Potato Famine? My Arse.

So it’s El Cinco de Mayo. Cinco de Mayo for you, that is; they don’t do Cinco de Mayo here in Ireland. But that’s okay; I don’t need no estinking margaritas or nachos or mariachis because I have POTATOES. Read ’em and weep, putos.

Couch Potatas on Upper Abbeygate Street in Galway is the restaurant of my dreams. Picture it: a magical place where each and every meal comes served on two massive baked potatoes. Two questions spring to mind: 1) Why did it take me 9 months in Ireland to find such a place and 2) Where’s the menu already?

This snapshot is just a taste – the options go on for three glorious columns. Potatoes stuffed with cheese, chili, vegetables, meats, and as many kinds of sauce as you can think of. How many ingredients can you stuff into a potato? Couch Potatas aims to find out. Choosing is a heady chore, but somebody has to do it.

And now, get ready for… THE BEAST.

This is the Sir Walter Raleigh, heaped high with chicken, mushrooms, and gravy. Jacket mopping up sauce; natch.

This here is the Pavarotti; bolognese sauce and cheese. “Nessun dorma” indeed.

This is from the “light” menu – innocently labeled “baked potato with butter.” Enter the Kraken. Because this is a light dish, the potatoes won’t make a potato-shaped lump on each thigh. Pairing it with a glass of water makes it a diet meal.

Watching my classmates scarf down these monsters, it occurred to me that we ought to raise a glass in honor of the way Ireland has rebounded from the Great Irish Potato Famine. One hundred and thirty short years later and here we are in Galway, gorging ourselves on potatoes the size of our heads. Surely a testament to the tenacity of humankind. Or to sweet sweet gluttony.

This post has been brought to you by WanderFood Wednesday.