Guide Index Red words? Check the Dub Glossary!Webmaster's Note: Desperate for content, or maybe just because I got a kick out of it, I'm posting this review sent to me by a right pair of Dublin skangers. One word of warning: you'll more than likely need the glossary of Dub slang. Bon appetit!
Ratboy recently opened his beady, bloodshot eyes to find a wad of old banknotes staring him in his face. "Tank Jaysus fer de bleedin’ weeds of the local boozer!" Ratboy said, brushing off his shiny tracksuit and pocketing the wind-blown swag. "I'm out of that dive. Now I can take me mot out for some proper noshing!"
Ratboy's bird, Redzer, is like all birds. She has much more cop-on than her feller. "Yiz daft eegit, Ratso!" she shrilled. "I don't care how much Dutch Gold it'd buy! Yer not going down to the offie wit tha’ packet- yer taking me out for a real dinner!"
Ratboy's feet were as shifty as his eyes: he bounced from dirty runner to dirty runner, but he knew better than to contradict the shapely supermodel. He still had one good ear, after getting tossed out of the local on his other, but Redzer could lay a smack on him faster than lightning. Smiling dangerously, she fired up one of those computers that had been too hot to fence and was swiftly printing off pages from www.softguide-dublin.com. "These are fancy restaurants- too fancy for the likes of you, Ratso!- but waving thems winnings of yers, we may just get a nose in the door!"
"They aren't winnings, Redzer! I tolds ya, I found them on the ground!"
He ducked just in time. "Shup! And stop gambling! Now, grab yer coat- we're going to Temple Bar!"
Shiraz: Safe Harbor, or Alien Territory?
It had been a long while since Ratboy has shown his sneery little face in Temple Bar- and it was a good thing, too. All the old doormen had bounced their musclehead way into Mountjoy jail, and none of this new generation recognized him on sight. Ratboy and Redzer cackled with mirth at all the wandering stag parties and hen nights and tourists and vomit. There were bright lights and fancy dresses and music.
"Bollix, Redzer! That right pair a' Guards looks like they're following us! Shite! Turn left here and leg it!"
They skulked in the opposite direction as fast as they could. They tried to blend in with some happy yuppie crowd, but that wasn't bloody likely. "Ratso! Quick! Ducks in here- it's on the list I printed out!"
"Ih, 'Shiraz'-" said Ratboy. He crept up the steps and through the door. "Howyiz!" he called.
"Table for two?"
"Eh- yih! One that's away from the window," answered Ratboy. It was an airy, well-lit sort of joint.
"You didn't even have to flash th’ spondoolicks, Ratso!" whispered Redzer, following close behind. Enjoying their welcome, the pair of right skangers were seated at a pleasant wooden table. Ratboy made to pocket the silverware, but Redzer smacked his hand.
"Sorry!" hissed Ratboy.
"We've got to be on best behavior, in an upscale boo-doir like this," Redzer hissed back. "Don't nick the silver 'til later!"
The joint was not large but it was packed. Even if the Guard poked his big culchie head in the door, he'd not likely see them. There were little candles and big fancy plants and the people at the next table were talking some weird foreign country language.
"Ooo! This is flash! I bet their sausages-and-chips have those fancy little cocktail sausages rather than the normal kind!"
"Are yiz thick or wha'?" Redzer raged. "This is a Persian restaurant! They do Iraqi food, not burgers and chips!"
"It looks like tha' crowd's eating spaghetti to me."
"Wells, it's Pasta and Persian here. And that's not the kind of spaghetti you eat out of a can, you thick freakin' rat."
"Yih, I was tinkin' I didn't recognize the brand. No hoops on yer man's plate."
Waitress All in Black. The Mysterious Borek.
This nice Dub in black was standing there by their table. "How yiz doing? Ready to order?"
"Oh, certainly luv. I'll be having the Penne pasta wit mushrooms. And a mushroom starter, please. And a bottle of yer house red."
"An' it had better not be plonk, for twenty-two bucks," added Ratboy.
"Ratso!" hissed Redzer, and then gave the friendly waitress one of her million-dollar smiles. Ratboy called them that even though the gold tooth had only cost them a hundred Euro.
"So's...um... Persian food, hmmm--- been a while since I was in Persia, so's I'm not up on what's the latest hote-coiture dining fashion, yih--"
"If yiz like, sir, I'll just bring you out some of the best bits. You know, the popular Persian dishes?"
"That would suit Rat- er, me dining companion, down to th' ground, luv."
"Deadly." The friendly waitress went off.
"I bet they'd bring me some chips if I asked for them."
"Yer mighty bold, Ratso, tinkin’ I won't smack you in a fancy joint like this."
There had been shark and ostrich on the menu. Ratboy was glad that the grub they brought out to him didn't have any of that zoo-poaching muck in them. "This is called 'Borek,'" the little Dub bird told him. "It's feta cheese in filo pastry, with salad on the side and some sweet chilli sauce."
"And what's that, when it's at home?" asked Redzer.
