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an assertion that will have most of you up in arms before the post has even started. Because Ireland has long had a reputation for being the most romantic place in the world, with its rolling, sheep-dotted hills, its peculiar old men with their peculiar caps and accents, and the soothing airs that float from packed pubs downtown as the day begins to wane. The place is almost 95% Catholic, which means marriage is on the menu — and if it’s too soon for that, the place is famous for its alcohol, which means amorous intrigues of a non-marital nature are not only encouraged, but government-imposed. There’s so much love going on, it would take an army to stop it. So what takes all the romance out of Ireland?

It’s because Ireland’s full of bachelors.

This morning, my Irish roommate told me we were going to have a fry-up — a traditional Irish breakfast right there in our kitchen, with eggs, toast, rashers (bacon, for you folks back home), tea, sausages, and an intriguing-sounding dish called potato waffles. (He’d let me beg off from the black and white pudding, for obvious reasons). We ate the eggs. We drank the tea. I had a potato waffle, which reminds me of the waffle fries from Chic-Fil-A at home, only greasier, if you can believe it. Everything was going fine. And then my roommate told me to butter the toast, put a strip of bacon on it, and put in a dollop of ketchup, just for good measure.

Now, I have nothing against any of this. It turned out to be a good idea, and I devoured it without too much fuss. But you have to admit that a sandwich made of toast, butter, bacon and ketchup is special item number one on the Bachelor’s Nite In dinner menu. That’s what you eat when you have no wife or girlfriend to make sure you don’t kick the bucket before 30. It’s what you turn to when there’s a major kitchen crisis preventing you from actually cooking real food (no available microwave, for example). We’re talking about a concoction that would get you a raised eyebrow after a one-night-stand, maybe a slap in the face: one step above Hot Pockets, or a popcorn-and-peanut butter stew. It’s what one eats when he has no hope left.

Or maybe just no girlfriend.

Because what girl’s going to stick around for this nonsense for longer than a couple of mornings? An Irish fry-up is made to be eaten alone, or with male friends, which in no way encourages mixing with the opposite sex, an activity most scientists agree to be essential in the reproductive process.

So next time someone asks you why Ireland is an empty country, populated mostly by sheep and the occasional palm tree, remember this: You are what you eat, and a regular diet of Irish fry-ups is a good way to remain single for life.

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