Crème Brûlée in O’Malleys Pub

Before I begin I just want to say that I asked my wife first if I could write this story. She is the protagonist here in this story and this is a tragedy, so it doesn’t really go well for her.

Few people can say they don’t like Crème Brûlée. It is a masterpiece for the palate. The tenderness underneath the hard crusty top that must be pounded to break leaves nothing but excitement and expectation once one starts. So why is it the antagonist in this story? Let me try to explain.

We were recently on a cruise. We were crossing the Atlantic Ocean. We were bound for the Canary Islands. We needed seven days to arrive. So, we did what most cruising people do, we learned to adapt. Too much food, too much drink, and yes, believe it or not, too much exercise. We were determined to not add extra weight to our fabulous sixty-something bodies.

The ship, only one year old, was amazing. It comes with eight specialty dining options, of which we ventured into most. But this night we simply sat in our favorite restaurant, the Eclipse. The food and service is always excellent. And tonight they are offering Crème Brûlée for dessert. Carrie decides that she will have it.

Now fast forward an hour. We are in an Irish pub on the ship with a great Irish band. And let me tell you the place is rocking. Only shoulder to shoulder space inside. Everyone, it turns out, is a little bit Irish once and a while. We were very lucky to get a table in the back for six.

Drinks arrived and toasts are delivered. What a fun moment, what could go wrong? It started with my wife saying this to me.

“Mike, get me a glass of water, NOW!” I know when I am suppose to be quick about it and I was. I got up and approached a busy bartender who didn’t have time for me.

“I need a glass of water, NOW!” Everyone knows that tone and reorganizes their moment to help out a common man. We are in the end, civilized. Let’s never lose it.

The water came to the table, but it was too late. Carrie turned to me.

“I’m going to get sick.” I pulled her up and pushed her through a crowded Irish pub. She raised her left hand and plugged her lips as…, sorry about this vulgar part but it is necessary for the story, and remember, she said I could write this… and plugged her lips as she rejected the dessert from her stomach to her mouth. She looked like Dizzy Gillespie. The finger was holding and I was moving her through and out of a packed Irish pub.

Side note. We were in this part of the ship just 2 hours earlier and had found the restrooms. So I knew we needed to move out the pub, through the elevator bank and take the stairs up one deck. That was the closest restroom for ladies who enjoy their time cruising and need to powder their nose on occasion. But what I didn’t plan on was what was about to happen next.

A straight run to the restroom was what we were looking for. We did not get that. The only thing in front of the elevator bank and the stairs upstairs to the ladies room was a theater full of attendants. The show was over and 1,000 people were pouring out of the theater and heading for the elevators. I had both hands on my wife’s shoulders pushing through the crowd, left & right, while she focused on her one finger on her lips. If she would have had a second gut pump at this moment we would have incurred an easy $500 dry cleaning tab. But the trooper that my wife is holding steady as I am maneuvering her through the tight crowd and to the staircase. We rose up and turned the corner to where I knew the Ladies restroom would be. And then I did something I have never done before and hope to never do again…

I kicked the door of the ladies room open and exclaimed in full volume, “A lady is coming in and she needs a bathroom NOW!!!”. That was it for me. I could do no more. It was no longer in my hands. And like a Moses biblical moment, the sea of women naturally parted and knew this was no joke.

I am happy to say that this actually worked out well. Carrie collected herself and returned fresh and ready to finish a wonderful evening that was only inconvenienced by her dessert. Except there is a little more my poor readers. My wife likes to do things big.

We wandered down the stairs a little more calm and entered an elevator bank that was now beginning to empty. People do like to dress for theater, let’s never lose that either.

We returned to the Irish pub that was raging loud and out of control. I could hear it before I opened the door, and when I did it hit us in the chest hard. Music and pandemonium at full scale. Well, hell, you only live once so suck it up buttercup. We entered.

We found our table in the back corner. I don’t think any of our crew members even knew we were gone. They can be brash. We turned into the table and settled in. The table was full of drinks, mostly glasses of red wine. Carrie misjudged the table and hit it hard while she was sitting down. She dumped red wine all over the folks sitting there, top to bottom.

How we got through the evening without paying for someone’s dry cleaning is still a mystery to me.

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