I hope everyone had a wonderful St. Paddy’s Day…and the only reason I didn’t acknowledge the holiday yesterday was that I seem to be in the habit of not blogging much on Thursdays, and even though I have no idea why this is, I think it’s important to be consistent about *something*! (How’s that for a run-on sentence?)
Dr. Darling and I spent the evening with a large group of American/Anglo friends (and every other Irish-loving person in Malmö, apparently) at Fagan’s, a "genuine Irish restaurant and music pub" according to its website. And I have to admit that the food, though you wait a hell of a long time for it to arrive at the table, is exceptionally good. (I’m still salivating over the memory of my Wiklow marinated lamb filet with roasted pepper and herb sauce).
Fagan’s is the usual St. Patrick’s Day dinner locale for this particular group of Yanks and Anglos, and last year I was actually responsible for organizing the event. Much to my surprise, several members of the bar and wait staff remembered me from St. Patrick’s Day 2004 (which was the first time I’d ever set foot in the place), and proceeded to call by name all night long. This was noticed by the huge crowd that was perpetually clustered around the bar waiting to order another Guinness, most of whom seemed to beleive I was some kind of VIP.
Meanwhile the staff’s familiar attitude toward me was not lost on the other members of our party either, all of whom concluded I was an alcoholic barfly. Especially after one of the waitresses put a bright green polyester wig on my head and said she expected me to wear it the entire evening. (I know I’ll never live down the pictures.)