Getting back in the swing of things
My first holidays in Ireland, horse racing, and more.
How is it already mid-January? The past couple of months have flown by, between traveling to New York, celebrating the holidays and kicking off the New Year. I set an intention for myself to write four newsletters a month, and I feel like I’ve already fallen behind, even though of course that’s a little silly. (I love setting arbitrary goals and then beating myself up over them.) Today’s newsletter was originally supposed to be a more organized essay reflecting on 2022, but, as you’ll see below, I got waylaid with the flu and have not been able to write as much as I would have liked. Instead, what I have to offer is a few bits and bobs about life in Ireland around the holidays, as I experienced it this year - my first Christmas here. Enjoy! I’ll be back to regular programming soon.
A Christmas Day Swim
Peter’s family has a tradition of heading to the beach on Christmas Day for an incredibly brisk swim. Typically it’s only Peter and his brother who get in the water, with everyone else enjoying a nice beach walk. I was happy to be included in this tradition, but no one was happier than Rigby, who was the giddiest I’ve seen him in a long time:
I didn’t swim, but I felt very happy for the walk as well. It was actually a beautiful, sunny day, not overly cold (although the water was, of course, freezing as always). As we left the beach to head back home for dinner, a car with two women in wetsuits pulled up. We greeted them, wished them luck on their swim, and one of them said she was only getting in the water so that she could go home and “eat herself sick” afterwards. A woman after my own heart!
Horse races on St. Stephen’s Day
St. Stephen’s Day - December 26th, the day after Christmas - is a holiday I had absolutely never heard of but it is a huge deal in Ireland. If Christmas is a day for family time, St. Stephen’s Day is for going out and partying with friends. We started out, though, by attending the horse races in Limerick. I’d never been to a horse race before and had zero clue of what to expect. The moment we arrived, I realized I’d made a huge mistake: literally every woman except me was wearing a cocktail dress and strappy heels, despite the fact that it was freezing cold and (of course) drizzling rain. This wasn’t Kentucky Derby vibes: there were no hats or pastels. Everyone was signaling with their attire that they may be going to a club to get bottle service right afterwards. I comforted myself by downing multiple hot whiskeys. Even with the warm beverages, my fingers felt like they may fall off, so I have nothing but respect for all those ladies braving the weather in their hot girl ‘fits.
At one point during a steeplechase, a horse fumbled their jump and fell to the ground, the jockey flying through the air. I literally screamed because my entire knowledge of horse racing comes from, like, watching period pieces on Netflix. I always assumed that if a horse fell they would immediately be euthanized in front of our very eyes. Turns out, that isn’t really the case: the horse and jockey both got back up and walked, uninjured, off the racetrack. Whew! Go figure!
On our way out, I waited in the perilously long line for the women’s bathroom, which was full of soaking-wet Irish ladies attempting to reapply full faces of makeup. It was a disaster and I felt a little better about my frumpy mom jeans + sweater outfit.
Getting the flu in a treehouse
I booked a cute little treehouse in County Clare over New Year’s as a Christmas present for Peter (and for myself too, if we’re being honest). I was already feeling a bit sniffly when we headed down, but I was consistently testing negative for COVID and felt pretty fine otherwise, so I assumed I was just a bit worn down from all the holiday socializing. We had a really lovely first day in Clare: I got to see The Burren, a bizarre part of the country that’s entirely covered in cracked limestone pavement, and looks like Mordor. We went to the Cliffs of Moher (my verdict? I’ve seen better cliffs in Ireland, but you do you, tourists.) We had a really lovely dinner at Linnane’s Lobster Bar, including an absolutely unreal bowl of seafood chowder that I really believed had cured what ailed me. Then things got bad, and fast.
It started with congestion that was getting worse and worse, then the onset of a cough. I went to bed early, exhausted, and woke up with full-body cramps and a blinding migraine. It was the flu, and everything suddenly made sense: I didn’t get my flu vaccine this year, for the first time in at least a decade. It completely slipped my mind, and I also don’t qualify for vaccines in Ireland yet due to some boring (and yet consequential!) admin reasons. I was knocked out. Further tourist activities were off the table. We headed back to Dublin and I spent several days in a fugue state on the couch. I’m feeling better now, but I’m not going to lie, all the illnesses since moving here have been a bit challenging. I’m really ready to get past this rough season of settling in, health-wise.
A current Dublin fave
Katie and I have now gone to dinner at Note Wine Bar enough times that I think it qualifies as a tradition. Note is, to my mind, a perfect wine bar - the vibes are excellent, they have a rotating roster of super interesting wines available by the glass, and yet somehow their food is so good that it overshadows the alcohol. (Note reminds me of my perennial Brooklyn fave, June Wine Bar). Each time we go, we order a slightly ridiculous assortment of food, because everything on the menu just looks so good. This is the type of place where I know that, no matter what’s available, I will order it and I’ll enjoy it.
A couple of nights ago, on my first meal out since recovering from the flu, we had an absolutely lovely dinner there. We lingered for hours and finished off with a round of Negronis (always my favorite nightcap). Highlights included an unreal chicken liver paté served on focaccia with thinly sliced apples, and a butterhead lettuce salad that we ordered almost as an afterthought but that ended up being so excellent: huge, pillowy pieces of lettuce, perfectly dressed in vinegar and with a generously crunchy amount of sea salt. Note is just like that - simple yet surprising. If you’re in Dublin, please consider stopping by.