------------ our friend Joyce began to open his oysters, which he made us eat au naturel, without bread or potatoes...... and we were obliged to wash them down with native Potcheen, less adulterated with water than we would have wished.
Nor did this suffice; Martin deemed himself a cook, and set about dressing scallops for our entertainment. He opened them, called for butter – and such butter! It was added to the fish, which were fried in the shell. And we were actually obliged to eat of this ragout, until I saw my companion’s face utterly discomposed by the extremity of his distress.
From Tom Robinson’s Connemara, A Little Gaelic Kingdom.
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