Ulysses page-by-page: Page 163 (8.718-756) "all the plates... sandwich?"

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all the plates and forks? Might be all feeding on tabloids that time. Teeth getting worse and worse.

1884ff

fd: [318]

After all there's a lot in that vegetarian fine flavour of things from the earth garlic of course it stinks Italian organgrinders crisp of onions, mushrooms, truffles. Pain to animal too. Pluck and draw fowl. Wretched brutes there at the cattlemarket waiting for the poleaxe to split their skulls open. Moo. Poor trembling calves. Meh. Staggering bob. Bubble and squeak. Butchers' buckets wobbly lights. Give us that brisket off the hook. Plup. Rawhead and bloody bones. Flayed glasseyed sheep hung from their haunches, sheepsnouts bloodypapered snivelling nosejam on sawdust. Top and lashers going out. Don't maul them pieces, young one.

(Wikipedia claims that the business end of a poleaxe is the spike, not the blade, to kill them instantly with a blow to the head. And they also seem to have a long handle/pole for leverage?)

"Plup" = onomatopoetic variant on 'plop'?
"bloody bones" (cf p44, notes)
"Top and lashers" = head and tail

Hot fresh blood they prescribe for decline. Blood always needed. Insidious. Lick it up smoking hot, thick sugary. Famished ghosts.

the spirits in Homer's Book XI (Hades) are hungry for an offering of blood

Ah, I'm hungry.

He entered Davy Byrne's. Moral pub. He doesn't chat. Stands a drink now and then. But in leapyear once in four. Cashed a cheque for me once.

"Moral pub" seems to be Joyce's original phrase!? So what makes a pub im/moral?

What will I take now? He drew his watch. Let me see now. Shandygaff?

weak beer diluted with ginger ale or lemonade [aka shandy]

— Hello, Bloom, Nosey Flynn said from his nook.

— Hello, Flynn.

— How's things?

— Tiptop... Let me see. I'll take a glass of burgundy and... let me see.

NF in Dubliners

Sardines on the shelves. Almost taste them by looking. Sandwich? Ham and his descendants mustered and bred there. Potted meats. What is home without Plumtree's potted meat? Incomplete. What a stupid ad! Under the obituary notices they stuck it. All up a plumtree. Dignam's potted meat. Cannibals would with lemon and rice. White missionary too salty. Like pickled pork. Expect the chief consumes the parts of honour. Ought to be tough from exercise. His wives in a row to watch the effect. There was a right royal old nigger. Who ate or something the somethings of the reverend Mr MacTrigger. With it an abode of bliss. Lord knows what concoction. Cauls mouldy tripes windpipes faked and minced up. Puzzle find the meat. Kosher. No meat and milk together. Hygiene that was what they call now. Yom Kippur fast spring cleaning of inside. Peace and war depend on some fellow's digestion. Religions. Christmas turkeys and geese. Slaughter of innocents. Eat, drink and be merry. Then casual wards full after. Heads bandaged. Cheese digests all but itself. Mity cheese.

mustered joke: 1890
Plumtree: p72

too salty

"There was a right royal old nigger,
Who ate the balls of the Reverend MacTrigger. [or Rigger]
His five hundred wives
Had the time of their lives,
It grew bigger and bigger and bigger."

cf p94: "the fifth quarter is lost: all that raw stuff, hide, hair, horns. Comes to a big thing in a year. Dead meat trade. Byproducts of the slaughterhouses for tanneries, soap, margarine. Wonder if that dodge works now getting dicky meat off the train at Clonsilla."

"cauls... tripes... windpipes" = barely in/edible
"mouldy" = "dicky"
"faked and minced up" = disguised