The Big Day

Robert's 60th birthday, the reason for this fabulous holiday, was yesterday, Wednesday 22nd August 2012.

It started earlier than we had intended. I had assumed a short flight from Manchester to Dublin would not detract too much from the day. WRONG! Ireland is a foreign country. Our travel documentation insisted we book in for the flight at least two-and-a-half hours before the 8 a.m. flight.

So with both phone alarms set, we ensured we 'bounced' out of bed at 3.30 a.m.. We arrived at the Aer Lingus desk, to find it wasn't even open.

After the 40 minute flight, the NON E.U. arrivals line was so long at Dublin airport that when we finally emerged, our suitcases were the only two still sadly circling on the baggage carousel.
Luckily our driver Brian was still waiting for us. He even seemed pleased to see us, shaking hands with of us. I apologised for his wait and in his Irish brogue, he said, "It's a disgrace. They know the planes are coming and how many passengers there are. It's not like it's a surprise."

Again he proved to be part taxi-driver, part raconteur. He told us how his son teases him - Dad, your passengers are entitled to your opinions.

Brian told us how he loves to push the truth especially with American tourists. He goes further and further, they lap it all up, until Brian himself confesses he is telling lies.

"Oh no, you're not Brian, " they reply.

"Okay, I'm not!" he will say.

Our room at O'Callaghan's Hotel was not ready, so we were able to buy tickets to the Hop On-Hop Off bus from the hotel reception desk. The bus stop was just around the corner and a bus waiting there ... just for us??? Off we went.

Did you know that the original Mr. Guinness and my dad share the same first name of ARTHUR. Mr. Guiness  rented the land for his brewery at very favourable terms for a period of nine hundred years.
Later looking for somewhere for lunch, an elderly, white-haired lady with a pretty pale pink cardigan stopped and asked if we were lost.

She said most Dubliners eat on the other side of the river, but thought Clery's Department Store would be nice. So we enjoyed spicy vegetable soup, looking over some old rooftops in their top floor restaurant.

Before we left Australia, I had booked dinner at L'Ecrivain on line, as for this special occasion we chose a Michelin star restaurant.




It was a short walk from our hotel, past the Merrion Square, surrounded by Georgian buildings. Down a side lane, we walked through large iron gates into a small courtyard, to find the restaurant looking very plain on the outside.


But once inside the glass door, a dark jewel was revealed. We first had a drink in the small, moodily light bar, where the Polish attendant asked what flavours I liked, then prepared me an elderflower martini. And what a performance it was!

What a fresh, amazing taste. I didn't notice the alcohol content until we were escorted upstairs to our table. Subtle lighting revealed a soaring white ceiling and a modern decor.

The menu revealed our sommelier was a Ms. Delaney. We told her one daughter was named Delanie, to find from her that our waiter we would meet later was also of the Delaney surname (but spelt differently to her). Now when we first encountered him, he said, "I understand you have a daughter with a wonderful name." As I ordered a bottle of a German Riesling from our Ms. Delaney, when yet another member of the wait staff brought it to our table, I was the one whom was asked if I would like to taste it. It took Woodsie to point out to me that level of detail that had taken place. I ordered the wine so there was no automatic 'the male tastes the wine'.

This was a restaurant that takes service very seriously. And unlike some Melbourne places, where I feel staff overpower me with their sense of superiority, here the balance is achieved: polite, friendly, approachable.
And the food looked and tasted superb. First was a tiny crab morsel with some sort of foam, from the chef. Then look what we had.


I had left a tiny leaf thing on my plate. The waiter asked, "You didn't like this little fellow?"

"What is it?"

"Rocket."

So I quickly, to Rob's horror, grabbed it with my fingers and gobbled it up.
The waiter smiled, "That's what chef likes."

When he brought the menu for dessert, he presented them with a flourish, "Now for the best part."


The photos are not too bright as I was the only one happily clicking at each dish, and didn't use the flash to draw too much attention to us.

Then came coffee and petit fours, a plate with four different sweet, tiny delights.



I noticed whenever someone left their table, a member of the wait staff would swoop and resold their napkin.

I asked one, just quietly, what I should do with my napkin if I left the table.

"Just leave it," he said.

But I wanted to know, but he insisted they would handle it for me. If I did it, he would be out of a job. Such a gracious answer, I thought.

Going off to check out their bathroom, I said to Woodsie, "You watch. This napkin will be resold end before I get back.". And it was. Plus Woodsie noticed our wine was in a wine cooler on a stand far enough from our table so we do not pour any ourselves. They just glide up and refill wine and water glasses constantly. Really great service.





The promised rain held off for stroll home.

Here we are in the lift on the way upto our wonderful room with the king size bed.



The big 60th birthday started off a touch shakily, but with this wonderful evening, it sure finished as a most memorable one.