but kind of insane arsonists. For all we know, they set the fire in the first place. Ok, probably some other asshole dumped some trash over the fence with a cigarette butt in a beer can. You never know.
And on that note, we went back upstairs. I tried to sleep but ended up texting some friends in the states. My window was open and I kept getting up to watch drunk Dubliners screaming and hollering and running down the street. I realize now it’s been years since I last tried to sleep through the cacophony of a big city. I got a horrible nights sleep.