Categories
Europe Food + Drinks Ireland

What Not to do in Dublin

I fell in love with Ireland the second I stepped off the plane, though I wasn’t exactly sure why. Especially since the only day I spent in Dublin was anything but ideal. I was only there for the weekend though, so I spent Saturday in the city before heading off on a fourteen hour tour of Northern Ireland on Sunday. But more on that later.

Basically, my perfect day in Dublin was supposed to go a little something like this:

– Wake up early.

– Have an Irish breakfast, including Guinness.

– Walk around town taking awesome photos.

– Tour the old Jameson Distillery. Drink Jameson.

– Take a leisurely stroll through the Guinness Storehouse.

– Drink Guinness at Gravity bar, admiring the views over Dublin.

– Find a bar to watch Ireland v France rugby while eating Irish stew and drinking more Guinness.

– Meet fun locals at said bar and continue on the evening with a pub crawl.

Sounds like the perfect Saturday in Dublin, right? Ideally, yes. But instead it went a little something like this:

– Woke up two hours later than I’d hoped.

– Inhaled a cup of rice pudding I’d mistaken for Greek yogurt in an attempt to save time on eating breakfast.

– Made it a few blocks snapping photos against a miserable looking sky, before the incessant mist became a bit too much for my camera.

 

Christ Church Cathedral

Kim

– Stumbled upon the Old Jameson Distillery only to see the next 93 minutes of tours sold out. Luckily I was able to sign up for the last one of the day at 515pm, but since it was already 2 I had to hoof it over to the Guinness Storehouse to make it back in time.

– Took the long back-way over to Guinness in what had now become a steady rain and light wind. You know, just to ensure I was properly soaked before going inside.

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– Had no time to stop for lunch, so I chugged my sample beer, poured my perfect pint, then chugged that too. And just like that with no food in my stomach, I was tipsy.

Pouring the pint

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– Visited Gravity Bar long enough to snap a few photos of raindrops and clouds before rushing out the door to the Old Jameson Distillery.

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– Bought a Guinness coffee mug on the way out, then oh-so-cleverly carried it unguarded in the rain in a paper bag with a thick rope handle.

– Got disoriented on my way back towards the Old Jameson Distillery and ended up walking about five blocks too far. So I asked some nice Irish fella to point me in the right direction and found myself backtracking with only six minutes until the tour started. Then, right there on the corner of Mary’s Lane and Greek Street, tragedy struck. The Guinness bag succumbed to the battle against the rain, and the bottom fell out, sending my prized mug crashing to the ground. I shouted expletives as a family across the street pulled their daughter near to avoid my harsh words. But come on, she’s Irish, surely she’s heard worse? I picked up the pieces and carried the shattered, dripping wet remains into the Jameson Distillery just in time at 514PM.

– Did the Jameson tour, grabbed the largest glass of free whiskey afterwards and downed it a bit too quickly in an attempt to make it to watch rugby.

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Jameson Barrel

– Walked another 20 minutes in the rain and wind before realizing I’d completely missed the rugby match.

– Stopped into a pub for an Irish stew only to discover that they didn’t accept swipe cards.

– Pissed off, I went out the door and directly across the street to McDonald’s. I was still buzzed and by this point STARVING, so I ordered 12 chicken McNuggets, a large fry, an apple pie, cheese sticks, and a chocolate shake. And I took it all back to the apartment and ate every. Last. Crumb.

 

It wasn’t necessarily a bad day, but I did miss out on a few key things due to poor planning and unexpectedly quick intoxication. So folks, if you’re going to Dublin, here are a few pointers:

– Remember that Guinness should not be a substitute for food. You will get drunk.

– Take an umbrella and a sturdy bag if you plan on buying any fragile souvenirs. Sadly the gift shop attendant at the Jameson Distillery said that happens all the time.

– Buy your tickets to the Guinness Storehouse and Old Jameson Distillery in advance online. You’ll save a few bucks, plan your day a little better, and avoid the lines.

