Sláinte!

The time has come for corned beef and cabbage and all things green. But while the rest search for their inner nutty Irishman, this little leprechaun went on the hunt for an Irish pub that serves real Irish food.

Admittedly the Irish are not known for their fine cuisine. This must be why most of the local pubs I found, while they can pour a decent Guinness, don’t actually serve any legitimate Irish food. Adding the words “Celtic” or “emerald” to the name of a dish in order to make it Irish works just as well as adding green food coloring to a Budweiser.

Hunger, determination and the desire to not have to cook this week took us to Molly Darcy’s Irish Pub in Danbury. With any luck, at the end of a long drive we would find that pot of gold.

Ok, enough of the St. Patty’s Day clichés, let’s get down to it.

One thing Molly’s has is room, and lots of it. With two floors, a racetrack bar, stage, game room with pool table and foosball, patio and back bar, all in addition to the dining areas, there is enough space for everyone to find their own cozy corner. Miles of hardwood and possibly hundreds of old signs and photos remind every guest in every little nook that yes, you are indeed in a pub.

At our table, the overhead lamp flickered brighter and dimmer throughout the meal. While this was surely due to a bad connection with that particular circuit, we have it on authority from a true Irishman that this was actually an authentic touch, no matter how unintentional.

According to Adam’s coworker Paul, a Cork native, the electricity is rather unreliable throughout the country and one can never be sure when the lights will go out. We simply chalked it up to the antics of a mischievous gnome.

An Irish coffee with made-to-order whipped cream helped to ward off the chill of a rainy night while I skimmed the menu, skipping over American-sounding burgers and salads until I found what we had come for.

Adam picked the traditional lamb stew and I opted for a proper fry-up. For starters we ordered the whiskey wings, glazed with a sweet and tangy Tullamore Dew sauce. Maybe not the most traditional choice, I know, but they were made with Irish whiskey and I can never really say no to chicken wings.

Our appetizer arrived surprisingly fast and after the first bite it was apparent why. The wings were stone cold. Obviously made by mistake and left to die in the window, sadly they would have been delicious otherwise. The meat was juicy and fell easily from the bones and the sauce had just the right amount of zip to tingle your lips.

Thankfully our entrees were served piping hot; steam still rose from the bowl of thick stew when it arrived at the table.

Large chunks of potato and carrot along with tender pieces of lamb and lots of sage and parley made this savory stew a hearty meal.


I think it is safe to say that Adam liked it.


My Irish breakfast was also a meal to be conquered. Two fried eggs with bangers (large Irish sausages), rashers (like a cross between ham and bacon, sliced thick and grilled), black and white pudding, chips, grilled tomato, baked beans and toast, it was truly a smorgasbord of meat that shamed my former vegetarian ways.



The beans, an English addition to the traditional Irish fry-up, tasted too much of tomato sauce for my liking and the chips had most likely started the day frozen, but I still had plenty on my plate to keep me busy.

For those of you who don’t know what black pudding is, it’s a sausage made by cooking pig or cow blood until it is thick enough to congeal when it is cooled. The blood is then mixed with various fillers such as meat, fat, suet, and grain, typically barley or oatmeal. White pudding is the same as black, although sans blood and therefore the deep red color.

The puddings were served sliced and fried until lightly crisp and were actually quite tasty for being such a gross concept. Even Adam was pleasantly surprised, if not a little hesitant.

The rasher, however, with a deliciously smoky flavor, turned out to be my favorite foreign meat.

While glancing over the dessert menu I asked our waiter, who also seemed to be the bartender for our dinning area, if they carried John Powers Irish Whiskey. The following exchange occurred:

“We do have Powers.

”Great. I'll take a snifter.”

“A what?”

“A snifter.”

“A stifter?”

“No, Powers, neat, in a snifter.”

(Pause) “A what?”

*sigh*


After dropping off our dessert, a red velvet cake with a creamy cheese frosting, and conferring with a few coworkers as to what exactly it was that the crazy lady over at table 14 had asked for, the waiter thankfully delivered my drink exactly as I had ordered it.

When reading the menu description of the red velvet cake, (admittedly not an Irish selection either but we just wanted a little something sweet) I assumed the frosting involved cream cheese. A few startling bites revealed not a sweet cream flavor as we had expected, but a pungent, sharp, cheddar-like taste instead. Although not necessarily bad, the cake would have been much improved if a little more sweetness had been added to tone down this shocking quality.

All in all at least we can say we tried blood pudding and we lived to tell the tale. Next St. Patty’s Day, however, I might just stay closer to home, have a corned beef sandwich and call it a day.

May those that love us, love us.
And those that don’t love us,
May God turn their hearts.
And if he doesn’t turn their hearts,
May he turn their ankles,
So we’ll know them by their limping.