Ask Audrey: If you don’t cook spiced beef for 18 hours you might as well be from Limerick

Sorting out Cork people for ages
Ask Audrey: If you don’t cook spiced beef for 18 hours you might as well be from Limerick

Ask Audrey has been sorting Cork people out for ages.

It’s getting anxious on our WhatsApp group, Douglas Road Stunners Who Hired a Guru to Make our Christmas Day Spread Look Amazing on Instagram. 

Fifi_ExpensiveCutlery said it totally wrecks her Christmas buzz when she sees sad people posting photos of a few croquettes and a cheap red table runner they bought in Aldi. Laura_NewChinForChristmas said she flew a photographer in from London to shoot her Christmas spread. 

OK, she ended up with Omicron, but all that means is she doesn’t have to call to her mother on the big day. How bad? I’m not sure though, is it vulgar to spend five grand on a Christmas spread consultant?

— Jenni, Douglas Road

I wouldn’t be able to help you there. I said to My Conor last year, tell your family I don’t want to see any electronic devices at the dinner table, it’s only once a year. 

He said, you don’t want people with their heads buried in their phones. I said, I don’t want people taking a photo of my head buried in the plum pudding. #Mojitos4Breakfast

Hello, it’s Rosealeen here in Ballydesmond. 

I don’t want to seem uncharitable at Christmas time, but my relations from England are arriving tomorrow and they are totally cat. 

My snivelling brother will be all over my poor mother with his Omicron breath, unable to put a foot wrong because he had the good fortune to be born with a mickey. But he’s not the worst of them. 

His skinny malink of a wife, who’d make Kat in EastEnders seem like a Duchess she’s that common, will be trying to curry favour by saying how much she likes my accent, as if I was some class of a baboon from Scartaglin. 

But worst of all are their two kids. They’ll be around the town with their up-to-the-minute street fashions, making the local kids look like proper gowls, particularly the ones who get their clothes in Killarney. 

Did the men of 1916 die so that two little tykes could follow me around the house saying, “How come you call it dessert instead of pudding, Aunt Rosealeen from Ballydesmond?”, with an accent straight out of Peppa Pig? So like, how would you recommend I cope?

— Rosealeen, Ballydesmond

I feel your pain, Rosealeen from Ballydesmond. There’s only one way to deal with annoying visitors over Christmas, but I can’t pass it on here because the Drink Responsibly crowd get very upset at the notion of mojitos for breakfast. #Dryballs

Hey dude, 

I come from the second-richest family in Cork, measured by the number of times people point at me on the Marina and say, oh he’s one of the you-know-whos. (The Dad Man said don’t put our surname in the Examiner, Ed, or we’ll have to hire a pen-pusher to deal with all the begging letters.) 

Incredible wealth has ruined a lot of the guys I grew up with around Ballintemple, but I basically inhaled Dickens’ Christmas Carol as a child, and now I’m so comfortable around the lower orders that I often chat to carol singers from Mahon who call to our door, when most of my neighbours would have been going with a ‘release the hounds’ vibe. 

Anyway, I’ve been todally shunned by my sheeple family for Christmas; my sister is banning anyone who hasn’t had the vaccine and that is like todally me. I’m pushing back with, dude, it’s only a cold, but she’s going No Vaccine, No Entry. So like, are there any anti-vaxxers who want to come party in mine for Christmas Day?

— Ed, Ballintemple

The Posh Cousin is an anti-vaxxer. She says there’s no way she’s going to take direction from Micheál Martin, he only lives in Ballinlough. I rang her there and said what are you doing Christmas Day? She said, I’m spending eight hours with my extended family. I said, doing what? She said, fighting on Facebook.

C’mere, how long do you need to cook spiced beef? I do have this cousin called Lorcan who moved over to the southside, and he lives there now out by Wilton. I feel sorry for him to be honest, cut off from his Norrie roots. 

If you look at it on the map, he’s only 3km and one river away from paradise here on the northside, but sometimes I think that a southsider might as well be living on the moon. He do have his head so far up his arse now he is refusing to go to Garryvoe, telling anyone who’ll listen that you just meet a better class of person in Inchydoney, the gomie.

But the biggest problem I have with Lorcan is that he doesn’t put on his spiced beef until Christmas morning. That’s a form of madness — if you don’t cook your spiced beef for at least 18 hours, you might as well be from Limerick. There is no telling him though — he do call me a backward Norrie for putting my spiced beef on at 9am on Christmas Eve. How can I persuade him that he is a total langball?

— Dowcha Donie, Blackpool

My foodie neighbour has a podcast about Cork food, it’s called Fit of the Gawks. I said, what do you do with your spiced beef? She said, I take a few photos of it for Instagram and then I throw it in the bin.

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