The Nightmare on Vegetarian Street

I always believed I was quite the carnivore, but then again I never ate a meal in Dublin, Ireland.

It was around dinner time, and my stomach began to make its grumbling calls for a meal. As we searched for a restaurant we all agreed the best first meal in Ireland would be at a pub. Throughout my experiences a pub in America like every other ethnic restaurant in America. It was “Americanized”. It would be a basic American restaurant, with the comforts of American food, with a dash of stereotypes scattered throughout the restaurant. For the American-Irish pub food would be served at a generic restaurant where the wall decor would include a Guinness sign and shamrocks. If I was lucky my server may be in a kilt. Pub food would consist of a half-pound burger, greasy fries, and a darker than average beer. All the items on the menu would include some O’Neil or O’Connell name in front of it to disguise that it was an ordinary sandwich. Yet without the small details it was basic American eats.

As I have discovered during many of my travels, the American version was off. In this case, it was dramatically off.

The quest  of embarking on an Irish pub began with a not so ideal start. The group and I would see the sign PUB, and our stomachs would lead us to it. Four times in a row we opened the door to a smoked infested room with older gentlemen sipping on scotch. Many of the places didn’t have menus, implying they didn’t have food. Even if they did have a menu I wasn’t sure I would be able to eat in that environment. Some time later, the search ended at an eatery that was painted blue, trimmed with white, and complimented with gold lettering. Not exactly the green coated joint I had been accustomed to.

Many of the terms, although in English, looked unfamiliar. I decided on a dish that included the word sausage since I knew I would be satisfied with this familiar food. When my plate came out, sausage seemed to be the side dish. The plate included sausage, steak, pork, hamburger, and an egg. It was safe to say it comprised all my protein for the day.

Usually when eating a steak I coat it with butter and steak sauce. For sausage I use mustard. For a hamburger I compliment it with ketchup and mayo. Yet for all 5 of the items I tend to drown them in hot sauce. I knew steak sauce and mayo would be far fetched for the area, but I thought hot sauce could be a possibility. As I asked the waiter for any sort of hot sauce he looked puzzled but left swiftly and returned promptly. He returned with ketchup. Accepting the difference in condiments, I used mustard as the next source of touching up the food. The mustard wasn’t what I was used to, but my taste buds still rejoiced. It was dark and sweet. Now I’m not sure if bright yellow mustard  with a bitter after taste is going to taste the same.

The mounds of food in front of me was quickly consumed with only a little left on the plate. I was satisfied in myself for how much I finished, but even more satisfied that I was able to experience the true atmosphere and cuisine that an Irish pub entails.