Hot Drinks

No one's got hot drinks nailed down like the Irish. Irish coffee, anyone? Or the ubiquitous cuppa (tea)? Well, for those of us who can't take caffeine there are even more choices. The one I remember from my student days in Wales is Horlicks - malted milk - which is now available in a light version. Horlicks is meant to be drunk in the evening, to promote "restful sleep." I bought a box as soon as I spotted it in the grocery store but the light version just isn't the same (read "sweet") as the original. The other malted drink is Ovaltine, probably not unfamiliar to those in the U.S. Ovaltine is marketed as a high energy pick-me-up, since the malt contains so many vitamins and minerals! Note that in Ireland Guinness is also in this category, a kind of liquid meal. In the morning before heading out on my grocery run I often drink a caffeine free coffee substitute similar to Postum or Inka, made of chicory, rye, barley, and maybe malt, called Solace. This one has the added ingredients of figs and acorns.

People who love "real" coffee will be dismayed in the UK to discover that at home, if you're offered a coffee, it is most likely of the instant variety. They won't add insult to injury though by offering you powdered fake cream. Even Nescafe with real milk isn't bad. Real coffee is available at the grocery store, of course, and several places downtown offer espresso, which I haven't sampled. (Note to self - ask Walt about the espresso!) The tea, however, is way better here; stronger, smoother, altogether more satisfying, which it would have to be considering that most people must drink 3 or 4 cups of it a day at least. It doesn't take long to get into the tea habit - why not have a cup with your toast for breakfast, and another around 11 a.m. to help you survive until lunch? And mid-afternoon? And late afternoon as well? Lipton must get the cheaper tea leaves for its less discriminating American customers (keeping in mind there are plenty of high quality tea devotees, such as my sister in law Linda). I found a decaf organic fair trade variety of English Breakfast tea from a company called Clipper that goes perfectly with our favorite tea bikkies: Hob Nobs and McVities digestives. So far I've managed to stop myself from buying these with the chocolate already on them, because I remember from 20 years ago that chocolate Hob Nobs are my downfall.

Where to Shop, What to Eat

Monday, November 5, 2007
Bangor

Sunny this morning after a rainy night, with a stiff, fresh wind whipping all the trees around and flinging leaves skyward. There is always something new to notice on my walks along the path; the other morning when I went early the tide was very low, and on the beach were two people with big buckets and sacks gathering mussels. Today the tide was already up; there were several groups of older gentlemen on the trail looking dapper; they invariably all wish me a cheery “Morning!” A small sailboat was out in Ballyholme Bay, going so fast towards land I watched closely to make sure they weren’t going to crash and need HM’s (Her Majesty’s) coast guard assistance. Then I noticed the banner next to the small amphitheatre used by the Congregational Church. Originally the banner said “Christ Died For the Ungodly.” A little black paint carefully applied by some pranksters leaves it “Christ Died for the Ugly.” I shouldn’t have laughed when I saw it, I know, but I couldn’t help myself.

You don’t realize until you’re in a completely unfamiliar place trying to do everyday things, how much accumulated knowledge you have about your native ground. Or, until you’re on a very strict budget, how mindless you used to be about how much you pay for the basics at the various stores. Walt is keeping track of how much things cost at which place, so we’ll know better next time around. But for those of us who are thinking about the origins of the food we eat and how it was raised, trying to know what to buy and where to buy it in a completely new place is practically a half time job. At home I even know which brands of organic milk are better than others – here, I don’t even know if conventionally produced milk contains bovine growth hormone like it does in the States, or if conventional dairies here let their cows graze on grass or not. I don’t know what free range means when applied to eggs here, and am hopeful it means more than it does in the States. I don’t know if conventional beef is cornfed from start to finish and kept in confined areas, or grazed on pasture like it should be. I’ve posted a few questions regarding these issues to a listserv I belong to, and we’ll see if anyone helps me out. At the worst, I can start searching online for news stories and relevant web sites. At lunch today I found myself really missing the meals we ate on the farms in France, where not only did we know where the food had come from but had sometimes helped harvest it.

