Want to go to [fill in the blank]?

My friend Corey wrote a blog entry a while ago about central meeting places; you know, those places in the sitcoms where everyone just kind of goes when they're not doing something else, like Central Perk on Friends. Corey was saying that generally, we really envy how the characters on these shows have a place where they can go where everyone knows their name, but sometimes we're actually doing the same thing, just we don't realize it.

This got me to thinking. Where would my central meeting places be in Dublin? There's not just one, I knew that, but the more I thought about it, I was able to pick out three of our most-loved haunts that just might qualify.

The Ginger Man: This is a pub just north of Merrion Square, about a block away from our apartment building. Jillian was the one to first discover it a few years ago on a previous trip to Dublin, and she was so eager to return to it this time around that we figured it must be be kind of special. The G-Man, as it is affectionately known, has been the site of many class-related bitch fests, several 'bombscares' and more than one petty theft (generally these coincided with the bombscares). Every night at the G-Man is worth a blog entry in and of itself, but suffice to say, there have been some good times there. Also, the drink is much cheaper than it is at Lombard's (across the street from us).

Lemon: Oh my god, Lemon. Lemon is a crepe place on Dawson Street, right outside the Nassau Street entrance to Trinity. Usually this is where we find ourselves the night after the Ginger Man or some other hangover-inducing night out, scarfing down a Vegetarian Power Plus (with Chicken), French Toast, or whatever else happens to look good that day. There's lots of rehashing the night before, talking about how much work we have to do that day, and just a general gathering of our collective energy and motivation before facing another day spent inside the Postgrad Reading Room. Also, they give you little squares of chocolate with your coffee, and many of the male members of the staff have Aussie accents. Yum.

The Italian Place: This is not its real name. We just never call it by its insanely long and Italian name (which is Il Caffe di Napoli or something like that). This is actually the sandwich place that guy in the laundrette recommended to me, and it makes the best and cheapest cup of coffee in the entire city, which is pretty impressive because there are several Starbucks(es?) around. This is generally where we go when we need a quick pick-me-up, are too lazy to make lunch and don't feel like another frozen pizza from Centra, or just need to get out of the freaking apartment already.

This place is adorable in every single way, especially when decorated for Christmas as it was when I left, and I am beginning to believe the coffee has actual magical powers. With Italian women baristas who look like they could kick your ass in a heartbeat, and killer ciabattas, this place's only flaw is that the main seating is outside. Ew.

There are other places we go, of course, but I would say these are the three best and also most-frequented. There should be another entry sometime on the best places to go if you're visiting Dublin, but that's going to have to be another post for another time.

Happy Christmas, everyone, and have a great New Year!

Ginger Man Pub photo courtesy of Amy.

An ex-patriate Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is a hassle at the best of times. There's the freaking turkey, which involves lots of plucking, rinsing, gagging, and yanking of various organs out of various orifices. There's the stuffing, which involves a huge inside-or-outside-the-turkey debate, and then there's the question of pecan or pumpkin pie, who is bringing the yams, and how in God's name you're going to deal with the fact that your crazy uncle is bound to bring up either politics or religion at the table, and that your sister will probably go for his throat.

However, if you subtract the crazy uncle and add in problems like how to find and afford a turkey in the most expensive city in Ireland, whether to beg your mother to send canned pumpkin from home or just suck it up and get a fresh pumpkin, and where to get French fried onions, you'll get an idea of just how insane Thanksgiving abroad can be.

When we all started planning for our Irish Thanksgiving, Jillian and I knew all of this. We figured it would a nice way to introduce Thanksgiving to our non-American friends, and a good way to assuage the homesickness that would be brought on by spending this quintessentially Yank holiday in a country that hadn't heard of it. Lists were made, dishes were assigned, and guests were invited. We were ready to throw ourselves a Thanksgiving extravaganza.

Three weeks, five essay-related breakdowns and more than a few turkey-related arguments later, Jillian turned to me and said something along the lines of, "Screw it. Let's cancel Thanksgiving."

Of course, we didn't seriously cancel it. No matter how tired or frustrated we were, the fact was, it was still Thanksgiving, and we couldn't not celebrate it. Finally, after much thought and a power trip to the crepe place down the street for some brain food, Jillian, A and I came up with the best possible way to celebrate Thanksgiving abroad -- without ending up flipping our collective shit on our guests.

Thursday night, we found ourselves seated around a table in front of a fireplace in a nice bar, Christmas decorations all around and wine on the table. The three of us were joined by our law-student flatmate, A’s Irish flatmate, one of our Irish friends from our program, and two of the guys who live across the hall from us (one of whom was Canadian and kind of apathetic about the whole thing, and the other with whom we had had several heated turkey discussions in the preceding week).

“Here, will you tell us the Thanksgiving story now?” said A as the food arrived. I had promised her the kid-friendly version of the tale weeks ago, and began it now as everyone dug in.

“A long time ago, roughly in the sixteen hundreds, a group of people called the Pilgrims, motivated by a desire to worship freely and get away from the British, sailed to America on a big-ass ship called the Mayflower. The journey was long and hard…”

I continued the story, making sure to mention Squanto the Friendly Indian (whoops, Native American) who taught the Pilgrims to plant corn. “And that’s the story of the first Thanksgiving,” I finished triumphantly, practically expecting a round of applause.

Everyone stared at me like I had grown three heads.

“Here,” A said after a few seconds. “I thought Columbus was there.”

“Right, the Spanish came and settled it first,” added her roommate.

“Columbus wasn’t Spanish,” someone else said, which was followed by a comment about Vikings and quickly the whole table dissolved into one loud discussion over who, exactly, founded America and when.

