The Life-Saving Brew

I worried enough about Dave's fish allergy during our first day in Ireland that I actually managed to convince him to stop by a pharmacy and pick up some epi just in case. This was a miraculous feat as he typically brushes off any suggestion of precaution with a snide comment like, "How have I managed to live 32 years without you?"

Of course, Dave never had any trouble with the fish on our trip (unless you count that sea kelp rash), but he did have an incident involving chicken at the Poet's Corner Pub in Ennis. We tell this story a bit differently, and I'll do my best to capture both versions here.

My version: Dave was having the steak. I was having the chicken. I offered Dave a bite of my chicken, cut a modestly sized piece, and placed it on his plate.

Dave took the chicken into his mouth, and almost immediately, he stopped chewing, put everything down onto the table, and looked at me. "Are you choking?" I asked. He nodded. "Are you breathing?" I asked. He nodded. "Do you need the Heimlich?" I asked. He shook his head. Confused by these somewhat contradictory responses, I did nothing.

Then, Dave started to make the most amazing, horrendous, and LOUD noise I have ever heard. Hhhhhcccchhhhhmmmm. Hhhhhcccchhhhhmmmm. HHHHHCCCCHHHHHMMMM.

I looked around. Despite the incredible volume of this noise, no one seemed interested in the goings-on at our table.

After about 30 seconds and much hullabaloo, the chicken came out into Dave's hands. Relieved and still a little scratchy, he took a drink of his Guinness.

Dave's version: I was having the steak. Jessie was having the chicken. Jessie offered me a bite of her chicken, cut a moderately sized piece, and shoved it in my mouth where I was already working on a bite of steak.

I didn't know what to do with all of that food in my mouth, and when I tried to swallow it, I immediately choked. Jessie looked at me. "Are you choking?" she asked. I nodded. "Are you breathing?" she asked. I nodded. "Do you need the Heimlich?" she asked. I shook my head, imagining how well that would go.

Then, quietly and discreetly, I made an attempt to eject the chicken.

Ahem. Ahem.

Nothing. So, remembering how the bubbles fall in a pint of Guinness, something I had been studying each night in Ireland with multiple pints, I took a drink of my brew. The liquid worked it's way past the obstruction, and as the bubbles worked their way down, they pushed the chicken out of my throat and into my napkin.

I looked around. The people cheered and clapped their hands.

And that was how Guinness saved my life.


***

Whenever we tell this story (every time Dave orders a Guinness), listeners tend to believe Dave's version. "Really? Wow? I can't believe you were able to drink while choking?"

It does make for a better story. That, I admit. And I realize, too, that people just want to believe in something these days. And what better than a Guinness?