The Everywhereist

Before we dined there, we had trouble discerning what Blue’s Egg was. The menu was eclectic and high-brow, but the setting (in a small strip mall) suggested a casual diner.

-

In truth, it was both – that blissful mix of homey and familiar, strange and exotic. Plus, there were cookies topped with bacon.

(more…)

Once again, I wax poetic about baked goods.

-

Do you ever have moments of extreme clarity?

I’m not referring to those times when the skies above you are cloud free, or when your skin is looking absent of blemishes, almost to the point of vulnerability. No. I live in Seattle, and I eat lots of cake. My clarity does not manifest itself in those terms. (more…)

Our lunch at Queen of Tarts. Notice the conspicuous absence of actual tarts.

-

After my brain surgery, I had trouble accepting that I was unchanged.

“Do I seem different?” I would ask Rand, time and again.

“No,” he’d reply. “Baby, you are exactly the same.”

And I’d stare at my reflection in the mirror, at my steroid-induced moonface, and say, “But I look different.”

“It’s not how you look,” he’d remind me. “It’s what’s on the inside that counts.”

“BUT MY INSIDES FEEL DIFFERENT,” I’d yell.

(more…)

The easily missed facade of Skinflint.

-

I’d never heard the term “skinflint” before visiting Dublin.

Truth be told, it sounds rather dirty. Like, “Did you hear about Janine? She caught skinflint while riding on the subway.” Or, “I’ve heard he’s done a lot of things in the past that he’s not proud of. Like, you know … skinflint.” Or, “Be sure to scrub between your genitals and your leg.”

I realize I forgot to use “skinflint” in that last sentence. But I left it there, because it’s just sound advice.

(more…)

Some of the fowl offerings at Crackbird.

-

I walked into Crackbird with a bit of trepidation.

It’s an immensely popular restaurant in Dublin, and they specialize in fried chicken – as well as grilled and roasted – but fried is their signature, and the name of the restaurant is a play on its apparently addictive qualities.

They want you to describe the birds they cook as being like crack. And, frankly, that’s not how I would put it.

Despite my family’s European roots, I grew up on fried chicken. It wasn’t that we ate it all that often, and it was rarely store bought (though occasionally, on days when my mother had class, or my grandparents had to be driven to doctor’s appointments, or when no one could be bothered, it was). My mom while away an afternoon dredging and battering chicken, and gingerly placing it into a cast-iron pot filled with oil.

The stove top would bubble and foam and splatter, eventually yielding gorgeous, golden-brown pieces of chicken.

(more…)

My beloved, with his beloved.

-

In case you were unable to gather it from yesterday’s post, Guinness is a big deal in Ireland.

Okay, calm down. Yes, I realize there is far more to Ireland than Guinness (trust me, I GET IT). I’m not trying to upset anyone. I don’t mean to overgeneralize or to come off as a bigot. I’m sure plenty of people in the emerald isle don’t drink the stuff at all.

So please, stop waving your finger around like that and calling me names. Really. Such language.

I simply mean to say that Guinness is important to the Irish. Much like pasta is to the Italians, or koala meat is to the Australians.

KIDDING. I’m KIDDING … Italians don’t eat that much pasta.

(more…)

-

I was going to write about The Troubles today, but just thinking about doing so after yesterday’s tome on Irish history made my brain hurt.

So instead I’m going to write about candy.

I know. I know. I’m awful. But tomorrow is Halloween, and I figured I’d better get a jump on a sugar high that should last, if I time it right, until well after New Year’s.

The thing I found about Ireland is that they understand their sweets. They really get them. And then came the inevitable follow-up realization: I could live here.

(more…)

-

We walked right by Made in Belfast, and didn’t even realize it.

“I know exactly where it is,” Rand said confidently, as we walked across a pavement slick with the rain that seemed to fall pretty much constantly across Northern Ireland.

(more…)