Enraged at getting no food after our efforts, we left the tournament. Some of our band of Flyers – weak and unable to continue – headed back to Dublin hoping to be more successful in the search for food there. The rest of us stayed on determined to prove Cork as the gourmet capital of Ireland.

We headed back to Isaac's Place and told him all about our day, our search, the softball, the sandwiches…. everything. He gave us drinks and winked while he made a phone call. We could only hear his end of the conversation – “11 of them…… hottest chilli you can find…..platters big enough to feed an army…. Walnut Whips….” We looked at each other expectantly as Isaac came back to us.

“Tonight, like,” he began in his rich Cork accent “you will go to Zanzibar's where I have organised safe passage for you to get the biggest feed you have ever seen.” “Zanzibar!?” I whimpered, alarmed, “we'd be dead with the hunger before we got there!! And the airport is miles away, and-”

“Relax – Zanzibar's is a restaurant off Patrick Street,” he told us “they're expecting you. Of all the bars in all the world, after eating in Zanzibar's, you will never go hungry again. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life.”