Two Boobs Good, Four Boobs Better!

For me I know it’s summer when I’m sitting in a beer garden with a smoke and a pint of ice cold cider, ah, could life be any better?

When I was only a wee lad and I first started drinking, a can of Bulmers was my drink of choice, or even better than that was one of those 4l bottles of cheap cider that you get in Tesco for less than a fiver, alright for a fiver and easy to get drunk on but man the hangover the next day was a bitch.

Since then I’ve matured greatly when it comes to cider. I went from can, to draft, to pint bottle, to long neck with a nice glass of ice. I’ve even experimented with different brands….sorry Bulmers you’re so ten years ago.

I moved onto Kopparberg. Wasn’t to keen on the Apple one, then someone recommended the pear kind, quite tasty. Drank that for a while, then I was informed on a pub crawl that the Berry kind had a higher percentage of alcohol, eh yes please. Got drunk, too many times, too easily on that stuff.  Word of warning though, if your missus drags you to Ikea to spend all your hard earned dosh and you see a couple of pallets of this stuff on special offer.  Leave it there, it’s 100% alcohol free.  Get ta fuck.

After a little sabbatical from that, Bulmers launched their pear cider. I was excited, but then I tasted it. I was so disappointed, it was like getting stood up at the George all over again.  I went back to regular Bulmers for a while, but my heart wasn’t in it.

I drank the Kiss stuff from Tesco, that stuff is pretty tasty, think they have like three or four flavours and for a couple of euro a can, you can’t really complain.

Was introduced to WKD Core Apple Cider quite recently, and this stuff is what summer 2010 is gonna be all about!! Have stocked the fridge up, gonna put on my speedo and head out to the garden to soak up some sun, and enjoy an ice cold bottle of WKD.

I didn’t go into the cheapy cider that you college lot will be stocking up on to kill your taste buds and liver, you all know what that shite tastes like.  And what it does to your poor head the day after.

Oh, and putting that carton of expired apple juice through yer ma’s old Soda Stream doesn’t count as cider either.

Here’s to no rain!

Cheers

Will.

Ye Olde Beer Halle

For a long time, I ignored the Bull & Castle. It wasn’t even on my radar at all when thinking about places to go for a pint.

‘Too close to Jury’s', I thought. ‘Probably full of Stag Parties’, I thought.

Jesus Christ I was stupid back then. I had no idea what I was missing out on until about three years ago.

There’s probably no better place in Dublin city to get your drink on WHILE GETTING  A FREE  EAT ON TOO!

If you have yet to go there, you must remember that the Bull & Castle is a tale of two pubs.

Downstairs is nothing out of the ordinary. It’s the type of place you’d meet your girlfriends dad for a pint. A solid pub, nice and cosy, well kept, food menus, a sprinkling of tourists from the Jury’s in Christchurch spreading maps over the tables and probably sport on the telly. A Gastro Pub.

Upstairs though, the Beer Hall is a veritible WORLD OF WONDER.

A beer menu large and varied enough to rival that of the Porterhouse (about 75 at last count) without the smug staff of the latter are only two reasons to choose the Bull & Castle over it’s more illustrious Temple Bar competitor.

The large benches and tables are another reason to plump for the Christchurch boozer. While the Porterhouse feels quite big because it’s spread over three floors, there’s actually only about 6 tables.

All of them for couples. And all of them constantly occipied.

The Bull & Castle has about 15 long tables in the Beer Hall, with benches to accommodate ten to a table. Perfect for sessions. They also serve gargle in litre glasses. Depending on what you choose from the menu, even the prices will knock you back.

Irish Craft brews are only €4 a pint, and you can even get a Stein of one for €7.70. Just ask for the Cask Beer – it changes on a weekly basis, but it’s always local.

