Tea, Father? And Other Bits Of Irish Life

Source: IrishRainPhotography.com

Ireland - the land of Bono, Father Ted, pints, and "the craic". And for the past three years, and counting, it's been my home. 

Only a few non-Irish residents that I've met here know what I mean when I say that you just can't get this kind of silly anywhere else. The quirkiest things seem to happen here and it's the only country I've been in where the people actually get on board with the whimsical nature of everyday life. 

To begin a new series called "Tea, Father? And Other Bits Of Irish Life", I would like to share a short, yet profound experience I had with a woman in an elevator:

I enter an elevator of a 3 story building. An older rather squat woman with large glasses follows in behind me. I press the button for the floor below me.

"Oh, beejayzus!" she screams as she braces herself with both arms in a wide-V in the corner of the elevator.

I stare at her. Stunned.

She gulps and asks, "Is this going down," and then, gathering herself says very matter-of-factly, "Oh, it's supposed to do that."

When the elevator door opens and she exits, she looks at me with a blush in her cheeks and says, "Don't mind me, I'm just dizzy."

As she gets off, I clutch my hands to my chest and beam at the wonderful absurdity of life in Ireland.

Source: CorkIndependent.com

Abruzzo, Mi Amore

Source: MyBellaVita.com

I am in love with Abruzzo. I've seen many places in the world, but only now can I say that I'm in love.

I was staying with friends in a small sea-side town called Cologna Spiaggia. Their economy is run by tourists, but there are few to be found. The bathers on the beach are nothing but locals who walk or cycle two minutes from their homes to greet the sea. I sat on the back of a rusted bike while my friend pedalled and waved at everyone we passed by. There are many words that could describe this gem of a place, but what sums it up is: family.

August 15 is Farragosto in Italy. It was introduced by emperor Augustus just a few years ago... in 18 BC. But it's still celebrated in Italy today because, well, why not? Accompanied by 40 of our closest friends from Cologna Spiaggia (about a quarter of the population), we boarded a bus to a nearby town that was hosting a festival, passed around bottles of Campari, and started belting classic songs of Abruzzo. 

When you drink Campari, apparently this is the kind of night you can look forward to:

Source: www.ScenicReflections.com

But I was with a bunch of sincerely wonderful lunatics and it was a bit more like this:

The night turned into a blur with many bottles of wine, dancing, singing, and finally ending up on the beach of Cologna at a Jurassic Park themed party at sunrise.

It was magical.

The next afternoon, we ventured to the beach with heavy heads and sore throats. But, it was necessary to be at the beach for the annual and cruel tradition of being in a delicate state, sunglasses on, possibly falling asleep to dreams of red Campari bottles clanking their glass necks on your skull, and a friend pouring a big bucket of cold water all over you.

This madness ensued for the day until my friend, Alberto, and I drove to his grandmother's house for a meal of spaghetti, lasagne, and meatballs, followed by shots of flourescent-coloured Limoncello and espresso.

The day was nearly done and nearly anything was making me laugh. Alberto's parents were trying to practice their English, and his father had found a new favourite word. Olive. And he'd say it randomly, with emphasis on the "O" like it was a big piece of cake going into his mouth, and breath the "live", finishing with a chuckle of pure satisfaction. And I could relate. Because it was was indeed a time of complete satisfaction, contentment, and experiencing a group of people who I now consider a second family.

The Bacon Bikini Project

Here is a story I wrote which was recently published in a UK food journal, Fire & Knives:

It's called "The Bacon Bikini Project:"