Something that has always irked me about Ireland is our half-assed attempts to implement some foreign dish. Paddy told Joe about this foreign yokey he had while on holiday in Spain, and wouldn’t it be just great if we could have the same thing at home?

No, Paddy, it wouldn’t.

To me, Paddy, a “steak sandwich” is shavings or slices of steak in a bread roll, smothered in delicious cheese and topped with…savoury toppings. A steak sandwdich isn’t a fucking eight-ounce steak served on a slice of toasted ciabatta bread and accompanied by a plateful of chips. That, Paddy, is Steak and Chips Served with a Slice of Toasted Bread. I am looking at you, Kingsvalley Hotel. A steak sandwich should be something I can pick up and eat. A steak I have to slice with a steak knife and fork doesn’t fit into this category.

Your service was crap, too.

in me

Mark Grealish

Dashing brigand, handsome rapscallion, father, crazy cat lady and the world's greatest lover and liar, living in Galway, Ireland.

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