So recently my friend Mark came to visit. Mark is a nice guy. Fun, polite, patient, funny, impeccably dressed. And accommodating to the nth degree (is that an expression? It sounds like one...)>>Note: that is not a photo of my evening. But doesn't that guy in the hat look like he's having the best time? >>
Mark came to visit for my birthday weekend. We decided to take him Saskaspooning. He was excited. What might we possibly get? What seedy bar or creepy back alley sandwich stand might we come across? What fancy high class joint might we end up at?
We sat on the edge of our seats in anticipation. This was me and Patrick showing my Big City Friend a good time in good ole Saskatoon!! And we shook the ipod....and got...
"O'Shea's???"
"What's O'Shea's?" Mark asked, all innocent.
O'Shea's is one of Saskatoon's great equalizers. It's an "Irish" pub downtown with a mix of students, after-work professionals (and sort-of professionals), and artsy hipsters. Now, don't get the wrong idea, folks. We don't have a lot of places to drink downtown, so people just kind of flock to the three or so bars -- it's not like O'Shea's is particularly awesome, or anything. It's an equalizer because we have very little else here.
So Mark was happy enough but Patrick and I were like, "Man, we were just there like three days ago." (Seriously. We were getting a drink before a movie). The one positive is that a few years ago I wrote a novel (it remains unpublished) that Mark had read, and the characters spend a lot of time in a bar called Backdraft (isn't that a good bar name??) which is based on O'Shea's. So Mark was pleased about getting to see that bar.
(Again, Mark is very polite. So we had no idea if he was really pleased, or not. Those manners make him inscrutable).
Anyway, off we went to O'Shea's. We sat at a tall table near the bar, between a couple of beefy guys in ball caps and an older, rather stringy couple in leather jackets and sun-and-cigarette-lined faces. We all ordered beers, and I got a hamburger and a side of Champ, an O'Shea's delicacy of mashed potatoes, onions, and spices. Patrick got a half-order of fish and chips and Mark, bless his healthful ways, ordered a grilled chicken wrap with a side of salad.
The food arrived. The hamburger was big, tasty, and the Champ was as delicious as mashed potatoes in a bar can be. (In fact, Andrea, a character in my yet-to-be-published novel always orders mashed potatoes at Backdraft, so I kind of have to always get them at O'Shea's in an homage to her). The fish and chips were, well, fish and chips, and the wrap was.....drippy.
"What's happening to your food?" asked Patrick as Mark lifted his sandwich up to his mouth and a long, pale pink stream dribbled out of the wrap and onto the plate.
"I guess my sandwich is moist," said Mark, cheerfully, and took a bite. "It's very tasty," he said, and dabbed at the sandwich with a napkin. Oh, that Mark. Polite to the end.
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