Irish Car Bomb -ish


My husband and I had our first date night in what’s been a long time, a very long time.  With 4 kids, it’s very easy to let your life become about who to pick up where and which form to fill out or how much to leave a check for or who do I make it out too and did you remember to pay this or that bill or what did you do with my shoes and are you done with the laundry yet or what’s for dinner.  Making time for each other and remembering that you are adults with your own interests and needs and not just so and so’s mom or so and so’s dad is very difficult to do.  But we prevailed!  We made date night and decided to go to the Holy Grail Pub, which the Dallas Observer dubbed as the “Best Place To Wait Out The Rapture”.  Considering this is probably the last year of our planet and our existence, we thought it a very good choice!  We’ve lined up our in-house babysitter with the promise of cold hard cash at the end of the night, and off we go.  Well, with a slight detour because we have to drop off our youngest daughter at her friend’s house, but soon we are on our way for a night of frolicky fun and merriment!  Of course, did I mention it’s pouring rain?  A cold rain.  Not the perfect weather for frolicky fun and merriment, but we are determined to make the best of it!

We arrive at the Holy Grail Pub and find a nice cozy booth, it’s not too crowded and having just been in Ireland a year ago, I can definitely vouch for the pubhouse feel of the place.  In an effort to be fun, hip and merry, I decide to order the Irish Car Bomb as my first drink!  I’ve never had one, and I’m excited.  I mean how can you go wrong with Guiness, Irish Whiskey and Bailey’s.  The waitress doesn’t even bat an eyelash which means we might actually look like fun people out having a good time.  The drink comes and there is a problem.  There is half a pint or a little less of Guiness and a separate shot on the side.  I envisioned some frothy beverage in a frosted mug that I could sip on while I enjoy my amazing pretzels (which I’ll get to later).  I look to my husband, and whisper “How am I supposed to drink this?”  He looks at me blankly and says “I don’t know.”  You don’t know?!?!??!?!  How do you NOT know?  You’re a guy, in a pub, and I know your early 20s were not filled with piety and book learning!  Do I dump the shot in with the beer?  Take the shot and then drink the beer, but if that were the case then why not give me the full pint?  Hubby suggested maybe I drop the shot in the beer, but I quickly scoffed that idea.  How would I drink it with a shot glass floating around inside.  That just seemed messy and ridiculous.  I can’t ask the waitress because I think she thinks we are hip and cool thirtysomethings (yes, we are in our 40s, that’s the point!).  So I decide to pour the contents of the shot into the beer and take a swig.  Not bad.  Kind of anti-climatic.  After awhile, I notice that the Bailey’s has congealed and is sort of just floating around on top.  I keep trying to drink, but seriously, I’m gagging just remembering it.  I somehow manage to force it down between bites of awe inspiring pretzels and then switch to Woodhouse Granny Smith Cider and feel much the better for it.  I’m a little embarrassed when they clear my shot and beer glass from the table, and picture a scenario in my mind where he takes it back to the kitchen and they all laugh at the old lady novice on table 6 poking her face with these amazing soft pretzels but who doesn’t have a freaking clue how to drink an Irish Car Bomb.  I can almost feel them peeking around the door to the kitchen and laughing and pointing.  I quickly look, but am relieved to find the door firmly shut.

I did look up Irish Car Bomb on when I got home and here is the definition:

“A potent mixed drink, usually part of a late night drinking session at dive bars or pubs between a young man and his friends, often consumed as a statement of solidarity”. or

“The key to the Irish Car Bomb is to drink it very quickly before the Bailey’s reacts with the acidity of the stout, causing it to curdle (essentially turning into cheese).  The result makes the cocktail very unpleasant to finish.”

I really think I should get points for finishing my beer cheese.  Oh well.  And because I admit when I’m wrong (mostly), hubby was right about dropping the shot glass into the beer, but I still don’t get it.  It’s not a drink I will ever order again, unless I come back in some other life as a rowdy frat boy.Image

We ordered the soft pretzels as an appetizer and I have to agree with the Dallas Observer, they are to die for and if the rapture would have come right then, I would have died happy.  The preztel’s practically melt in your mouth, and then there is the buttery dipping sauce.  OMG.  I’m raptured.  Of course, after we’ve pretty much devoured the pretzels, I come to the realization that we haven’t really been doing much talking.  He must have realized it at the same time because we kind of look at each other, both expectantly and then kind of blankly and then away.  I actually voice my concern that we have nothing to talk about, and what did we used to talk about, can he remember?  His response “wow, that guy has passed us like 4 times to go to the bathroom.  I’d say he has issues.”  Not to be outdone, I point out the awkward pair sitting at the dart table.  They are part of a foursome, but two of the foursome went to the restroom I guess, and the two that are left are looking really awkward.  She is studiously checking her cell phone (I mean how many times can you read the same 5 posts in facebook and still look interested) and he (with no phone in hand) is awkwardly standing near her watching her watch her phone.  Hubby and I have a good laugh before retreating into our own silence, but I steadfastly insist that our silences are comfortable, not stilted or awkward.  The rest of the evening passes quite nicely, nothing really remarkable to note and nothing to note due to the fact that it was unremarkable.  Just a pleasant evening, and I can happily report that I only received one text from the kids, and this from my youngest daughter in which we commiserated on how gross we both think Flan is as a dessert choice. 

What exciting hijinks should we endeavor next we ponder?  A movie?  Sounds good.  We go and see the movie Safehouse with Denzel Washingtion and Ryan Reynolds.  Hubby is surprised I want to see it, and I admit it has more to do with Ryan Reynolds than anything else, and he admits that he wants to see it for his mancrush Denzel, so hey…WINNING!  We both enjoyed the movie very much, and so what if we were home before 10pm.  We had a marvelous time 🙂

P.S.  I still haven’t decided what to give up for Lent.

Interesting Fact of the Day:  Marilyn Monroe had irritable bowel syndrome. 




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