Ireland Culinary Suicide

Kinsale, Ireland

Kinsale Ireland Restaurants

Rough is all I have to say about this Ireland golf trip. I’ve lost track of days, hours and even my swing. We crawl onto our bus every morning, drive for hours, while nursing the hangover and shakes from the prior day. Get dumped onto a cold golf course with high winds, rain coming in sideways, fog floating about and a slope rating that makes Olympic Club look like a Pitch and Putt.  Courses in Ireland are majestic and spectacular but straight up fucking difficult. Every other shot I find myself about to launch my club into the stratosphere but refrain and just take it out on myself internally. You suck, fuck, fuck, fuck!! Arghhh, give me a Guinness, now!!!

The countryside of Ireland is absolutely beautiful but not to be surpassed by the beauty of its women. Seems like every time I order a Guinness I’m staring right into a pair of bright blue or green eyes. It’s appealing and I like it, a lot!

However, as I expected what this country lacks is a sense of food identity. Unless uninspired slop, soggy sandwiches, limp fish and chips with a plethora of low budget condiments is considered an identity. Well, thinking about it, yes it is an identity, losers have one too. I’ll be eating at a few Michelin rated restaurants at the end of the trip in Dublin but up to this point I have been dragged through so much weird, bizarre mediocre crap, it’s a little depressing.

Last night our group of 12 went to dinner at a well known and supposedly quality restaurant in Kinsale called Fishy Fishy – which should have correctly been named -Shitty Shitty.  I ordered a seared tuna steak and still not sure what the chef was thinking but he may have been trying to recreate an expensive McDonalds Filet O Fish. I’m still shaking my head over why,…..   just why would anyone in their right mind serve fucking mayonnaise as a side to fish that isn’t breaded, deep fried, or panko’d.

The follow up to my Mayo Happy Meal was a lobster. How do you fuck up a Lobster? All you have to do as a Chef is, “Don’t fuck up a lobster!” Being in Ireland which is surrounded by fertile seas and quality seafood yet they find a way to drop the ball, kick it across the floor, exploding against a wall . When the lobster landed on my table, I felt sorry for it. It looked like it had died not from cooking but by drowning in sauce. Oh and don’t forget the side of mash potatoes paired with it. As if a rich lobster in thick sauce needs a Carb bomb dropped next to it.

Yesterday, not to be surpassed by the food at Mc Shitty Shitty, on our way to Newcastle we stopped for dinner at a pub and one look at the menu my eyes rolled back in my head and I threw up my hands, I give – Fucking Uncle! Sir, what can I get you for dinner – I’ll take two Guinness and a bag of Doritos. 20 items on the menu and none of it was appetizing. The menu was a nightmarish episode of Jeopardy.

ALEX – I’ll take fruits and vegetables for $500.

Mushed peas and pineapple………

Hmmmm, What’s a fucked up pairing on an Irish menu?? Yes!! Correct!  You win $500!!

Mushed peas and pineapple -WHAT??? Who? What ….why? This is nothing other than mentally challenged culinary suicide. Can you bring out the chef so I can verify if he is a chef and not a waste collector for hog food.

So at this moment as I step out onto The Royal County Down Golf Course rated #1 in the world. Another ground hog day of wind blowing, rain coming in sideways and a Guinness in my hand, I’ll take a little solace in the hope of a decent meal on the horizon. Blue eyes…….. darlin, pour me another Pint of Guinness please.

If you enjoyed that story, see what happened that day when I climbed on The Royal County Down Golf Course, more pain on the way!

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