Travel Story «The Irish do an Australian BBQ»

Australia | 0 Comments 08 July 2006 - Last Update 24 December 2006

For any of you that know Paddy Joe (and at this rate it is all of Sydney and most of Ireland) you will understand me when I say his organizational skills aren't his best quality.

Every Friday and Saturday night, when we were out for the usual few scoops, he would promise us a BBQ next weekend -definitely and yet refuse to give us the address of his apartment - the very location of the phantom BBQ. We couldn't wheedle this information out of his roommate Philly-the-iron-clad-mouth either, so turning up with the food and drink and surprising them was out of the question too, and seeing as we didn't /couldn't be bothered to resort to stalking them back to their home to ascertain the necessary information, each weekend would come and go and we would remain hungry and unfed. (Despite going hungry all weekend, we didn’t manage to lose any weight.... sooo typical.)
On one particular Friday night, (who knows why this night was any more special than the previous few - maybe there was a full moon, maybe Paddy had just been paid, maybe Philly had confided his iron clad will was weakening), during the usual after work drinks, the old "Lads we should have a BBQ!" conversation started again. This was met with the usual slagging and a reminder of all those empty promises we had heard before and nothing much more was thought of it.

Until my phone rang on Saturday morning at 10am and who should it be but the Naked Chef himself Patrick Joseph Kirwan - "Well! DoyoufancyaBBQlaterontoday-myplace?" (He speaks very quickly) What's this - food?! Of course I consented straight away - clearly the man was still drunk from last night and I had to seize this moment of weakness to find out his address (2 seconds round the corner from our apartment - handy out) and encourage him to purchase the food before his hangover kicked in.

"What do we need to bring?" I asked politely

"Nothingnothinjustyourselvesandsomedrink"

Alarm bells started ringing - what - bring nothing? Was he mad? Boys alone could not put together a BBQ... and then it became clear - this was a joke. He was getting us out of bed early on a Saturday morning while he went back to sleep - this was the Red Bull talking. Conversation over I informed the girls of Paddy’s hoax for clearly he did not intend to go through with the BBQ and he had indeed conspired with Iron-Willed-Philly to make a fool out of us - NOT A CHANCE! We would have the last laugh and show those foolish boys who the funniest Irish in Pyrmont were. (FYI I am referring to us, not them.)

And then it occurred to us that he might actually be planning a BBQ like he said.... and this confused us. But clearly this was all part of their plan too - confusion. Fantastic tactic. Well-done lads, but we don't fall at the first hurdle and continues to mooch around in our PJs for another half hour.
And then the niggling doubt (a well known syndrome-I’m sure you have heard of it) started - what if he really really really was planning a BBQ and we weren't getting ready which meant we would be late (Cardinal sin in Emily’s book) and also would mean that we didn't have anything to bring with us because we hadn't been shopping. Hellooooooooo Panic Stations.

Phone came out, “Er Paddy, are you really having a BBQ?”

“CourseIam! AndweareoffouttotheGreyhoundtrackafterwardsaswell”

“Really?!”

“Yeahsure-I’mshoppingnowforthefoodandPhilly’swithmehereinthesupermarket-sayhelloPhilly.”

“Really really really?”

“Yeswoman!” And then he hung up.

Now we were 90% sure it was going ahead and so all panic broke loose in our house as showers and hair and make up and outfits were chosen, washed, ironed, sniffed etc. A quick stop was made at the Offy, as they call it here, on the way as we loaded up with beer and 7 bottles of wine (there was a deal on – Buy 6 get the 7th free – don’t judge us) and as we strolled down to their house in the glorious sunshine (Thank you Paddy for getting us out of the house at a decent time) the uncertainty about the whole thing hit in again but we resolved that regardless of whether there would actually be any food at their house we had drink and that was never going to be a wasted purchase, and we could always order in Dominos Pizza and have a Sit-In in the lads house in protest at their failure to perform, if in deed this was a hoax… this was not a total waste of energy.

When Paddy and Philly first came over to our apartment for they oohed and ahhed about it’s general splendor (it is a nice apartment) and we accepted their impressed comments as genuine, we were even smug when they told us that our apartment was nicer than their apartment (well HELLO! all girls’ apartments are nicer than smelly boys apartments – everyone knows that). Well weren’t we the fools.

They live in a Palace. Lord knows how they got in there but one can only assume squatters’ rights are strongly upheld in Australia as there will be no shifting them now. Philly greeted us from the balcony overlooking the Entrance Hall (oh yes - a Balcony indoors) and found us with jaws wide open and a small pool of drool forming as we gaped in wonder at their building surroundings. Their entrance hall is palatial in décor and design. Their swimming pool is of D4 Spa standard (and I don’t mean idiotic either). Their gym is sophisticated and suave and consists of more than one treadmill and one weights machine.
Needless to say, we felt a little out of place carrying our crate of wine and 6 packs….

Once we over the initial shock and had returned to acting relatively normal we were taken upstairs to their apartment. Again, very fancy, but this time we were prepared for an amazing home.

What we were not prepared for was the amount of food or the buzz of activity in the apartment. Paddy was swirling around the kitchen lifting, opening, moving and swishing – I’m not really sure if he was doing anything to help the process along but it looked good.

There was salad – pasta, coleslaw, potato and green stuff, there were two different kinds of meat – steaks (oh yes!) and burgers, there was grated cheese, chopped onions - in two piles – one for the salad and one to be cooked an served with the steaks (!) and white AND wholemeal buns for the burgers. There were crisps IN BOWLS for warm up snacks, paper plates and cutlery and glasses ready for drinks – even bin bags in preparation for clean up and wait for it - SERVIETTES for crying out loud! I felt like I had wandered into a filming of Queer Eye for a Straight Guy…. This was not a BBQ this was a Military Mission. (I think I may have even have spotted walkie-talkies on Philly and Adrian and overheard muted talking which finished with Over and Out but this was never confirmed….)

Immediately we were offered every drink under the sun and plied full of munchies to warm the tummy muscles up. This may have been my idea of Heaven.

Ladies and Gentleman - Hostess with the Mostess Award of 2006 award goes to Patrick Joseph Kirwan and Philip Ryan of Templemore.

DJ Philly put on some tunes and we, along with the other guests, relocated to the BBQ area downstairs in the courtyard where Paddy started the cooking and we ate and ate and ate to out hearts content.

A big Thank You to the Chef and the organizers and the hosts – a mighty fine time was had by all and the food was SPLENDIFEROUS and cooked to perfection. The whole event exceeded expectations.

As the sun went down we retired to the apartment to watch the All Blacks play the Wallabies and digest our feast.

Following on from the match, the evenings entertainment consisted of a night at The Dogs – the Wentworth Greyhound Track that was located around the corner and after a few hours there and more losses than wins (I’m not bitter) we high-tailed it to a Bar in Woolloomooloo to rendezvous with a friend of mine from Kindergarten who was in town for the week on holliers. As per usual the Aussie bar, while nice, was not full of craic and the last call for drinks happened about 10 minutes after we arrived. Paddy attempted to start a singsong as we were being gently encouraged to move downstairs and out the door by the bouncers, but none of the Aussies seemed overly impressed with his vocal talents and the singsong did not take off.

We headed back into town and to Forbbes Hotel – packed to the brim with Irish. At some point during the wee hours (after a small trip to the infamous Courthouse) we decided it was home-time and called it a night. It was a fantastic day that exceeded all expectations and introduced us to the traditional Australian meal – the BBQ – and included a fun outing to The Greyhound track.

July 8^th 2006 will forever hold fun memories for Aisling, Lorna, Grainne, Una and Emily.