The Ghosts of Paddy’s Day


Slate has an article about the world-wide Irish pub conspiracy.  Much like Starbucks, the Irish Pub Company is putting an "authentic" Irish pub on every corner.  Then, I guess, they will move into the sinister Phase 2 of their scheme.  Overall, they do a good job faking the authenticity of an Irish Pub.  Fado in Atlanta is one of their creations.   It is on my top ten list of bars/pubs worldwide. 

The other end of the spectrum is the fake pub who isn’t even trying for a dram of authenticity.  In Monterey, JDS and I used to attempt to go to O’Kane’s Irish Pub.  I cannot confirm if this place is even still in existence.  I hope it went the way of the Dodo and Potato Famine.   Sadly, the same can’t be said of Doc Rickett’s Lab.  That abomination is a story for another time.  Maybe when Doc Ricketts rises from the dead and turns the patron’s of the club named after him into mindless zombies… oh, wait, they already are mindless zombies.  I digress.

O’Kanes had all the Irish verisimilitude of a Denny’s outside of Boston.  JDS used to exclusively refer to it as O’Kane’s Non-Irish Pub.  Somehow, and in a complete defiance of all logic, it only got funnier the more he said it.

The first Paddy’s Day I spent in Monterey, however, was spent in some fake-English brewpub.  I couldn’t remember what is was called if you blew up a bus outside my window.  In the great tradition of great Irish drinkers, me and the Ex-Mrs. Sarcastro, (at that time the future Ex-Mrs. Sarcastro) were out hoisting as many as we could keep down.  Late in the evening she had moved into what the scientific community termed "Mrs. Sarcastro-Stage Five" .  As a general rule, you want nothing to do with her around stage five.  To be fair, I was at about Stage Four-Point-Nine, myself. Out of the blue, she turns and punches me in the face.  Not hard, but hard enough to hurt.  I pivoted in my seat and gave her a crack in the mouth right back.  We drunkenly laughed at the expression of our love through booze and violence.

It doesn’t get more authentically Irish than that. 


One Response to “The Ghosts of Paddy’s Day”

  1. sgazzetti Says:

    I was thinking of O’Kane’s Non-Irish Pub as I read that Slate piece. I’d forgotten all about the fond fisticuffs that used to pass between you and the Ex-Mrs. Sarcastro. Your vignette brought back memories of long, lazy Sangria-drenched Sunday afternoons in Monterey, usually ending with mild battery in the back of a pick-up truck. Ah, to be young again. And a robot…

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