megabites

  • The Restaurant List

    September 29, 2009 @ 12:48 pm | by Tom

    Just a quick but heartfelt thank-you to all those who have said kind things about The Irish Times Restaurant List 2009.

    As I predicted in the introduction, we live in fast moving times and some things have already changed. Augustine’s in Cork is closed pending relocation (an event that will really be worth waiting for) and, I’m afraid, Marc Michel’s organic cafe in Co Wicklow slipped through the net when we were checking details of opening hours. It has been closed for over a year!

    This is not due to lack of business but to the attitude of Wicklow County Council which, bizarrely, appears to believe that running a cafe specialising in organic food (and located on an organic farm) is not appropriate to such a sensitive area (cf the nearby industrial estate?) Apologies to those whose hopes I raised but Marc tells me that he is still fighting to get up and running again. He has huge support locally and from the wider community and I wish him the very best of luck. Perhaps if you feel strongly about this you might consider lobbying Wicklow County Council (visit www.wicklowcoco.ie).

    As expected, there have been a few emails complaining about certain omissions, many of them somewhat justified. By way of explanation, some of the more high profile omissions were down to the sheer pressure on space, especially in Dublin, and some because my last visit and/or trusted report was too long ago to be in any sense current. And, of course, since I dotted the last i and crossed the last t on The List, I’ve discovered several terrific restaurants which would have been included had I found them in time. Such is life…

    One of the more hysterical emailers seems to believe, to adapt a phrase from a different sphere, that there is no salvation outside the Guide. How daft can you get? To take just two examples of fine establishments which were not included (and of which I’ve had detailed reports in recent days): Restaurant No. 32 in Dundalk and Les Gourmandises in Cork.

  • Nostalgia. And the opposite…

    September 22, 2009 @ 11:04 am | by Tom

    A strange chain of thought was set off the other day - as a result of reading Basket Case by Philip Boucher-Hayes and Suzanne Campbell and, oddly enough, a review of Diarmaid Ferriter’s Occasions of Sin: Sex and Society in Modern Ireland. The review was by Mary Kenny.

    Philip and Suzanne’s book is, amongst other things, a lament for a vanished era when our diet was simpler, more natural and largely produced in Ireland. And Mary Kenny’s review was a kind of a lament, too, for a time when, despite the excesses of Catholic authoritarianism, things were, in her view, not too bad (I’m paraphrasing) all things considered. (She digresses, at one point, to say that while masturbation does not cause blindness, there is some evidence that it can cause vision problems. She doesn’t go on to explain why this should be confined to the Onanistic or DIY form of sex, rather than the mutual sort, but this is probably just as well).

    Well, you can imagine, reading dear old Mary K (I sometimes wonder what I would do if I had to choose between being stuck for hours in a lift with either Mary Kenny or Nell McCafferty; It would be tough but I think I end up opting for Mary), I could not but imbibe some of the sense of nostalgia for a time of Peggy’s Leg, Lemon’s Sweets, Cuticura Soap, Rinso, industrial schools and the Magdalen Laundries.

    I was ten when the 1960s came to their sudden end and I came from a home where food was taken seriously. Now that I come to think of it, we were physically surrounded by Catholicism: Rosminians in front, Vincentians to the west and the south, Carmelites to the north. I served as an altar boy with the Carmelites who, after midnight Mass at Easter, would put on a fine spread of ham sandwiches (with and without mustard) and fruitcake with lashings of hot tea for us youngsters and the chaplain.

    My main food memories of this era concern the perennial roast beef on Sundays, the smell of hot flour and sweet fruit as my mother baked apple tarts, having to import Opal Fruits from Britain, removing loose milk teeth by chewing something called a Bobby Bar, buying a fizzy drink called Mirinda to have with jam doughnuts on the way home from school, discovering asparagus, smoked salmon at Christmas, prawn cocktail from tinned prawns, the distinctive taste of peaches from a can, mandarin oranges from ditto, caramel custards, boozy Christmas puddings, Three Counties cheese spread (toasted), Tuc crackers on a Saturday night in front of The Late Late Late Show, oxtail soup in the refectory at school, fairy cakes, fizzle sticks, sherbet fountains with real liquorice, batch loaf, the smell of Sunday breakfast rashers grilling…