Book a table for 8 before 6pm on a Friday and at about half 7, you’ll find yourselves tucking into a few free platters of the finest drinking food you’ll find on this side of the Liffey. Sausages, wedges, mushrooms, spring rolls. You know the drill. All free. And there’s literally HEAPS of the stuff. Oh, and a free bottle of Hop Juice thrown into the bagain for everyone too.

The only problem is that the jacks is stupidly small for such a big place, with barely enough room to take your mickey out. Also the stairs down to the smoking section out the front was obviously put together by a carpenter who had sampled a bit of the Delerium Tremens and made the steps all different sizes.

The music isn’t great, but to be honest, no one is there for the DJ.

Oh, and it also serves bottles at Offy prices before 10pm.

Fucking deadly.

Bull & Castle, Lord Edward St, Dublin 2.

Galway Hooker Ale – get it down you and HELP THE IRISH ECONOMY!

Yes you read correctly – or at least those of you with basic Irish (or Scots Gaelic to be precise) read correctly. It does translate as ‘Black Oil’.

Made by the Harviestoun brewery in Scotland (who also make another brew called ‘Old Engine Oil’), this cheeky little number will either have you running for a bucket or running to the shelf for another bottle.

It’s like the Marmite of beers. Almost literally.

It’s aptly named for starters. It does indeed look like oil. Thick, almost gloopy, and so black that light cannot escape it. The real fun however starts when you inhale it’s unique aroma.

Ola Dubh, you see, is very cleverly ‘aged in casks previously used to mature fine Whisky’. Well la-di-da. I better get me tweed jacket on for this one.

It basically smells like that time of night – oh let’s say 3.42am at a house party – when you pour some beer that you found in the fridge into a glass that you found on the sink, and as you lift it up to your mouth, you realise that it was a glass previously used by the weird Whiskey drinker who is asleep in the corner.

The official blurb on their website say that it has an aroma of ‘appetising toasted cereal notes that underscore the tartness of dried fruits, orange oil (?!) and a suggestion of vanilla’.

It doesn’t. It smells like what I’ve just said it smells like.

Personally, I thought I was going to find it hard to stomach, what with my general abhorrance of Whiskey and what not. But even though the smell suggested that it would be laced with the stuff, you have to remember that there’s actually no Whiskey in it. It has quite a strong hoppy taste, not unlike stout on the back of the throat, but it’s sweeter than that, and actually quite refreshing.

That said, I was glad I only bought the one. This shit’s not cheap, and even if it was, I’m not sure I’d be able for any more. Clocking in at a WHOPPING 8% abv, This shit will BLOW YOUR HEAD OFF should you fancy a few more.

One of those beers that it’s good to say you’ve tried, but not exactly one that you’d bring twenty of to a house party in a plastic bag, unless you were trying to score a sexy Belgian Monk, or that dickhead of a barman from the Porterhouse.

Taste – 7/10

Price – 4/10

Gimmick factor – 9/10

Pretension factor – 10/10

Available from Molloys off licences or on RealBeers.ie.

There’s few better feelings in the world than happening upon a top-quality boozer that has yet to be discovered by the unwashed masses.

A place so good, you’re afraid to tell anyone about it, as you sit there feeling smug as fuck with a pint that’s practically been extracted straight from the nipples of God himself, for your very benefit.

Deceptively awesome

You fear for the place being over-run by knobs in box shirts with one-centimetre fringes gelled tight to their foreheads, who know nothing more exotic drinks-wise than Budweiser and Toilet Duck.

Then there’s the added worry that the owners will respond to demand, bang up 87 plasma screens, actually clean the jacks for once and call themselves a superpub. Shudder, indeed.

Thankfully, I can probably extol the virtues of Fionnbarra’s in Cork without fear of it being taken over by shitheads. It’s just far enough out of the city centre on Douglas Street to avoid the stag-party-on-a-pub-crawl crew, and they’d soon realise it’s not that kind of place anyway.