"It's lovely, that's what," cried Ratboy around a mouthful. "Keep it comin', yer doin’ grand."
The wine was grand, too.
"Don't you belch like tha' in public again, Ratso! Yer gonna get us kicked out of here!"
"Sorry."
"An' stop lickin' yer fingers! Jaysus, I'm leggin' it down to the jacks so's I don't have to be seen wit yiz."
Reports of the Toilets. Dangerous Flames.
Ratboy sat there alone for a minute, listening to the cool jazz and R&B, watching the goldfish swim around the stems of the fresh cut flowers in the big glass vase.
He was wearing a big jack o' lantern grin when his buxom supermodel of a wifey finally came back up. "Ha ha! Look, Redzer- chips!"
The Shiraz platter had arrived complete with a strip of grilled steak, two of chicken, fancy saffron Persian rice, a special bowl of onion-and-mushroom-and-spice sauce and... chips!
"Ah yer a feckin’ disgrace is what you are, Ratso."
But that was just grapes as bitter as the ones they would dig out of the skip behind the local grocery. Redzer sat looking at her healthy Penne Pasta, all dejected like.
"Relax, there missus-- I've ordered you a side of garlic bread to go along wit it. Double butter and double garlic!"
Ratboy received a million-dollar smile.
"Excuse me whiles I run back down to th' ladies."
"Ah bollix- th' mushrooms gave yiz the skitters?"
Flames shot out of Redzer's eyes, flash-frying Ratboy to a cinder in less than one bleeding second.
"No, Ratso- tha' doesn't happen in fancy-ass cafes like this." She turned one stiletto heel and vanished.
Ratboy resumed stuffing his face.
An Extremely Hazardous Encounter
"Excuse me, good sir-" interrupted a balding man. Between his fancy suit and the posh accent, Ratboy figured the game was up. He prepared to jump the rail and peg it out the front door but the non-manager continued.
"I am just inquiring as to the quality of the grilled sirloin filet. It was a menu selection that tempted my palate, but was ultimately passed over in favor of the delightful Penne Caccitore."
"It's the dog's bollix!"
"Dog offal?" exclaimed the girlie-man.
"Not 'dog awful,' ye bleedin' spa! 'The dog's bollix'- it's great stuff!"
"Oh!"
"An' it came wit chips!"
"I daresay!"
"Ye can dare all yiz like in this gaff. We chanced our arms ducking in here an' it worked out the business!"
The fop leaned in, conspiratorially. "I will take you into my confidences, my good man, in order to justify my intrusion. I am that Scarlet Pimpernell of the Dublin restaurant scene- The Covert Critic! Upholding the banner of good taste, I swoop upon unsuspecting culinaries and make illicit samples of their wares and ambiance! May I offer you a tipple? It is, of course- tee hee!- all on the newspaper's expense account."
"Go on then wit tha' Visa card! Get us two!"
"Oh, you manly cad!"
"Yih. Here comes Redzer! Redzer, this lad here's the Scarlet Pimp. He swoops his illicit whores around in an ambulance!"
"Howyiz, luv!"
But Redzer's golden smile was lost upon the Covert Critic. "Well! I daresay, I see that you, sir, are already accompanied this fine evening. I must be making my apologies..."
"Wha'? This guy tinks he's too good to be talkin' wit us? He tinks we're skangers?" Redzer demanded.
"'Skangers' does not begin to approach the fit description, madam. And you, sir- you are not a rough-and-rugged knaff-nuveau... you, despite your dreadful portrayal of an accent... are a true knacker!"
An Evening’s Violent End. Financial Shocker!
Ratboy ducked just in time. With one swoop, Redzer clocked the Covert Critic clear back to D4.
"Oh Jaysus- here comes the waitress! Redzer, we're done for now! Grab them bottles of plonk!"
But the waitress was apologetic. "Sorry fer the delay- I'm afraid the kitchen's closed. So's instead of garlic bread, allow us to bring you out some free deserts-"
"Ah, Jays, that's dead sound of 'em," said Ratboy.
"Yih. Now I feel bad about playing to be the bathroom attendant, all night, shaking down the patrons for spare change!"
"Say, Ratso, wha's tha’, that yer man dropped on the ground?"
"Ih, it's his Visa card! Th' expense account, Redzer! Ha ha, we're flush wit cash!"
"Ya stupid bleedin' eejit- th' man only got money when he wrote up articles about places to nosh. The minute tha' newspaper doesn't get no more articles, we're sunk! They'll sick the Guards on us!"
"Ah Jaysus, Redzer... wha' can we do?"
"What am I doing wit th’ dumb likes a you, Ratso? All we have to do is put out word like this:
The Verdict:
Shiraz
12 Eustace Street
Temple Bar, Dublin 2
Tel: +353 1 672 7424
Redzer sez: Average food. Not the best of places to duck into unless you're getting chased.
Ratboy sez: Th' Persian stuff was a bit of alright. Friendly service, and I didn't lose me packet.
Guide Index Red words? Check the Dub Glossary!