I spent nine days traveling around Ireland with a good friend.
That was nine days of her hiking and driving and generally kicking ass all over the Emerald Isle, and me being slow and whiny and snoring at night and coughing throughout the day and basically being the worst.
It is, I think, not a small miracle that she did not actually kill me.
Our last day in Killarney was a rainy one. Most of our time in Ireland was rainy and gray, so a morning spent driving a length of the Ring of Kerry followed by a bus tour of Killarney that took us past the house that maybe, MAYBE, was the very same house that the South Side’s own Michael “Lord of the Dance” Flatley managed to buy out from under Michael “Lord of My Ovaries” Fassbender followed by a whiskey (Redbreast 12 Yr. get on it now – they sell it at Binny’s, Chicago) at Courtney’s and finally fish & chips at Quinlan’s was not at all dampened (get it) by a few drops of rain.
By this point in the trip I’d finally stopped whining and bought myself a nice sweater to keep me warm, and cold medicine to keep me merry. The whiskey made things… interesting.
I got the hake, my friend got the plaice. The plaice was so good I very nearly snatched it out from under my pal’s nose. I stole bites between inhaling my own dinner.
I declared solemnly “It’s, like, the Michael Fassbender of fish”. So tender and beautiful and delicious, sweet and buttery on my tongue.
Just like I’d imagine the actual Fassbender would be.