Category Archives: Irish cooking
It’s that time of year when everyone’s writing lists and checking them twice. My hairdresser has all her presents bought (well, 42 of them) and wrapped. I know: it’s not even December yet, for jeebus-jumpers sake! So, I’ve made a list too. My very own wishlist of what I would love to receive from family, friends or enemies looking to lure me into a false sense of security. I’ll admit that some of them are more realistic than others, but a girl can but dream. So, in no particular order, here follows my Fantasy Festive Food & Wine Wishlist (as it appeared in IMAGEdaily, only with links, and some pix in case my words don’t cut it for you)… Read the rest of this entry
What’s your idea of heaven? How being greeted on a watercoloured morning by local wildlife in the form of some self-assured deer, before walking an avenue of birdsong towards heavy Castle gates under a halo of golden springtime foliage. And knowing that behind those doors lies a breakfast of Sally Barnes’s plump kippers or O’Flynn’s sweet juicy bacon (or both, as I insisted on having). Read the rest of this entry
My pal emailed me from Barcelona.
Hola hola! (she said, twice)… I need to cook simple Irish dinner for some Argentinian friends. (They’re great cooks so I’m nervous!) Any suggestions?
The challenge of it. The waves of doubt, of cultural inferiority. I was nervous on her behalf, on our collective national behalf. Read the rest of this entry
It’s National Potato Day today. What do you mean, you didn’t know we have a National Potato Day?
Well, anyway we do. And I’m glad of it.
The thing about spuds is, unless I’m cooking a certain kind of meal involving meat/fish and two veg, which is rare enough, I don’t necessarily have spuds in the cupboard. But I always have rice of various colours, pasta of various shapes, and noodles of various sizes, plus numerous other grains including cous cous, bulghur and quinoa. What chance has the humble spud against such a battery of carbs? Read the rest of this entry
If it was an insect it would be a bumble bee. If it was a sound it would be a big brass band. If it was a colour it would be the sunshine yellow of sand buckets on the beach. And if it was a game it would be tennis, played on a grass court in the shimmer of high summer.
What am I talking about? Gorse, of course. Read the rest of this entry
I recently received an email from an American journalist from Kansas City who was writing a piece for the House & Home section of her local paper. The piece was about entertaining for St Patrick’s Day, and she wanted to know what would be all the rage here in Ireland for our national festivities. You know, what do we always cook up to impress our mates here on Paddy’s Day, what avant-garde table settings are we all about today, the parlour games we love to play – that kind of thing. Read the rest of this entry