Feeble beginnings as a travel writer

Alert the international media: I found a Mexican restaurant in Dublin. One with food that passes, believably, as delicious. I have found water flowing from a rock in the desert; people, I have won the lottery. Maybe I have been here too long--there were no refried beans, and the chips and salsa were not free--but I liked it. It was a surprisingly pleasant departure from my typical, "What do you mean you don't have any salt and pepper?" and the "Wait--are you saying you boiled the bacon?"

There are things that will not be missed, like the EXCHANGE RATE and the unnaturally low temperatures, but I have come to rely on a few comforts and sundry:
Good tea, and people who want to drink it with you and a chocolate bar five times a day. (Also may replace "tea" with "alcohol" and use interchangeably.)
Boots Chemists, a candy store of beauty products.
Cheap(ish) books.
Topshop and H&M.
Potatoes with every meal.
Brendan O'Connor, newspaper columnist and all-around cheeky bastard.
And let's face it, I get to listen to Irish accents all day.

These are simple things, mostly attractive if you yourself are a cheeky bastard, naturally shallow, and/or a shopaholic. I should really be a writer for Lonely Planet.