It’s a different country. I popped into the Shelbourne to use the wifi and thought I’d have a drink. “Coffee?”
I‘d already shown an NHS Covid pass and ID to link me to that pass, filled out a Passenger Locator Form (sounds like it’s for a lost homing pigeon) and was more masked than Butch Cassidy or the Sundance Kid. But suggesting a G&T was my undoing. “We do not serve alcohol to people not staying in the hotel until 12.00 but we could make an exception.” I thought the Hon on my passport would swing things in my favour. It didn’t, so I left the sterile, international atmosphere at the Shelbourne for a pub: O’Donoghue’s in Merrion Row. O’D’s was put on the planet to serve alcohol without any questions. It was quiet mid-morning but it had been a good party the night before. An American came in to look for the passport he’d mislaid.
I was filling in time before going to the Club for a special lunch: oysters and lobster. The former, from Galway, were even more delicious than those from Carlingford Lough. I had them raw with a squirt of lemon, like the walrus and the carpenter; others had them Rockefeller etc. Then there was the lobster, again prepared in different ways. This is where I concur with American millionaire, J Preston Peters.
‘Way of Preparing: Cream the butter and flour and add the scalded milk; then add the lemon juice, curry powder, salt and pepper. Remove the lobster meat from the shells and cut into half-inch cubes.'”
“Half-inch cubes,” sighed Mr. Peters wistfully. “Yes?”
“‘Add the latter to the sauce.'”
“You didn’t say anything about the latter. Oh, I see; it means the half-inch cubes. Yes?”
“‘Refill the lobster shells, cover with buttered crumbs, and bake until the crumbs are brown. This will serve six persons.'”
“And make them feel an hour afterward as though they had swallowed a live wild cat,” said Mr. Peters ruefully. (Something Fresh, PG Wodehouse, 1915)
I toyed with a lobster risotto as it seemed likely to have less lobster than the alternatives. Meanwhile wine was poured assiduously: Sauvignon Blanc, Chablis, a very good red Burgundy and a pedigree Irish claret (Ch Leoville Barton). My hosts, after courting indigestion with too much lobster, then settled down to Cuban cigars. I’m proud to be Irish.