The basics are all in place here. Decent brews for a start: an amalgamation of all the usuals accompanied by locally-brewed beers from the Franciscan Well brewery across town, and the best of the unpronounceable yet delectable European imports, without turning it into a Festival of Pretentiousness. And, as is a prerequisite on Leeside, there’s a choice of three stouts.

The staff are bang on – friendly in their own quiet way – and sport on telly and tunes are presented in an unobtusive manner: they’re there if you want them, but you can ruminate about utter bollocks at any time of the day without being drowned out by Rihanna or worse, Miles Harrison and Stuart Barnes.

The pub grub is top quality, and bloody cheap. They’ll give you enough soup to feed a homeless shelter plus a toasted sambo for a fiver. If you’re still hungry, go for some garlic and cheese or curry wedges; it’s like a heart attack in a bowl, but in the best possible way.

Nude art and rare comics, amid excessive pint-related blurry photography

You know a pub’s good by how they treat their regulars. I discovered the place back in 2004, and have felt welcome there ever since: this easter, a free pint accompanied by a chocolate egg was sent my way, with a knowing wink.

The staff know they don’t have to harangue their locals into drinking up – mutual respect dictates you’ll know when to make your way quietly.

Many like to examine what adorns a pub’s walls to establish whether it’s their kind of watering hole. A couple of things always grate on me when I see them in bars.

A collage of staff and customers having drunken laughs is one – it’s too fake. If I’m spending time looking at other people having fun, then this place obviously isn’t much craic right now.

Any combination of tricolours, pictures of winning hurling teams, pictures of Michael Collins and 1916 memorabilia – you might as well give me an IRA membership application form with my pint.

So where does Fionns fit in? Arty naked paintings, obscure murals, trippy wallpaper and rare comic books. That’ll do just fine, thanks.

Pint/sambo/beer garden awesomeness. Reading material and woman's handbag not included

But best of all is their beer garden. You ain’t seen anything like it.

There’s more room outside than there is in, and they’re fond of BBQs when the weather’s good and will pass around free food.

You’ve a choice between proper picnic tables or couches, there’s a telly so you can keep an eye on the match while you punish your lungs.

They’ve thought of everything when it comes to aiding those die-hard smokers, to the extent that you can sit out there in mid-January without a bother on you.

This is because of a retractable tarp to keep out the rain, almost all of the tables have individual heaters which are under your control, and they even provide free blankets.

You’ll nearly always get a table out there too, bar the odd weekend night. It’s the only place I know where you can bring a group of people, half of whom don’t smoke, and they’ll happily sit outside with those of us who know smoking is awesome.

To be honest, if I haven’t sold it to you by now, then you deserve your fucking superpub. Get your arse to Cork and check it out for yourself – but don’t tell anyone you’re coming…

It was one of those days, the morning after the night before, and the morning before the final game of the 2010 football season. It was the morning of a potential day long hair of the dog session.

Surfacing at around 12 with a mouth as dry as the spitguard on  Gerry Ryan’s microphone, there was talk of ‘more beer’ in the air.

Urgh.

More beer.

Nothing could be further from my mind.

It was then that an apparition in the form of my erstwhile friend Handsome Chris appeared through the sunshine at the back door, clutching two unfamiliar bottles of a wonderful new medicine, and brandishing a maniac’s smile.

Crabbies Alcoholic Ginger Beer. Apparently his sister is some type of marketing executive or something and is starting to promote the stuff on this side of the Irish Sea and threw a couple of bottles his way to see how they went down.

‘Serve with ice and lemon’ the bottle suggested ‘or mix with Vodka’.

Fuck that. Too early for vodka. But not too early for ice and lemon.

It looks and smells like Ginger Ale, but there’s a definite kick of alcohol in there. At 4%, it’s strong enough to get you quite pissed if you drink enough of it, and believe me, there’s no problem there.

It’s almost TOO drinkable.

I downed my glass in one go, like it was 7-Up. But it was fantastic.

Dangerously fantastic.

Maybe it was something to do with me wearing shorts at the time, or the dazzling sunshine, but I think I’ve found the perfect summer hangover drink.

