I love this picture which Síle took in St. André d’Oleragues, in the Garde about ten years ago, while we were on holiday there.
It shows us relaxing after another good lunch.
Síle’s Dad is on the left, next is her sister Úna.her mother Sheelah, myself and Úna’s husband Martin.
There is somthing really French about this picture which I am quite sure I have posted before but can’t find where, and anyway it deserves another airing.
AND this is the first picture I have put up from my new laptop which I am just about getting used to.

Last week I was shopping in a supermarket here in Waterford* and, as I was in a hurry I went to the check-out with the shortest queue. In fact this one had no queue at all but there were some groceries on the belt.
As I got there I discovered that the unpardonable was happening.
I had arrived in the middle of a woman doing her shopping by throwing some things at the check out and then going off to get the rest of her shopping.
These women (and yes I regret they are inevitably women) like to give the impression that they are just a little scatty, smile depreciatingly at you, then put their hands on their head and say “Oh my god and I’ve forgotten the ……… “ and head off again.
This woman did exactly this.
Hand on head She proclaimed “Oh my god I’ve forgotten the tin-foil “ and headed off leaving me fuming.
She arrived back with the large Ray Tex roll and at last proceeded to go through the check-out.
Here is my confession.
I noticed that she had picked up the wrong roll; she had bought baking parchment instead of tin-foil.
My evil deed for the day was that I didn’t tell her.

*Yep, it was the Ardkeen

Last night I ate in Paul and Maire Flynns restaurant The Tannery in Dungarvan, it was an exceptional meal.
Having been greeted warmly by Maire we settled down with two sherries .
First good point, no amuse gueules, I find them unnecessary and palate dulling.
For my starter I had a Mariniére of Mussels and Clams, this was perfectly classically produced except for some garlicky herby crumbs thrown on the top (a good touch). The shell fish was perfect, the clams managed to have no trace of sand (hard to get right) and the broth (they provided a spoon) was perfect: herby, winy, fishy and delicious. I scraped the bowl.

Sile had a sort of Gravlax with asparagus, again an inspired combination with the salmon darkly pink and coated on the edge with fresh dill.

My main course was one of my best ever, simply described as slow cooked beef it arrived under a salad of shallot and leaves.
It was tender enough to eat with a spoon but still gelatinous enough to not be in the least dry. It was in fact ox cheek. A triumph of a dish.
Sile’s lasagne of Rabbit was a bizarre sight.
The rabbit had been shredded a la rilette and didn’t look great.
The taste was extremely good though, the flesh being almost gamey and packed with flavour. Another clean plate.

My dessert was definitely one that I chose for its novelty, however at that stage I had total confidence in the chef.
I had a scoop of mango ice cream on a piece of toasted bread and cheese.
It worked, and I loved it.
Sile had a Concord of Chocolate which was more conventional but still very good.

We drank an extremely good Alsatian Riesling with the starters. A very young and tannic Cairanne (2005 and not ready yet) with the main course, and some Elysium Black Muscat with the desserts.

This was one of my best meals ever and certainly the best I have ever eaten in the Tannery. Paul Flynn is not only a great chef he also has the great courage to produce unusual food and make it work for him.
I can’t wait to go back.

A few years ago some friends of friends of mine had their daughter getting married in Kerry.
As this was the first wedding of a generation they decided to go the whole hog and have a large, extended family, blow out.
To this end they asked some family members who would have been part of the emigration diaspora of the fifties, and have gone to England at that time and not been back since.
The family organised a mini-bus to pick these members up in Shannon and bring them to Moyvane,the town where the church part of the wedding was to take place.

Some of these family members had got a little Anglicised during their time in England and one of the ladies asked the mini-bus driver in her best cut glass tone;
“Where exactly is the wedding taking place?”
The van driver replied in his best Kerry accent;”’Tis in Moyvane, Ma’am”
(Giving this town its correct Kerry pronunciation)
“My God!” said the visitor turning to her husband;” They are going to have the wedding in the mini-bus!”

A Raptor flies high over the mountains.

I read in today’s Irish Times, on a report on the Salthill Air Show by John Fallon, that a door from a helicopter fell into the crowd as it was taking off.
This, according to Mr. Fallon, injured three people;
“A man, a Polish national and two women”
Heaven forfend that, in this day and age, one, or either, of the women would have become a non-person and, surely the policy of racial intergration practiced by the IT would never demote a Polish National so .
The only possible non-person therefore was the man.

I was in a production of Hamlet, produced by the “Loft”, the Cork Shakespearean Society in about 1964 when the best spoonerism I have ever heard was delivered by Gertrude, Queen of Denmark.
It is at the begining of the play, Hamlet arrives back from university still in black in mourning for his father.
Gertrude, Hamlet’s mother,who has every reason to want him to forget about his father, as she has married his murderer, tries to persuade him to change out of his mourning wear.
She says;

“Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off, and let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark”

One night the ghost of Doctor Spooner tangled the Queen’s tongue and the line was delivered as;

“Good Hamlet, cast thy coloured nightie, off and let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.”

We had some friends around for dinner last night and at the last moment, because the fire grate looks so empty without a fire, I thought to take the bare look off it with some flowers,
I shoved some Fennel, and some white hydrangeas along with some other stuff in the garden into a black jug and then sat back and thought it looked nice enough to photograph, so I did.
The effect reminds me of the flower paintings of Giovanna Garzoni.
( I think my shot needs a little more work though!)

Louise Moillon (1609/10-96)

Gosh but weren’t ladies good at painting fruit.

I agree with Elizabeth David (again!) when she says that Apricots, unless eaten straight off the tree, when they are slightly over ripe, are better cooked.

The moment we hit France they are the first thing I buy.
Then I make a huge cômpote, put it in the fridge and we eat it for breakfast as long as it lasts.

This all started one summer, we were travelling down by the Rhône towards Provençe when we stopped by the river to have a picnic lunch.
A man drove up in a car an muttered something unintelligible at us, he had something he wanted us to buy. Assuming that this must be certainly something illegal we tried to ignore him but he grabbed me by the arm and brought me over to the boot of his car which he opened showing me trays of beautiful Apricots which he then offered to us at roughly the cost of a pound of Apricots in Ireland.
We bought two trays.
I then realised that if I couldn’t find a way of preserving these we were going to end up with a huge amount of rotting Apricots.

This is what started the passion for the breakfast cômpote.
How we do this is embarrassingly simple.

For a 1 kilos of Apricots.
First make a stock Syrup.
Boil together for about 7 minutes 250g caster sugar with 250ml of water.

Then you decide how ripe your Apricots are.
In Ireland I would boil them in this syrup for at least five minutes, then test to make sure they are soft.
If you have been lucky enough the buy ripe ones just put them into the hot syrup, bring them back to the boil and then chill.

The great advantage, if you have a source of Apricots, is that you can use the same stock syrup again and again.
It becomes more and more delicious as it absorbs the flavour of the apricots.
I will finish up with another quotation from Elizabeth David:
“Serve cold. Cream is unnecessary, it would disguise the taste of the Apricots.”