    On other hand. There are so many things that we have now that should, in an ideal world, make us happier people. To take a mere ten of them…

    1. Croissants. Yes, I know they vary but not even the bad ones crossed my palate when I was a child.

    2. Parmesan in a lump. Not in a packet - grated and musty and smelling of vomit.

    3. Olive oil. Proper olive oil not the rancid stuff that my poor mother used to buy in tiny bottles as if it was a medicine. (Actually it was a medicine; that’s why they sold it in chemist’s shops)

    4. Capers. If there were capers in Ireland in the 1960s they must have kept very much to themselves.

    5. Australian Riesling. There was something called Emu Burgundy but I was too young to taste it. I guess I’m fortunate in that.

    6. Real cheese. I grew up on processed stuff and it took me years to adjust to the proper stuff.

    7. Garlic. There was a time when you would have to go to Smith’s on the Green for this dangerous stuff. Possibly with a prescription.

    8. Ginger. It used to come only in powdered form for those deluded enough to think that it, and a glacé cherry, would cheer up a slice of melon.

    9. Chorizo. There was a jelly-like form a salami, I think, when I was little but nothing like chorizo and its deep, smoky, spicy flavour.

    10. Salad. This used to mean a few limp leaves of damp butterhead lettuce, some hardboiled egg (with blue-grey ring around the yolk) and a dollop of salad cream. Now we have actual salad.

    Any further suggestions?

  • Children eating out

    September 21, 2009 @ 9:41 pm | by Tom

    The problem is probably simple. Grown-ups have a rough idea of how to behave at table because they are, well, older and more experienced. But if families don’t eat together around a table, at least a few times in the week, how can we expect children to know how to behave in a restaurant?

    Some parents seem to expect their children to know anyway. Or think that restaurant staff will keep their kids in order. Which is mad and just plain bad manners (on the part of the grown-ups).

    I know I have touched on this issue before but it’s something that exercises a lot of people. My own belief is that too many parents don’t eat in a civilised manner at home - with or without children - and this explains why restaurant staff have to deal with so many people, of all ages, who are not conversant with the social graces. In the US they have “master classes” in table manners. It’s only a matter of time before we have them here. (And, given that American society is, essentially, polite, we probably have more need of them).

    The key point, however, is this: The French, Spanish and Italians don’t seem to have the same problem. I wonder why?

  • Normal food is so unfashionable…

    September 16, 2009 @ 1:25 am | by Tom

    You don’t often see or hear a very funny sketch about fashionable attitudes to food but try That Mitchell and Webb Sound on the BBC Radio 4 website. It starts 5.40 minutes into the programme. Fat and sugar really do taste nice…

  • Our favourite drug

    September 12, 2009 @ 10:50 pm | by Tom

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    Reading Orna Mulcahy’s piece in today’s paper I came across a comment from Dr Bobby Smith, a specialist in addiction, which was quite arresting. He said that people who grow up in Mediterranean cultures don’t develop a respectful attitude to drink because they are introduced to alcohol early but because in such cultures being drunk is seen as unacceptable and, presumably, antisocial.

    We offer an occasional glass of wine to two of our daughters - one aged 16, the other 20 - on the basis that it’s good to introduce young people to the concept of wine in the context of food and fellowship and sharing around the dining table. Both of them tend to accept when it’s Champagne (they are already developing expensive tastes) and to refuse when it’s anything else. If they were hoovering up anything that’s offered to them, I’d be worried - and less generous.

    I had virtually teetotal parents - the sort who would pour a half pint of whiskey for bemused guests - and first encountered social drinking when I was in sixth form at school in Dublin. Smithwick’s was the drink of choice but I remember that our present Minister for Finance, who was a classmate, wisley confined himself to “a glass of stout” on such occasions. The nascent Minister was a model of sobriety but some of the rest of us enjoyed occasional bouts of over-indulgence. We tested the boundaries (and some fearful combinations) but never put ourselves in any great danger. We certainly didn’t do illegal drugs (although some of us did at university in a mild kind of way) but smoking was permitted in the sixth form common room - something that led to a period of addiction to Camel and Chesterfields in my case.

