Tryptophan attack.

Every year for St. Patrick’s Day, people from my work go out to Brennan’s for corn beef and cabbage. Brennan’s is a hof brau/Irish pub place in Berkeley. It looks just like Cheers on the inside, but with the addition of a cafeteria-style food line. If you’re in the mood for beer and tender, slow-roasted meat, then this is the place you want to be.

So about ten of us showed up and the line was practically out the door. On a normal day, Brennan’s at lunch time would be populated mostly by old people. I think probably because the food is soft and chewy, making it easy to digest. But for St. Patty’s - the entire room was packed with professional people gnawing away at salt-brine cured meat.

While waiting in line, I noticed a guy at the bar wearing about 20 or so green-beaded necklaces. Y’know, like Mardis Gras-style necklaces. What was this guy trying to pull? I just sort of stared at him trying to figure out how he was going to get business women to show him their tits during lunch hour.

When I got up to the front of the line I wasn’t in the mood for corned beef, so I ordered the turkey platter. Not “plate,” but “platter”. It’s like comfort food overkill - mashed potatoes, stuffing, vegetables, cranberry sauce, and thin slices of oven-roasted turkey. The problem with hof brau food, is that the meat is so tender and so thin, it melts in your mouth and makes it too easy to finish your plate. So yes, I ate all my turkey. And I then I had to spend the rest of the afternoon trying not to fall asleep at my desk.