– If you’re deciding between touring Guinness or Jameson, I think the Guinness Storehouse is the better choice. The Jameson Distillery was great, as was the tour guide, but it was shorter and felt like more of a theatrical setup since it’s in a place they no longer use, whereas the Guinness Storehouse felt like a much bigger experience.

– Don’t count on going out to a pub near the Old Jameson Distillery. There aren’t any.

– Have fun. Drink Irish beer and whiskey. Eat Irish food. And chat with the locals. From my experience they’re super friendly (at least if you’re American) and LOVE to talk. Plus they have cool accents!

 

 

 

Categories
Europe Food + Drinks

Top Notch BBQ in Bristol: Meat & Bread

Fresh off the heels of a 48 hour gluttonfest in Bristol, I’m absolutely knackered (yes I’m incorporating British words into my vocabulary now). I don’t know if I did more eating or drinking, but I do recall a “UK vs US” contest in which we each drank for our country until the last man blacked out. Problem is when everyone is blacking out it’s hard to declare a “winner” for several reasons. I was told that I smuggled my last glass of whiskey from the bar, took a few sips while walking down the street, gave it a look of disgust and exclaimed “I’m done with this” as I threw it to shatter on the pavement. Real classy.

Backpedaling to Friday, after just a two hour bus ride from London we got into Bristol and immediately went out to a Mediterranean spot called Biblos which some of the guys swore was an absolute must-have. I ordered a falafel wrap with halloumi cheese, some spattering of sauces, and all of the toppings.

Not the easiest thing to eat.

This place had a super hipster vibe with benches and tables inviting you to cozy up next to those around you. So the three of us squeezed onto a bench opposite of a particularly filthy hipster that could have easily been mistaken for a homeless man. He was eating with a group of people who looked like they’d dressed themselves in the dark, complete with marker-drawn mustaches on the ladies. As I fumbled to keep my elbows in at my sides and out of my friends’ faces, I awkwardly shoved my face with each bite of dripping falafel like a dainty T-Rex. While it looked insanely appetizing, it was lacking a bit of flavor—which I’m noticing to hold true throughout most of England. I’m sure it has something to do with the amount of salt I’m used to in my fat American diet, but still. Not a terrible bite to eat, but I certainly wouldn’t go out of my way again.

The next day while watching rugby at The Three Tuns my friends kept talking about some epic BBQ food. I took their hype with a grain of salt considering their less than superior recommendation from the night before, so I nearly passed it up to go hunt down a burrito. Thankfully my laziness persuaded me to order a pulled pork and coleslaw sandwich.

Food Menu

Oh. My. God.

To say this was one of the best things I’ve ever put in my mouth would be an understatement. The sauce, the tender shreds of pork, the sauce, the perfectly toasted bun, the sauce, the fresh cole slaw, and the SAUCE. Generally I’m not even a fan of BBQ sauce but I’m assuming that’s because I’ve never had it done properly. This was homemade with a breakfast stout, and yes I would gladly pour this on my cereal every morning. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve been craving flavor ever since I left the states or because it really was meat perfection, this was by far the first delicious bite of food that I’ve had in the UK. Paired with a dark stout, it was just fan-fucking-tastic.

Meat & Bread

The brilliant meat master who has everyone drooling over his meat is Ben Warran, owner of Meat & Bread. I’m told they smoke and cure their meats and make their own sauces and pickles to serve the lucky Bristolians who come across the food cart at lunchtime (or obsessively stalk their Twitter feed to find out where they’ll be next). But as of this Thursday, February 28th, they’ll be taking up a more permanent residence at The Three Tuns on St George’s Road, serving lunch and dinner Tues-Sat each week. Guess who’s planning another trip to Bristol in a few of weeks?

I’m telling you, if you like meat you need to get some Meat & Bread. And if you don’t like meat, well then we have much bigger problems to deal with and you should probably start solving those with a fat, juicy, meaty sandwich from Meat & Bread.