    The other night I met a group of young lads at a filling station in Waterford. They wanted to say hello because they knew me from The Restaurant and proudly showed me their bottle of Buckfast Tonic Wine, a beverage which I last tasted on the Podge & Rodge Show during an impromptu blind tasting. It tasted bad enough on its own, but became truly terrible when mixed with Benylin (”a great phlegm buster”, as one of the terrible twins said at the time). I didn’t manage to identify Buckfast but, bizarrely, did pick out the Benylin.

    Buckfast is produced by the Benedictine monks of the eponymous abbey in Devon and it sells in large quantities to Scottish teenagers who are, it seems, attracted by its sweetness, high alcohol content (15% abv or thereabouts) and the fact that they can buy it for a fiver. It is known as Buckie. If it were made by the monks of Ampleforth in Yorkshire, it would be known, no doubt, as Ampie. Or if it were produced at that other Benedictine institution, Downside, it might have an even more appropriate pet name.

    I don’t know if the Buckfast monks are, morally speaking, any different from the people who make WKD, that combination of food colouring, flavours and alcoholic syrup. But I do remember, at Downside, listening to readings from the Rule of Saint Benedict and the excerpt that sticks in my mind concerned the duties of the cellarer. It certainly didn’t refer to helping teenagers get out of their skulls. The King’s Arms in Stratton-on-the-Fosse kept a sharp eye out for Downside boys attempting to tap into the supplies of alcohol there but security was occasionally breached.

    Ian Jack, a great writer normally, has an exceptional piece in today’s Observer about Buckie and attitudes to alcohol and the fact that Scotch producers, during Prohibition, smuggled whisky into the US through the same Carribean routes favoured by drug dealers today. It is a very thought-provoking essay. It points out our hyprocrisy but avoids suggesting any facile solutions.

    As for Buckfast, it’s just too easy to say that it’s not the product that matters, but the way in which it is used. Teenagers are not abusing Cotes du Rhone or Meursault. If Buckfast ceased production, they would find other sweet and alcoholic beverages (they would not have far to look). But the monks might sleep more easily.

    (The Buckfast Tonic Wine image which appears above comes from the Abbey’s own website. The slightly blurred nature of the picture doubtless reflects the possible effects of over-indugence).

  • Bone marrow

    September 11, 2009 @ 10:16 pm | by Tom

    I got some rump steak and a big marrow bone from my local butcher, Bart O’Donoghue in Tallow, this afternoon. Following a recipe from Richard Corrigan’s first book, From The Waters and the Wild, i chopped the rump steak very finely and added the bone marrow, also very finely chopped. If you are not familiar with bone marrow - and most of us are not - it looks and feels like very dense fat. Then I formed the mixture into thick hamburgers and fried them briefly on a hot pan and put the pan into the top of the Aga for about five minutes.

    The result was astonishing. These were hamburgers with a vast amount of flavour and they remained beautifully moist. They were also still pink in the middle which I know is potentially risky but they were so good that I didn’t care. I was eating this stuff at home, prepared by myself from superb raw materials. Not risk-free, I know, but oh so good.

    Bone marrow is not fashionable these days but I have a feeling that it is about to be rediscovered. It features occasionally on the menu at one of my favourite restaurants, Hereford Road in West London. I ate there again the other night and enjoyed Bath chaps (cured pig’s cheek, boned and rolled and then fried) with a dandelion salad; then some slow-roasted rare-breed pork belly with fennel; then some perfectly ripe Stitchelton (an organic Stilton in all but name) with a glass of 10 year old tawny port. They do the stunning Delamotte Champagne NV for stg£35 and the dearest main course is stg£20.

    I asked one of my dining companions, a corporate lawyer, who the typical customer might be. And he looked around the room and said “investment bankers”. How times have changed…

    If you want to find this exceptional restaurant which, thankfully, is not yet fashionable, it’s actually on Leinster Square, London W2, despite the name. It’s less than 10 minutes walk from the Notting Hill Gate tube station (Central Line and District and Circle).

