I went to the Celtic Festival last Saturday with my wife and her parents. There were pretty girls (they all looked like girls because they were all wearing skirts, but some had beards so maybe some of them were guys), great dancers and musicians, and heavenly food. Best of all, they had real Guinness on tap, the only place I've ever found this beverage the way that it's supposed to be served. Even at the ridiculously high price of $5.00 for a small glass, it still was great tasting. I enjoyed the marching bands and all the colorful costumes. I highly recommend a folk singer by the name of Davey Clark. He's a regular performer at these events so if you go next year, be sure to attend his performance. In fact, I didn't hear any music or group that I didn't thoroughly enjoy.

The food was succulent and it was presented in great quantity and variety. I didn't partake of all the fare, but the few items that I tasted gave me an idea of what it might have been like back in the sixteen hundreds below the salt. Of course, once I finished a large turkey leg and a big plate of sweet potato fries, it was time to sample the pastries. Wow! Everything was super. I had some of the breads, cakes, cookies, jams, and breakfast sandwiches. No, I didn't try the haggis. To wash all of these wonderful bakery delights down, I had a most delectable strawberry drink. I know I gained five pounds during the day and I doubt that it was all muscle.

The authenticity of the festival was well thought out. Each costume was unique to its own clan. I guess the Celts don't recognize their own family unless they are wearing the clan's own particular kilt. No matter, color schemes work. As I looked around I expected to see Mel Gibson swing into view with his broadsword, lop off a few heads, and give his best Scottish scream. I guess I missed that; I went to the bathroom to recycle the Guinness. Even the restrooms had a Celtic aire. Over the urinals there was a sign that read: "Your tips are appreciated." Boy, they think of everything. What I liked best about the decoration though, was a long-haired bovine (with horns) that they led up and down the main thoroughfare. One had to be alert because, while you were looking at the cattle, you were probably stepping in his droppings - and they were big, steaming, and smelly.

Will I go next year? You bet I will. The entertainment is phenomenal, the food is fantastic, and the costumes great. And the games; don't forget to watch the caber toss. These are large poles that are flipped end over end. Caber is the Gaelic word for "tree". Somebody should tell the Irish that there are tools made for cutting up trees. Sure would be easier than banging the giant trees on the ground to make firewood. I guess that's how they work up a powerful thirst for Guinness.

So says Sam Post.