A signed photo of Frank Sinatra by the door, a statue of a gargoyle overlooking the kitchen. I order a traditional Irish breakfast.
An American couple from Milwaukee is sitting in the corner. The sign says it’s the Naughty Corner.
The proprietor, A, and his assistant have a classic Irish humour. It really shows itself when a table of six women arrive. They are from California. The assistant says, “ Well I hope none of you is vegetarian. We don’t go for that shit here. Hey, A,” he says, yelling into the kitchen, “these women are from California.”
“Well I hope they’re not vegetarian,” he replies. “We don’t go for the special milk and coffees shit here. We’ll have none of that.”
Two of the women confess they are from Santa Claus, Illinois. After the assistant ensures the women are not easily offended, he says, “Jesus, and I thought this was going to be an easy Tuesday morning, but now you’re stressing me out. Don’t you know we’re all hung over here?”
The assistant yells into the kitchen, “A, can you fookin’ believe it? Some of these women are from Santa Claus.”
“Oh yeah? I heard of it.”
One of the women wants to know if she can order the BLT without the tomato.
“Why would you want to do that?” asks A. “I put cocaine in the tomatoes.”
Later, the assistant says to one of the women, “You seem to be taking a lot of pictures. Are you the photographer for the group?”
She says, “No, I’m an influencer.”
“Oh, for fook’s sake. An influencer? We don’t go for those around here either. The only thing worse than a vegetarian is an influencer. Hey, A,” he yells into the kitchen, “one of these women is an influencer.”
“An influencer? Did you tell her we don’t go for that thing here?”
“Yeah, I told her.”
“Better bring out the statue then.”
The assistant brings out a statue of a penis. The women laugh. The assistant says, “This penis belonged to a good friend of mine. But then we found out he was a vegetarian.” Everyone in the restaurant howled.
Yep, best breakfast in Dublin, and the best entertainment too.