Category Archives: Travel

Ireland

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Europe 2013 055It is hard to believe that only a month ago, we were flying out of Charlotte and into Ireland.
Ireland was beautiful and very, very green. It really is called the Emerald Isle for a good reason.

If you have a low tolerance level for quaintness, I would advise you never to visit.

We flew into Shannon, because we decided that we wanted to force ourselves to see the Irish countryside, and were afraid that otherwise we might get stuck just seeing Dublin—lovely in its own right, but a city.Europe 2013 071
We knew we would be arriving at 6:30 am local time, and that it would feel like 2:30 am to us, so we didn’t have anything specific planned. We managed to find our way to the bus, and climbed up to the second story. Apparently, all Irish (and most Scottish and English) bus drivers are expected to drive like the night bus from Harry Potter—lurching back and forth, taking turns at frightening speeds, etc.—but we were also driving across green rolling hills, past stone cottages & castles, all under a brilliantly stormy sky. We unfolded ourselves at the train station in Limerick, and found the Railway Hotel.
Europe 2013 105The check-in time was 2:00 in the afternoon, and the clerk frowned as we walked in. She suggested we eat breakfast, and I realized she was frowning because she was trying to think of a way to allow us to check into our rooms early. That first breakfast in Limerick was one of the best meals we had—Irish brown bread toast and jam, strong Irish breakfast tea, scones, a full Irish breakfast (rashers? black pudding? white pudding?), porridge—it was so good, I have tried to duplicate the bread.
After a nap into the afternoon, we wandered about Limerick, and found a local farmer’s market that was just shutting down. The very Irish and very sturdy Europe 2013 031looking lady behind the counter at the cheese mongers frowned at us, then gave us samples of several cheeses, discussing where each had come from, and how long each was aged, and we left with supplies for a plowman’s lunch down by the wharf.

Again and again, we encountered Irish natives who were friendly and kind—the bartender at the Bram Stocker hotel warning that the people in Cork “spoke funny and are hard to understand,” cab driver who refused to take us as customers—“Oh, I’d be embarrassed; it’s only t’ree blocks, now. Just cross the bridge and through those tall buildings” (I knew how far it was—6 blocks—and I had a 20 pound pack)—although often, the kindness was about fixing something that had gone wrong.
Things going wrong is apparently common in Ireland, and they all seem to have developed what I think of as “a bemused complacency towards the fecked-up-ness of it all” (“Oh, I can’t sell you a ticket on the bus; you can only get those from a machine, and that one there, it is broken. Marvelous!”)

Another odd observation, though: any given block in Ireland seems to have two pubs, a bookie shop, a homeless person or two and their dogs, and a pro-life billboard. It seems to me that there are vices that might be more important to fight than allowing a woman the right to choose, but, then again, Ireland only reluctantly legalized birth control.

It did surprise me that I had trouble getting used to both the stern face and the b.c.t.f., since those are both things with which I face the world. That and the heavy lidded Irish eyes that are part of my genetic heritage.

I did love Ireland.
Irish HarpistIt was one marvel after another–a beautiful countryside here, a harpist there, music in a pub, the stormy skies at sunset, the voices–Irish is not so much an accent as a cadence, a lilt, a language sung softly. Kind people, great ale, and wonderful food–yes! the French were polite and the British Isles had good food; re-examine your prejudices!

If you are ever in Dublin, drop by the Murphy Brother’s Ice Cream Shop. They are always smiling.

Of course, who wouldn’t, spending the day around ice cream hand-made in Dingle.
(“hand-made in Dingle” that makes me giggle.)ending321

Allotment Gardens

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For those of you who do not know, I’ve just returned from 4 weeks of riding the rails through Europe.
Lake District- Hunting for Angus (edit)I am certain that I will have a lot to write about in the coming week, and I will try not to madden you with jealousy, or bore you to tears.

Along the railroad tracks in Austria, Germany, Switzerland, France, and the British Isles, one can spot small gardens. Imagine the grassy area, like a median, between a county road and the railroad track–maybe 12 or so feet before the gravelly slope of the railroad embankment. Now, imagine that area subdivided into little parcels, maybe 20 feet wide. Now, imagine those areas enclosed, en-fenced, and planted with well-tended gardens, and maybe even with an outbuilding. This is an allotment garden.

Allotment gardensAs Europe became increasingly industrialized, this little gardens began springing up. Many Europeans live in large cities with little garden space, or even in apartments with no garden space, sometimes without even lawns that they can actually walk on. Although there are parks, and even wonderful forests and fells to hike in, there are many people who still feel a need to have land of their own. I don’t think it is as much about owning the land (they often do not), as it is about having a little corner that they can tend, that they can grow something upon. You often see them on the weekends, working and then sitting or staying over in the little sheds. Sometimes, they will even invite friends out to their little domains to share wine and eat al fresco.
The part that struck me over and over again was the pride with which this tiny little parcels were cared for and decorated–yes, Virginia, there were garden gnomes. Since I really do not enjoy gardening–it is like housework, but dirtier and hotter, and I am really uncomfortable at the idea of permanent ownership, especially of land–this feeling is alien to me, but perhaps those of you who could imagine the desire for a tiny little farm (or even tending tiny little sheep) could try to explain it to me. However, I do believe that there is something about being human that makes us want to have our little piece of nature and of life to tend and to take care of. I don’t know if this is in spite of or as a result of our increasingly artificial and detached relationship with the natural world and with our food sources.

Either way, it seems like a lovely idea.801signature

Savory Sides

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Hi, Folks; I’m back.

Excited about the food, but still wish I was on the road.

Chutney & PiccalliI have not made it back into the laboratory for a new recipe yet (although I have great ideas to try), but I wanted to say a word about Chutneys.

That word is “wow.”

Chutneys come into our food world from the Indian subcontinent, and were adapted and adopted by the British. British food has traditionally been rather bland, but Plum Chutneythey have a fine appreciation for condiments of every kind, and borrowed heavily from this spicier tradition when they occupied India as a colony. Chutney can be a variety of things, but is generally made of fruits, vinegar, sugar, salt, and spices that are boiled down to a thick sauce–about the consistency of jam. The combination of the pungent tartness of the vinegar with the sweetness and the flavor of the fruit, along with the saltiness and the spices is amazing, and allows for an infinite number of possible combinations.
Edinburgh 1It is great to accompany simple things like a ploughman’s lunch or eggs, but can be served on the side of just about anything. I had an amazing sandwich picked up at a Spencer & Marks store of a caramelized onion, wensleydale cheese & chutney.  A somewhat similar thing would be certain British forms of pickle–like Branston Pickle or Piccalilli. They can be used for many of the things we would use salsa.

I had sort of been preparing for chutney thanks to my friends from “Eat Local Or Die!” at beet bruschetta 2the Johnson City Farmer’s Market, who make some incredible savory jams, or which my favorites are the Caramelized Onion Jam and the Caramelized Onion and Ghost Pepper Jam. I made a really interesting bruschetta by stacking a slice of raw beet, a slice of sheep ricotta salata, a dollop of Ghost Pepper Jam and some roasted salted pecans on a piece of French bread toast.

Anyway, instead of a recipe, I will encourage you to go out and experiment on your Edinburgh 2own, either boiling down that fresh fruit you have with some vinegar and making your own chutney, or by finding some and seeing what you can come up with.

Enjoy.
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