  • Pork: chefs wake up…

    September 8, 2009 @ 5:49 pm | by Tom

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    Good old Eurotoques have surveyed Irish chefs in relation to what they think about Irish pork. The result is astonishing: 88% of them are not at all impressed with it. This means that 12% of them think it’s fine. I wish we knew who they are. I don’t want to eat in their restaurants.

    I have come to the conclusion that mainstream Irish pork is awful. It has damn all flavour, poor fat distribution and comes from a production system that denies the unfortunate animals access to the outdoors. Why we lag so far behind Britain in getting free range pork into the mainstream, I have no idea. You can get free range and organic pork in most of the big supermarkets in England. The free range stuff from Waitrose is particularly delicious.

    Eurotoques held a seminar on pork last weekend. Entitled The Whole Hog, speakers there from Ireland, Britain and Italy enthused about proper pig meat and urged Irish farmers to fill a huge gaping void in the market - and not just the Irish market, as Trevor Sargent pointed out, but throughout the EU.

    And it doesn’t have to be all about very small scale production. According to Eurotoques, one of the speakers, Helen Browning tenant farms a 1,350 acre organic mixed farm in Wiltshire, which she took over in 1986 and gradually converted to organic. In the late eighties she established Eastbrook Organic Meats which sells to supermarkets and runs a home delivery business. She later established the ‘The Flying Pig’ outdoor catering venture and recently took over the running of the local village pub. Eastbrook Farm currently includes 220 British Saddleback sows and an average of 1800 pigs at any one time, which are fully integrated with the arable system. They finish between 3000 and 3500 pigs per year.

    Eurotoques continue: “…John Paul Crowe … farms a mixed farm of mainly beef and pigs and on a smaller scale crops and sheep. He believes a good mixture of enterprises is key to a vibrant organic farm. John Paul works in conjunction with his brothers TJ and Eamonn of Crowe’s Farm Artisan Meats in the marketing of their range of products…TJ Crowe is a second generation pork butcher at Crowe’s Farm in Dundrum Co. Tipperary and runs the processing end of the enterprise. He has 13 years experience in the day to day running of his abattoir and processing and a lifetime of growing up beside one.”

    Clearly the Crowes are prophets in their own land.

  • Sally Barnes: Food Hero

    @ 12:18 am | by Tom

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    Tonight in London, at the Great Taste Awards, Sally Barnes of the Woodcock Smokery in West Cork won the award for best wild smoked salmon for the second time in a row. This, as far as I can gather, is a unique achievement and the award was presented, very appropriately, by Richard Corrigan.

    Sally is an inspirational artisan producer who doesn’t compromise. It’s my belief that she produces the best smoked salmon in the world, by quite a margin. The texture is drier than most, which appeals to me, and there is a goodly amount of smoke. But at the same time it’s subtle and magical. I know it’s not cheap. How can it be? But I also know that Sally doesn’t drive a flashy car or go on lots of expensive holidays. People like this do what they do because they believe in the product. If it helps to make a living, then that’s a bonus.

    Well done, Sally and team!

    A few years back I wrote the following piece for Derry and Sallyanne Clarke’s Not So Much a Cookbook. Bear in mind that it’s not up to date. But maybe it’s worth revisiting in the light of this great achivement:

    Woodock Smokery
    Gortbrack
    Skibbereen
    Co Cork
    Phone: 028 36232
    email: sallybarnes@iolfree.ie

    It’s not that Sally Barnes got into fish smoking by accident. I reckon she was destined to become what she is today: one of the best smokers on the planet. But I’m always amazed how many brilliant, passionate producers are kind of selected by Fate and one day – bang! – they discover their true vocation.

    It happened to Sally in 1981. Her husband was a fisherman working off the coast of West Cork. There wasn’t a lot of luxury in their life, but they loved it. However, money was scarce and when one of his customers went bust things looked black. The debt was settled in kind and Mr Barnes was given a smoking kiln.