“OKAY, OKAY, OKAY,” shouted Jillian a few minutes later. “Can I tell you all the real story now?”

This quieted everyone down, as they turned to Jillian to settle the score. She pulled out a few post-its and began to read.

“First, instead of one Thanksgiving, there used to be a lot of different celebrations of all the major massacres that the settlers inflicted on the Indians. Lincoln was the first one to proclaim one national day of Thanksgiving, so up until the 1860s Americans celebrated several Indian massacres during different times of the year.”

“Massacres?” A muttered.

“There was lots of scalping and beheading and the women and children were raped and thrown into slavery. After one such massacre, the settlers played soccer with heads of defeated Native Americans. Oh,” she added, “and Pocahontas was fat.”

There was a stunned silence as the non-Americans at the table tried to process this information. The Pilgrims weren’t so nice to the Indians? Pocahantas was FAT? What is this freaking holiday? I could see them wondering.

Finally, A broke the ice. “I knew there had to be rape and pillage,” she said, grabbing the wine bottle out of the bucket in the middle of the table and waving it around. “Can I top anyone up?”

The rest of the evening, needless to say, is a bit of a blur. I remember a text message to Jillian saying, “Abt to bombscare must leave”, more than a few drinks at The Ginger Man (the pub down the street) where we toasted America and bombscaring Thanksgiving, and a long conversation about my chest that lasted long after the bartenders had kicked everyone else out but us and a woman who looked like she had been bombscaring for about 100 years.

Then there was the peanut butter and jelly party back at my apartment where somehow I ended up with peanut butter everywhere, and collapsing into bed only to wake up the next morning and wonder, “Crap, did I really tell the story about how I was flat-chested until college?” Which, in fact, I had.

Turkey, pillage and bombscaring notwithstanding, I’d have say that my second Irish Thanksgiving was a major success. :)

Home Cookin'

(Grilled cheese with vintage Irish cheddar and 'red sauce' or ketchup -- American food, Irish style!)

Most college students eat very differently when we are at school versus at home -- even if school is technically our home for that academic term or whatever. School food consists of things in cans, in plastic packages...things that you may need to boil water for, but that's it. There's a lot of spaghetti, a lot of Ramen, and a lot of whatever the dining hall is serving.

Naturally, Irish school food is even stranger. There's the usual switch to the school-type pasta, but I find myself doing things with it that I would never do at school, probably due to the fact that the food Irish people eat, not even including the traditional pub fare and blood sausage you're thinking of, is very different from what Americans choose to eat.

Here, for your pleasure, is a description of some of the most different things I eat in Ireland, most of them with pictures:

Heinz Beans -- They say they're baked, but that's a lie. It's really kind of hard to describe the difference between these beans and baked beans back home, but imagine the sauce from Spaghettios mixed with just the beans from baked beans -- no bacon, no fat, no weird smoked flavor. The Irish and British eat this type of bean on toast for 'tea', a meal I have yet to figure out.

Kraft Light Herb and Garlic Dressing -- Picture ranch on crack. God, it's good. It's like a combination of ranch and maybe ceasar, which they recommend to put on potato salad with 'streaky bacon'. I discovered this in a search for something to dip my pizza crust in, and now I eat it on potatoes, pasta, rice....anything with a starch, and I pull out the dressing. Awesome.

Cadbury Bournville -- I have to admit that the first time I came to Ireland, I thought Green and Black's chocolate was the absolute pinnacle of chocolately goodness. And it is, but the fact that you can actually get it in the US and I just didn't know it has somehow taken the shine off those five-euro bars of organic chocolate. So I've switched to the two-euro Bournville, which is dark chocolate. Just that. Nothing else. A massive 200 gram hunk of marvelous Cadbury heaven. Yummm. It also comes in a drinking chocolate version. :)

Nutella -- I never eat this in the States, and I don't know why. It's really pretty easy to get and not that expensive. Here, though, it's cheaper than peanut butter (which the Irish and apparently the British don't get, by the way -- my Scottish friend demanded to know the other day why in God's name anyone would put peanut butter on a sandwich). It's really best when served on the next thing on this list or crepes, not bread, though you can do it.

Digestive biscuits -- Okay, first know that a biscuit is usually a word for cookie. Now realize that these are not really like cookies, either, but kind of like sweet crackers -- like a graham cracker, actually, but round and thicker. A close relation is the tea biscuit, which has the same concept but I think it's made with white flour and isn't brown. Again, eaten for 'tea', whatever that is, though I usually eat them with Nutella for breakfast or as a study snack.

Walkers Sensations -- Only the best potato chips in the world. These are, as my Scottish friend calls them, 'posh crisps' that come in flavors like Roast Chicken and Thyme, Cheddar and Red Onion Chutney, and my favorite, Caramelized Onion and Balsamic Vinaigrette. And since they don't come in the 'prawn cocktail' variety many other chips here do...I'm all for them.

Ethnic Food -- I don't know whether this is because we're closer to Europe/Asia or there's a greater immigrant population here, but Uncle Ben's (of the rice?) makes bottled Indian and Chinese food sauces like Sweet and Sour and Tikka Masala. And it's not just Uncle Ben's -- it's even in the generic store brands. It throws me, because while usually we do have ethnic food of this sort, it's not really as mainstream (except at Wegmans, but even there you just have bottled soy sauce and satay sauce sometimes, never anything as complicated as Tikka Masala). And they keep it next to the tomato sauce like it's totally normal...but you can't get Mexican food, like salsa or chips, for anything. Go figure. Maybe it's a hemisphere thing.

Good thing I am doing all this walking, or else I'd weigh four million pounds by now. Next time, actually going-out-and-eating-real-meals food :)