Dublin and my blood

Her indoors and I were at home in Dublin last weekend and we had a great time.

Now, there are a couple of important keywords there in that last sentence: “home” and “great“. ‘Home’’s a difficult concept; as an immigrant I refer to our flat in London, my mother’s house in Dublin, Dublin as a city and indeed Ireland as a whole as ‘home’. But here… I’m talking about feeling the place where I grew up and feeling it welcome me in as one of its own. And that’s a good feeling.

‘Great’s important too. I could have said ‘fantastic’ or ‘amazing’ or ’supercalifragilisticexpialladocioius’ or any other superlative. But, as I grow older I realise that simple words that I may have ignored when I was younger like ‘nice’ and ‘great’ actually carry more meaning. Simple and sincere.

So, it was a great weekend spent in my home.

I have some people to thank for that. My wife, of course, who I am better in the company of (simply said). My friend P who I once shared a flat with and enjoyed walking about and reminiscing with. My two South African friends who always bring such infectious joy with them and, having not been to Dublin before, allowed us to play tour guide which is something that I felt helped me to reconnect. And my two oldest friends and their ladies.

One of these in particular acted as a guide through the older pubs of Dublin on Friday night. The Long Hall. Peter’s Pub. Neary’s. We also visited No.3 and Ron Black’s, but it’s the first three that matter. He is  deeply integrated into the fabric of Dublin life and comes from an old line of Dublin blood (like me though, I must admit, I needed some reminding of what this really meant). Stories flowed about gas lights, gregarious bar staff and mirrored pillars. Silly little tidbits of trivia that are as vital to a city’s character as air is to a human.

It revitalised what the city meant to me and, later in the weekend, as we walked through Temple Bar, along the quays, across Smithfield, and through the Liberties, I remembered a comic shop run by a witty warm-hearted friend of my fathers, I remembered fish and fruit & veg markets, I remembered my grandfather’s first job winding the clock of Trinity College, I remembered horse markets, first kisses by pub walls, late nights and early mornings… I remembered my own tales and those of my fathers.

It was wonderful. I’ve spoken recently about the possiblity of parenthood and how it was so vital to me that my child should walk Dublin streets. I’d forgotten why. Intuitively I knew it mattered but I couldn’t quite articulate why…. Now I remember!

Ah. An Irish emigrant priced out of Ireland! Ah the irony!

Ironically, being Irish, we find ourselves trapped by the failing British economy. Ireland will, in the long term, fail longer than harder that the UK no doubt.  Britain has older and more entrenched cash that Ireland’s Celtic Tiger spark. But, right now, it’s the exchange rate that has us trapped.

We had spoken of moving back in coming years…  but any equity we’ve built up on our flat (which, admittedly, isn’t what it was last year) has effectively dropped by about 35% so, between that and a freeze on jobs across appropriate recruitment in Ireland, that choice has been taken away from us.

It’s not world-shattering.

We do love our life in London very very much. The people we know are genuine and interesting. And we love our little flat with our giant and lovely back garden… But I really don’t like the idea of being here against my will… or anywhere really for that matter.

I remember being offended years ago at the idea that it would be forever out of my reach to live in the neighbourhood in which I grew up. That changed in the last 3 or so years and, while I didnt feel compelled to take immediate advantage of it, I felt genuine relief. But it’s now returned to that state and.. I don’t know if ‘offensive’ is an entirely accurate word to use but it *is* how I feel. Offended that I cannot choose to live where I grew up.

Anyways…

Yo Thai In Dublin

22-24 Donnybrook Road
Donnybrook
Dublin 4
Ireland

Billy and I were back visiting the motherland some weeks ago and were brought to a new (well… new to us anyway, and that’s all that counts) eaterie called Yo Thai. It’s placed a fair distance from the city centre; so it’s an unlikely visit unless you live near the area. Which is unfortunate as it would, we feel, be better received around Grafton St or its environs.

Surprisingly, given the name, its real expertise is Japanese; sushi. Good sushi is not easy to come by in Dublin since Aya began to serve mashed potato and the occasional hamburger (WTF!!!) on its conveyor belts.

Yo Thai certainly seems incongruous for Donnybrook. It’s a fairly pleasant area; with beautiful Georgian residences and small greens and parks; but hardly known for its cuisine. This is one of two difficulties that Yo Thai has; exemplified by our going in a quiet family group on the night of a rugby game. Yo Thai is a large well-kept restaraunt over one of the larger pubs in the area, and was crowded to breaking point with tables of gregarious drunken lads laden with plates of chips and ketchup. Not in itself a bad thing if we were looking for a loud night out; but one generally doesn’t choose Japanese food for the singing drunken craic. We had to feel bad for the waiter who was forcibly pulled down to a table beside us to sing Happy Birthday, or another who had difficulty containing her distaste when delivering aprons/bibs to one table a moment too late…

The second problem with Yo Thai I’ll mention later.

The food came, course upon course upon course, and was of a very high standard. It was a set menu, selected by the main chef upon recognising one of our companions; a Japanese girl who had been there before. One of the most interesting things about Yo Thai is the flexibility and genuine enthusiasm of the chef; who will happily produce items not on the menu if requested and will even suggest such items if he feels the customer would appreciate them. We had excellent sashimi; tuna, sea bass and salmon. A very high quality of fish; cut into pieces thick enough to relish every bite. This was followed by steamed sea bass & pak choi in soy; onigiri; udon and miso and finally azuki bean ice cream, which is excellent.

The green tea was rejoiced even by littl’ Billy when it finally came to announce an end to the generous courses in the form of a much needed digestive aid.

The main chef, coincidentally also named Billy, is certainly the best and worst thing about the place simultaneously. Though, it should be stated immediately before going further; ‘worst’ for the best possible reasons.

He’s Thai and this certainly shows through in the menu and in the crisp tastes her serves. He also trained for a few years as a sushi chef in Japan. He’s incredibly enthusiastic about his customers (you feel more like an honoured guest), proud of the food he serves, and almost a floorshow in the whirlwind of smiles, laughs and chat he creates about the restaraunt. Like some crazed dervish delivering great food and a genuine smile to each and every table.

He is however, in doing so, one of the problems I think Yo Thai faces; Billy is stretched far too thinly in his workload. He engages in conversations that he is forced to cut short before they’ve really begun, his food gives the impression that he doesn’t quite achieve as highly as he could (this is meant as a compliment), and the menu is largely limited to dishes that can be quickly and efficiently prepared.

He’s aware of this and even apoligised several times while delivering genuinely fine fare. A new restaraunt and a menu were mentioned and we’re both very much looking forward to trying it out sometime in the New Year.

Eoin: 7
Billy: 9
Link to gmap here