    He wanted to sell it but Sally had other ideas. She had been experimenting with smoking. As she says, it’s one of the oldest ways of preserving food and it’s a traditional way of dealing with a glut. But she had only got as far as sawdust and biscuit tins. The kiln was like getting a Lexus when you were used to a rusty old bike.

    With two small children, very little money and the winter setting in, she discovered that she could produce something that people really wanted, especially around Christmas: smoked wild Irish salmon.

    For the first few years, Sally’s Woodcock Smokery supplied local people. But good news travels fast in the food world. In no time she had a loyal bunch of customers who wanted to spread the gospel. And it soon went beyond salmon. Sally Barnes was becoming a landmark in foodie West Cork. And West Cork, being a kind of melting pot, is known about all over the place. Soon Jancis Robinson, the wine writer, was telling the media that she would be starting her Christmas dinner with Sally’s smoked salmon.

    Sally was destined to be brilliant at whatever she does. She’s a true believer. And to be a true believer you need curiosity and dedication. The energy goes without saying.

    It wasn’t enough for Sally to produce the best smoked fish in Ireland. Maybe the best smoked salmon in the world. She also put herself through the Open University. Twice. She took degrees in biology and in oceanography because, as she says, she wanted to understand the science behind what she does.

    Her approach to smoking is very traditional. “It evolved as a preservation technique,” she says. “The salting and the esters from the smoke kill bacteria but these days that’s not so important so smoking is more about flavour. I just prefer the old-fashioned way because it delivers more smokiness and more character. But without losing the real character of the fish.”

    According to Sally, there’s no formula for smoking. “It all depends on the individual fish,” she says. “The size, the salting, the position in the kiln. It’s different for every item that goes in. You can’t mass-produce this stuff. It needs your head and your hands.”

    Her palate is unbelievable. Anyone who has ever tasted her smoked haddock will know that it leaves the rest standing. Her secret is simple. She feels that a little fruit wood mixed in with the usual oak chips brings out something. A kind of character that you only get in haddock.

    Being a true believer isn’t easy. Sally has only ever used wild fish. She feels very strongly about this. She is scathing about fish farming in general and is up in arms about the very idea of “organic salmon”. “This is a con job,” she says. “How can it be natural and sustainable when it takes between 3lb and 5lb of wild fish to produce a mere pound of so called organic farmed salmon?”

    “Fish farming is an environmental abomination,” she says. “In Norway at this stage, 40% of the wild salmon catch are escapees from farms. What does that tell you about what fish farming is doing?”

    The problem for Sally is that wild Irish salmon is now like hen’s teeth.

    When Ireland brought in a ban of drift nets a few years ago, there was uproar. Some people say that this is vital if wild salmon is to survive. But others disagree. Sally Barnews believes that the ban was imposed because of the power of the rich, amateur angling lobby. Whatever the truth of the situation, the effect has been disastrous for people like her. The supply of wild fish has almost entirely dried up.

    She is importing wild fish from Scotland, as she says “just to survive”. “It’s lovely fish but when I asked the fisheries people how I should label it they said Product of Ireland! Anything than be a Product of Ireland provided something is done to it once you get it here. You could just cut it into steaks and say its Product of Ireland! Isn’t that just plain mad?”

    The drift net ban, in the end, was down to the EU. They put the pressure on Ireland. But Sally’s real argument is with the Irish government. “The ban was introduced because of a habitat directive,” she says. “The government went overboard complying with that directive but they’ve been ignoring another one, an environmental directive about water pollution. There’s raw sewage still floating down the river through Skibbereen. What the hell does that tell you about priorities?”

    Globalisation, she says, is behind the decline in the old ways of fishing: using day boats to catch and deliver truly fresh fish. “The dealers don’t care where fish comes from any more,” she says. “They will move huge quantities of fish around the world, fish from trawlers the size of a village that go out for weeks on end. How can proper fishermen get a decent price for risking their lives in a world like that?”

    There’s factory farming and there’s factory fishing. Recently, Ireland’s entire mackerel quota was caught by six boats in just three weeks. It’s no wonder, with that and the drift net ban that Sally took a break a couple of years ago and went to Cape Cod in the United States. She went there because she wanted to help an old friend set up a smokehouse using arctic species of fish.

