I am not the least bit Irish.

Filed under all of my friends are prettier than i am, holidays don't suck for me, par-tay

When you’re a Persian, a Korean, and a German, you naturally spend your St. Patrick’s Day eating . . .


My co-worker Sonya met Kamran and me for dinner on Monday night at Yakitori Torys for what has become our new favorite thing: random meats, skewered and dunked in sweet sauce for grilling. We’ve been going to a place in the East Village called Oh! Taisho regularly now since Sonya introduced us to it, but after knocking out all of the chicken gizzards and french-fries-dipped-in-cod-roe and other such nonesense there, we thought we were ready to try some softened chicken bones at Torys. That’s right; softened, grilled chicken bones. No meat. Just bones. Delish.

The place was full, so we got to sit at this table in the middle of the room that had a frame built around it and curtains covering it from all sides. We started off with a bowl of shredded chicken with bitter melon and fish flakes, and once I got past the fact that I was eating dried fish when I don’t even eat wet fish, I really enjoyed the saltiness that it added to the chicken. And after biting into the bitter melon, Kamran and I ruminated on the fact that even as twentysomethings, we can experience a taste that’s brand new to us. They were already sold out of a lot of the limited dishes, so unfortunately there were no chicken knees to be had, but we filled up on skewers and skewers of kobe beef tongue and pork with scallions and chicken with plum sauce and shishito peppers. Even better than all of those, though, were the steamed vegetables with wasabi mayonnaise and green tea salt. And my figurative hat is off to any restaurant that can make me like steamed anything. Kamran picked up our $100 tab, naturally, ’cause that’s just how he rolls.

There was a whole lot of carryin’-on in the streets that Sonya wouldn’t let us go home without adding to, so we stepped into a bar called the Pig n Whistle on 3rd for an Irish Car Bomb drank in time to a cheesy pop song, with me shouting slurred commands in the background:

I particularly love hearing myself saying, “Lefth guh! Lefth guh!” at the beginning. And, uh, I’d only had about two sips of my drink at that point. But at least I didn’t hold a squishface at the end of the video like Sonya did, thinking I was taking a picture rather than a video.

Here, Kamran and Sonya show the curdled remnants of their bombing

and then Sonya . . . gives me cheekwings? attempts to make me drink her curds? I have no idea.

Sonya shows off her green

and I show off my tongue

yet despite these shenanigans, Kamran thinks we need one more.

And then we spend the rest of the night trying to decide who’s drunker.

I win the contest when he finds me on my back in his bed, giggling and kicking the air. Hooray for fake holidays!

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