My First Irish Breakfast in Dublin

O’Shea’s Merchant is where we settled for our first breakfast in Dublin. Well, Barbara’s and my first breakfast. John couldn’t wait, the poor dumb bastard, for this is what he missed…

The traditional Irish Breakfast! Fried eggs, “bacon”, mushroom, tomato, sausage, and black and white pudding, with a side of buttered toast! Delightful. Black and white pudding are definitely the most challenging aspect of the meal. One is made of blood mixed with fat and then fried, the other is organ meat and oats…and fried. I liked them just fine as long as I didn’t think about it too much. John made that task difficult by describing what they were in great detail! Mix it up with toast and eggs and the puddings go down quite easy. We got here as soon as they opened and were the only customers for quite a while. Through the doorway at the far end is the actual pub. We’ll be spending time there a little later. 

O’Shea’s Merchant not only had great food, but a friendly staff, good beer, and crazy good prices. €7.95 for that meaty plate of yumminess, including coffee and OJ!

We still had hours of wandering before we could get access to our apartment. Having a full belly was a good start, but we were all so damn tired. I had it extra hard as the weather was chilly as fuck and humid as hell. I would freeze and have to put my coat on. Then I sweat like a drunk driver with a cop in the rear view mirror, so I’d take off the jacket. Repeat that for the next few hours. 

One can only take so much with so little sleep. We had to stop and revitalize with coffee and, a comfy sofa, and whatnot. We stopped at the Dublin equivalent of a Starbucks, Costa. They had WiFi to help calm the savage Barbara. 

I kept dozing off and feeling generally like shit. John was completely destroyed and wanted nothing more than to sleep, and we still had a couple hours to go before returning to the flat. Time stands still when you’re exhausted. 

This seems like the perfect time to broach the subject of fucking skinny jeans. What unholy fashion jerk decided that every guy under 40 should wear stretchy skinny jeans with rolled up cuffs and exposed ankles with no socks. These pants leave nothing to the imagination. As John said, “you can count the change in that guy’s pocket!” This trend was ubiquitous everywhere we went in Dublin.

Eventually we were allowed into our apartment. My room was right above the street, that turned out to be quite entertaining over the coming days. Dublin had a lot of foot traffic at all hours of the day and I spent quite a bit of time people watching. 

At some point we managed to get some sleep. Naps all around, or more more like total shutdown of physical and mental faculties for several hours. That is until the bells! The damn bells!​

Now, onto the pub!  


About heartajack

I'm a graphic designer and occasional filmmaker that recently discovered the awesomeness that is the Can-Am Spyder Roadster. In recent years I've become obsessed with food and learning how to prepare it. I make the best damn ribs...EVER.
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