When I texted my friend Matt to tell him I’d cracked my tooth in two pieces while munching on a chocolate bar, he quite rightly wanted to know which bar I was munching. Everybody needs friends like these. Friends who can distract you from the dismal (a cracked tooth days before you go on your holliers) and steer you towards the joyfully trivial (the relative merits and potential hazards of assorted confectionery).It was a Picnic bar as it happens. Not normally a chocolate-based snack I’d go for. I’m not a fan of raisins. And famously the Picnic bar contains raisins. Crucially, it’s also full of peanuts. “This is very sensitive and upsetting,” Matt texted consolingly, referring to the cracked tooth. “But I am proud of you because the Picnic is an unsung hero,” he continued, distractingly. A friend indeed. I was sitting sweltering in the hospital, waiting for my treatment, when the cracking occurred. The waiting room of the Mater’s cancer day ward is not really the time or the place for a Picnic, but I had thrown caution to the wind and purchased one along with a packet of Hula Hoops, original flavour. I was in regression mode. As a kid I used to put a Hula Hoop on each finger and then eat them at my leisure. I was, as a child, also partial to a knobbly, nutty and slightly fruity Picnic bar but on this occasion it was “urgh” at first bite. No craic at all. Only a crack.What with the old necrosis of the jaw and general dental wear and tear, my teeth are vanishing at a rapid pace. I am in my toothless hag era. When I bit into the Picnic and felt the crack, I cursed the Cadbury overlords and hoped that maybe it could be saved. Turned out it could not be saved.I was telling Matt about the tooth because we were supposed to be meeting for a coffee that morning but instead I had to try to get a dental appointment. In addition to knowing a lot about chocolate, Matt has an extensive range of medical contacts across several disciplines and kindly offered to hit one of them up – a dentist in Malahide.I’ve lived in the north inner city now for more than 20 years, but the joke in my family is that culturally and spiritually I remain a southsider. I can’t help it. My native northside children despair at my ignorance of areas such as Killester, Raheny, Baldoyle and Sutton. Their regular stomping grounds remain largely a mystery to me. My Dubliner’s passport is well stamped with southside locales but there is so much of northside suburbia I have yet to explore. A trip to Malahide felt exotic and adventurous. So I left for the dentist in plenty of time. It’s not that I’ve never been to Malahide – I’ve definitely been to a concert or two on the castle grounds – but to my shame I have never spent time in the lovely seaside village. I decided to take the Dart and it was lucky I set off early because instead of Malahide I ended up in Howth. I didn’t realise I was supposed to change for Malahide at Howth Junction. Every day in the suburbs of north Dublin is a school day for me. I got back on the Dart and eventually arrived at Malahide.[ We were born beach ready, no matter what swimwear ads tell usOpens in new window ]Interesting northside trivia: half of U2, namely Adam and The Edge, spent their formative years in Malahide. The band were once, due to a printing error, actually called U2 Malahide on a poster for an early gig. Also, and more pertinent to this story, Malahide is home to six dentists. It’s not a coincidence that almost everyone I saw in the village had excellent looking gnashers.Of these six dentists, three of them are called Malahide Dental. There is Malahide Dental Practice. Malahide Dental Clinic. And Malahide Dental Care. Apparently this profusion of Malahide Dentals regularly causes a headache for the postman. It was hot in Malahide that day which might be why I initially rocked up at the wrong Malahide Dental. ‘Observing them and their village I had the sudden realisation that Malahide is the Dalkey of the northside’My actual Malahide Dental, Malahide Dental Care, was the one beside Gibney’s pub. As I approached my dental destination I discovered Malahide village is coming down with hanging baskets. I’ve never been to Bloom but I imagine it’s a bit like that. Somebody puts a lot of work into making Malahide look this fragrant; there must be hours of watering in those baskets. After I extracted the eventful life story of the charming young receptionist at Malahide Dental Care, lovely Róisín (one of two Róisíns in the practice) extracted half my tooth as a temporary measure. She didn’t want the pain of a full extraction to ruin my holiday. Then, after the numbing injection wore off, I went and had some excellent scampi in Gibney’s and did some work on my laptop. I appreciated the shade of the pub, but most of the shiny-toothed Malahidians sat outside in the sunshine under those hanging baskets. Observing them and their village I had the sudden realisation that Malahide is the Dalkey of the northside. I’ll definitely be back. “A real dark horse,” Matt texted later, continuing his ruminations on the humble Picnic bar. A bit like the northside.