Categories
Europe Iceland

Black Out Like a Local in Reykjavik

In a city where the sun doesn’t even wake up until 10AM, it’s no surprise that the party rages well into the wee hours of the morning. I can’t even imagine what it’s like in the summer when daylight lasts 24 hours.

Prior to last week I’d never heard about this world-famous Reykjavik nightlife. And coming from New York I wasn’t convinced that it would even leave much of an impression on me. Of course this was all before the weekend hit and the bar culture left me feeling a bit more buzzed than the alcohol.

I’ve read and heard that Iceland is a culture where people don’t really frequent the bar during the week, but on the weekends they party. Hard. So we ducked into Ob La Di Ob La Da for a beer on a Wednesday and found ourselves in a room full of men intensely watching the Arsenal v Liverpool match in almost complete silence. It was a little intimidating, but just as the final whistle blew 90% of the place cleared out. The three of us finished our beers to some shitty American pop music and nonstop yawning while discussing our plan to call it an early night. While we were finishing off our beers a group of drunken Canadians came bursting in and within 10 seconds the lights went out, strobes came on, a disco ball started spinning, and Bon Jovi lyrics were on the screen. It was the quickest transformation from a sports dive to a karaoke haven I’ve ever seen. And it was certainly enough to keep us around until being kicked out when the lights came on at 1AM.

Sober as a tree
Sober as a tree: When you need to prove you’re not as drunk as people think you are, stand on one leg and hold both arms out to the side, and tell them you’re “sober as a tree.” If you don’t fall, you’re not too drunk. Keep drinking.

 

We went out again on Friday night and this time the bar—and every bar on Laugavegur—was filled with locals. So we kicked off the night with a traditional Icelandic shot of Brennevin, though the Premium version, which put up a pretty impressive battle all the way down my throat before [very] slowly finding its way into my stomach. It fought hard to make its way back out, and the beer chaser did absolutely nothing but amplify the disgusting burn. We were informed that Brennevin is a traditional Icelandic liquor made from fermented potato and flavored with things like cumin and caraway. They say it’s similar-ish to vodka, but I think it was pretty comparable to hell. I’ll stick to my shots of whiskey.

When I arrived at the pub around 11pm I was amazed at how sloppy people were. They weren’t just drinking to be social, the entire bar was drinking to forget the horrible decisions they were about to make. It was as if the entire city was on a mission to get blackout drunk (and in a rare turn of events, I didn’t feel like joining them). Stumbling, leaning on walls, rambling the worst pick-up lines ever mumbled in an attempt to take somebody, anybody home. And the men didn’t take the polite brush-off or the downright bitchy cold shoulder very well. In fact, one guy tried to tickle my sideboob when I rejected his drunken slurs and didn’t understand why I was appalled.

 

Icelandic beer
Delicious Icelandic beer

 

Despite the frigid weather causing my inability to dress in anything more fancy than the sweater, fat jeans, and “boots with the fur” I wore every night we went out, locals were dressed rather sharp and on the prowl. But as soon as I noticed how wrecked everybody else was, my desire to get wasted and party down completely diminished.  I knew I wouldn’t be in good hands and the outcome of the evening could be downright scary given such a potently drunk surrounding. So I made my way home and to bed by 1am partially because I had to be up at 730 for an all day excursion and snowmobiling trip.

Iceland was fantastic but I think I appreciated it much more for the nature outside of Reykjavik, not so much the inter-city nightlife. But there’s still a strong part of me that feels like this was fate, discovering an entire country of people who black out as naturally as I do, almost as though it’s just another ordinary night. Could this possibly be a place where I could go about my business and not get judged? Or perhaps it would just be a giant shit show where I’d end up stranded with other blacked-out alcoholics, frostbitten and stuck to a glacier when the sun comes up at 10.

I guess I’ll have to give Reykjavik nightlife a second shot when I’ve prepared myself for nonstop partying. Maybe I’ll go back in the summer and pull some all-nighters.