Irish Car Bombs Don’t Translate

Last year on the day after St. Patrick’s Day, I was speaking with my British neighbor and friend about how my husband and I had done a few Irish Car Bombs to celebrate. She looked at me, and said, “You did what last night?”

It never occurred to me that Irish Car Bombs (a shot of Jameson’s Irish Whiskey and Bailey’s Irish Cream dropped into a Guinness and then chugged) wouldn’t translate. Clearly, my knowledge of British/Irish relations and the history of Northern Ireland leaves a lot to be desired. When Marcus got home, I asked him, “Marcus, Fiona had never heard of Irish Car Bombs. Do you think that title is offensive? Who do you think it’s offensive too?”

Marcus shook his head, “It’s pretty much offensive to everyone involved.”

Whoops.

At any rate, this year we convinced Fiona to come and join us for a couple Irish Car Bombs before she went out for a leaving do with friends.

I think they were a bit of a (culture) shock. But, at least they were yummy.

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One thought on “Irish Car Bombs Don’t Translate

  1. Kelly – thanks for coming by my blog and commenting. I love this post and can’t wait to read more of your writings – here and in/on other publications. So nice to have you come by.

    Had never head of Irish Car Bombs – but now…sure wish I had … that could have been a really good “get rid of this creepy Irish guy who won’t stop hitting on me” line when I was in Denton at a bar with my girlfriends!!! Ha! I’ll have to remember this – just in the slight chance I have such a problem again!!

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