    “It was fascinating,” she said. “With fish like King Salmon from Alaska the fat distribution is totally different and I had to re-learn the salting process. But the smokehouse I helped set up has won lots of awards so I guess I’m okay as a teacher. Maybe that’s what I’ll end up doing. Teaching people around the world how to do it.”

    But there is hope for the Woodcock Smokery. Sally’s daughter Joleine is now working there and experimenting with new products. They have found a source of superb, organically reared ducks nearby. Now they will have to get permission from the authorities to start smoking them. If all goes well, Ireland will have a new classic from a great producer. But Sally’s story tells you a lot. Like that great food is never easy. And that bureaucracy gets in the way.

    01959532622

  • A great deal on M&S wines

    September 4, 2009 @ 2:46 am | by Tom

    As I mentioned earlier, Marks & Spencer are giving 25% of wines, champagnes and fortfieds when you buy six bottles or more. This is an astonishing offer and I was surprised to see no signage telling us about it when I visited the Cork store the other day. I assumed the deal was over but when I got to the checkout was pleased to find it was still going strong.

    Here are a few suggestions, just to whet the appetite. Now, bear in mind that I’m not good on maths or even basic arithmetic so the prices quoted are before the discount.

    MONSTANT OLD VINES GARNACHA €13.99
    Good old Spain! The value is exceptional, especially if you avoid fashionable spots like Ribera del Duero and Rias Baixas. This is a ripe, round red with a nice backbone of acidity and lovely length. Elegant stuff and not an oaky monster.

    QUINTA DO FAFIDE DOURO RESERVA €15.49
    This is big and well oaked but it’s not a monster. Layers of fruit, plenty of toasty vanilla, terrific length. This is wine for rib-eye steak.

    BAGLIO NERO D’AVOLA €8.99
    Lovely, easy-drinking Sicilian with a screwcap. Terrific colour, clearly from a warm climate but not at all blowsy. With the discount, it’s a no-brainer. Perfect partner for pasta puttanesca or even a packet of crisps (or better still, Twiglets, which you can now buy in Tesco, hooray!)

    CHATEAU DE SAYE €12.49
    The big, heavy bottle suggests that this is no run-of-the-mill red Bordeaux. No, this is proper claret with real concentration and a subtle seasoning of oak. It could pass for a cru bourgeois

    MACON-UCHIZY €13.99
    I don’t have the domaine name to hand, but it’s the only one on the shelves. Once again, Macon produces a winner, in this instance a straight, fresh, tart but still slightly honeyed white wine with no wood (at least none that I can detect). An antidote to that terribly unfashionable affliction, Chardonnay Fatigue.

    SAINT-BRIS SAUVIGNON €12.49
    Just the ticket if you want a break from those seriously pungent Sauvignons from New Zealand and the Cape. Fresh, zesty but attractively reined in on the nose, crisp and dry on the palate. Very good indeed with fresh goat’s cheese.

  • Every little helps

    September 1, 2009 @ 11:26 pm | by Tom

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    Interesting to see that Tesco are offering 5% off if you buy 6 bottles of wine (including Champagne and fortfieds) while Marks & Spencer, generally seen as a bit dear give you a whopping 25% off for the same amount. This means that M&S wines currently offer astonishing value for money but hardly anyone knows about it. Stand by for tasting notes but bear in mind that their chunky red from Sicily, Popolino, is €6.45 on the shelf, before any discount.

    However, there are two wines in Tesco which are stunners and currently on special. Tesco Finest Touriga Nacional is a big but not too brawny Portuguese red with a lovely minty/eucalyptus whiff on the nose for a mere €8.99 and Tim Adams Riesling, a bone dry Oz version of this much under-rated grape is simply fabulous (lime, citrus, a touch of classic unleaded and a bit of yeast autolysis - sorry to be boring) for €10.99. For some reason, it comes up as Pinot Gris on the till receipt but don’t let this put you off. These two wines are crackers at this kind of price. But stand by for further details of M&S (or just go there while the offer lasts).

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