Shame you can’t buy it anywhere.

Crabbies. Available nowhere.

Needed everywhere.

There’s really not much reason for anyone to go to Smithfield.

Since the ‘regeneration’ a few years ago, it seems to have regressed somewhat, and anyone getting off the Luas is greeted with little more than a few dead eyed junkies asleep on the steps, an empty run down plaza, and a few boarded up shops and a Centra.

Just around the corner though, across the road from Dice Bar, is possibly the best pub in Dublin.

Frank Ryans is a proper pub. It has all the ingredients. Walking in on a sunny day you almost need bat like sonar detection to avoid walking into the nearest table, such is the darkness that envelopes you.

As your eyes adjust, it seems like you’ve walked into a stereotypical ‘Irish pub’ abroad. Wonky floor, bockety bar stools, thick wooden tables, signposts on the wall. The usual stuff. But then you look closer..

There’s strings of electric blue fairy lights hung across the darkest corners of the pub giving it a softer edge, and a line of army boots filled with flowers stretches across the steps that lead down to the back of the bar.

There’s also a string of bras hanging accross the rooom, for reasons unknown.

What looks like clutter on the walls is a surprising mish mash of framed pictures of Elvis and Roy Keane and Chuck Berry and Frank Sinatra.

And The Ramones and the Stones. And of anything else that they could find.

Studying the walls alone could keep a man occupied for hours on end, never mind the endless pleasures of simply sitting at the bar looking at the assorted wonders that lie strewn about behind there. There’s a few plastic trout hanging about  if you look hard enough for God’s sake.

There’s a pool table at the back – something that’s sadly lacking from all but a few of the capital’s boozers -  complete with a tiny home made cue to enable you to play tricky shots without smashing the pictures on the wall. It’s this attention to detail that makes Ryans the delight that it is.

That and the pints of Guinness so thick and creamy that you could trot a mouse across them.

I spent an entire Saturday in Ryans not so long ago. A beautiful spring day, with Smokey Robinson and Marvin Gaye on the stereo when we walked on. It was quiet enough to be able to stay on the pool table undisturbed for 4 hours, at the same time keeping an eye on the Rugby on the big screen in the corner without it becoming a distraction. As the place filled up, the music got louder but no less pleasing, and by 10pm it was as packed as any of the overpriced tourist traps in Temple Bar.

Just like the pub, it seems that the clientele have no airs and graces.

It’s location beside Dice Bar means that it gets an overflow of hip young things and rockabillys, as well as a throng of locals by the quieter area at the front door.

There was no bouncer on the door. There was none needed.

If you ever bemoan the fact that your local is trying too hard to become a superpub, then Ryans is a ready made alternative, on the fringes of the city centre. A perfect location for a Saturday with nothing to do and a goo for a pint.

Guinness – €4.10

Lager – €4.40

Bottles of Erdinger etc €4.90.

Toasties all day long – €4

Was in the mood for some Italian tonight, but she wasn’t in, so I decided to have some dinner instead. A lot of men might think that pasta without some sort of meat in it isn’t a proper meal.  Pasta is best when it’s kept simple.  I will admit that this recipe isn’t the best for the waistline, but it’s simple and tasty and everything in moderation and all that.

So here ya go lads my so simple, quick and easy recipe for Cheesy Broccoli Pasta:

Ingredients

250g of Whole Wheat Fusilli Pasta

1 Head of Broccoli, finely chopped

200g of Cream Cheese

100g of Mature Cheddar Cheese, grated

60ml Cream

Salt and Pepper

I used a low fat cream cheese, and in fairness it tasted the exact same as normal cream cheese.  I also highly recommend Killowen Mature Chedder cheese, one of the nicest cheeses I’ve had in a long time.

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Method:

You’ll need three pots for this. In one of them bring some water with a dash of olive oil and a pinch of salt, to a boil. Throw in your pasta. Cook al dente.