I bought some basics this morning at the two grocery stores upstairs in the little downtown mall: Cheerios, milk, cream, cheddar, plums, oranges, apple cider, bread, goat milk, canned salmon. The multigrain Cheerios were on sale and Reed is enjoying them and can fix his own breakfast with cold cereal, so although I never buy cold cereal at home, here, we’re caving in. But I’m happy to note that nothing contains high fructose corn syrup here, even sweetened cereal. Sugar, it says, right there on the label. The milk is from a company called Dale Farm, that I read on the internet does organic milk as well. This milk isn’t labeled organic, but it is processed in Belfast, so that, at least, seems local. The cheddar cheese is factory produced crap for our sandwiches, just like we buy from Tillamook at home. We’ll go to Spice for our artisan cheese later in the week, for a treat for the weekend. The bread is commercially baked multigrain with seeds and contains no corn syrup. The plums came from Britain, and the oranges came from Spain. The goat milk came from Britain, and the canned salmon, also on sale, is wild Alaskan sockeye. The apple juice came from Britain as well. This store is supposedly a cooperative, but there doesn’t seem to be much emphasis on organic items – I have a feeling the cooperative label has more to do with their business model than their environmental principles, although they do have a big sign proclaiming that their carbon footprint is lower than other supermarkets. So I’m just not sure what their priorities are.

I’m anxious to go to the market on Wednesday morning to find out what’s available there. If I’m lucky, there’ll be some direct sales from local farmers.

Looking forward to another dose of Irish hospitality

The following is the sidebar to an article I wrote on Irish food history in America for the Spokane Spokesman-Review, published in March, 2007.

Picture a nineteen year old near-broke and Dublin-weary backpacker, with 9 pounds of Irish money to her name, set to sail back to England from the ferry terminal in Dun Laoghaire the next morning. Imagine her dismay when she discovers, late in the rainy December afternoon, after the banks have closed, that the ferry terminal is not open all night, and that the B&B’s in town charge at least 12 pounds per night.

After hours of tearful wandering in a shopping center, hungrily nibbling on crackers, wondering where and how she will sleep, our backpacker finally phones Mrs. Pittman’s B&B, inquiring in a pitiful voice whether they might accept a few English pounds along with Irish pounds as payment.

“Why, yes, dear, of course. And if you just have the English breakfast in the morning I’ll just charge you nine pounds.” (As if Mrs. Pittman knew just how much money the girl had!)

The next thing our damp backpacker knows, she’s eating a bowl of hot Irish stew by Mrs. Pittman’s roaring fireplace, followed by a thick wedge of chocolate cake and a glass of creamy milk for dessert; then, after a hot, hot bath, is tucked into a frilly bed with clean sheets in an upstairs bedroom for a sound sleep, such a change after raucous youth hostels.

An English breakfast consists, to our backpacker’s dismay, of oatmeal and toast and juice and tea and eggs and sausage (she wonders what she would’ve been served if she’d paid the full charge). It is the biggest and tastiest breakfast she has eaten for months. And then, since it is still raining, Mrs. Pittman directs the cheerful Mr. Pittman to drive our now well-fed traveler directly to the ferry terminal so she doesn’t have to walk clear across town.

Yes, the Irish are indeed lovely, generous people. That backpacker was me, and I have never forgotten the wonderful Mrs. Pittman in Dun Laoghaire and how she rescued me that cold, rainy night almost 20 years ago.

A lot more than potatoes

Cool, green Ireland is one of the hottest places in the world for foodies. Farm cheeses and smoked meats, a large variety of fresh organic produce, and creative cooks have completely transformed Ireland's culinary landscape in the almost 20 years since I first stepped off the ferry in Wexford from St. David's, Wales, at the crack of dawn one chilly December morning, and hitchhiked to Cork. The lady who gave us a lift in her band's van played the soundtrack from Phantom of the Opera almost the entire trip, but had no food to share.

My traveling companions (Mary, Liz, and Andrea) and I made do with crackers and cheese, canned pasta, and not-quite-done potatoes, cooked in warm but poorly equipped hostel kitchens, as we made our way west from Cork, looping back northeast to Dublin. We Americans were young and inexperienced, and I wasn't even brave enough to try the clear poteen (sp?) offered to me in an unlabeled bottle by one of the locals. I was afraid, I guess, of waking up sometime the next day, with my passport, money, clothes, and friends all gone!

This time, my family intends to eat very well indeed. We'll be helping at Gubbeen Farm in West Cork (www.gubbeen.com) during the month of April (2008), when the cows will be on fresh grass and their milk will make the tastiest of cheeses. Our host, Giana Ferguson, has been instrumental in Ireland's Slow Food movement and has been making cheese for much of her life. My six year old, Reed, like most kids, loves cheese. I know Giana will have a lot to teach us about how to make it!