What do you do when you have a transatlantic flight and you are pretty sure you don’t want to eat the airplane food? If you’re me, you bake two batches of cookies in anticipation of mid-flight snackiness. If you’re Nick, you book your flight such that you have a three-hour layover in Dublin where you can fuel up with some (hopefully) authentic pub grub and a pint or two of Guinness. Luckily for both of us, we travel together.
Naturally, our plane from Paris to Dublin arrived late, and with all the customs and security holdups, we ended up having much less time than we had hoped for lunch. Add to that the time spent wandering around the airport looking for something that wasn’t just fast food, and the fact that the only real restaurant we could find refused to take food orders until 12 noon, and it was nearly a stressful experience. Thank goodness for Guinness.
I was heartened by this note on the menu as well – just because you’re in an airport doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a good meal.
My cod fillet came crispy and golden, with a bright swipe of herbed mushy peas.
Nick got a bacon cheeseburger with some tasty Irish cheddar. On both plates, the chips were delicious wedges of fresh potato, hot and perfectly fried.
We had just enough time after lunch for another pint in the pub near our gate while we filled out our customs form.
On this day in 2008: Meatballs! (and spaghetti)
Originally published on Croque-Camille.