Put your chopped broccoli in another pot and cover with water. Bring to a boil then cook for about five minutes.

In your third pot, you’ll only need a small one for this. Put in your cream and cream cheese and whisk together, when it’s heated throw in your cheddar cheese and heat through until the cheese and melted. It should be all creamy and smooth. Yummy.

Drain off your pasta and broccoli. Throw the broccoli in the large pasta pot with the pasta then stir in your cheese sauce.

Season with salt and pepper.

You’ll get two generous portions out of this, or more if served on the side with chicken.

Make it for the better halves, the childer, bet they’ll all be truly impressed!

Nyom

Trying to watch the gut, but still love your chips?  There is a way.

What you’ll need:

6-8 Medium Sized Maris Piper Potatoes (Maris Piper Potatoes have a pleasant floury texture, and are ideal for making chips.They are one of the best known, and most popular potatoes. They are used a lot in chippers and restaurants because they are so reliable.)

1/4 Cup of Extra Virgin Olive Oil (good for the ol’ ticker, and tastier)

Salt for seasoning.

After you’ve cleaned your potatoes, slice and dice em up chipper style. Leave the skins on them, I find it makes them tastier and our mammies always told us that they’d put hair on our chests, so any day now!

Put them in a large bowl, and cover with water. Leave for at least an hour. This will help remove the excess starch from the potatoes and keep them from oxidizing.

Preheat your oven to 200 degrees.

Dry off any excess moisture off your potatoes using a clean tea towel, or kitchen paper.

Heat up your oil in a deep sauté pan.

In about two or three batches, lightly fry your chips for about 5 minutes, tossing them half way through.

Drain off any excess oil.

Line a large baking tray with baking paper. This will help prevent the chips from sticking, and help make them extra crispy.  Spread the chips out evenly on the tray and bake for 30-40 mins, give them a quick flip halfway through.

When they’re done, give them a light sprinkle of salt, and there you have it… The manliest, chunkiest, crispy on the outside and fluffy on the inside, tastiest chips ever.

You’ll have a couple of manly portions and maybe some leftover  for when you come in from the pub with the goo on you, and they’re a little bit healthier than the ones you’ll get in the chipper.  Of course if you have the pub goo on you, you’ll be needing some bread and butter to lash these bad boys on so being healthiness will be the last thing on your mind.

Lash on some salt and vinegar, ketchup or whatever, and you’re away.

If you’ve any suggestions or questions for me about grub, leave them in the comments or get me through [email protected]

Howya lads, I’m Al and I’m here to give you some tips on making tasty food that’s easier to make than you think. Plus, the food you make yourself is always healthier than what you’d buy ready made, as you know what went into it.
And if you’ve got a special lady friend you’ll impress her with your mad culinary skills, even if all you have in the fridge is some beer and some chicken….

Ingredients

• 4 Chicken Breasts, diced
• 1 Red Pepper, chopped into large pieces
• 1 Large Birds Eye Chilli, finely diced with seeds
• 1/2 Onion, thinly sliced
• 3 Cloves of Garlic, minced
• 1 tsp Ground Cumin
• 1 tsp Chilli Powder
• Pinch of Salt
• 200ml of Corona
• Juice from 1/2 of a Lime

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1. Mix chicken, spices and 100ml of your Corona, in a large bowl. Cover and marinate in the fridge for at least an hour, 2-3 hours would be even better.

2. Preheat oven to 180 degrees.

3. Place your marinated chicken, with the peppers, onions, garlic, lime juice and the rest of your Corona is an oven proof dish, toss and cover with some aluminium foil.

4. Bake for about 20-30 minutes.

5. Enjoy it spooned over some rice.

6. Maybe have a cold bottle of Corona with Lime on the side, if you can’t handle a bit of heat.

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Easy as that.

If you’ve got any questions about food, recipes or tips and tricks, you can send a mail to [email protected] and I’ll do my best to help you out.