An American in Ireland

I was recently chatting with a girl who works at a Chinese takeaway near my house, and she told me that most Irish who order from her restaurant request “no veg.” For example, they’d order a Kung Po Chicken, “no veg,” which means all they want is chicken, peanuts and sauce. Another interesting observation is that many prefer to get it with chips (French fries) – a common side dish offered by nearly all the Chinese restaurants around here – rather than with white rice. It should also be noted that one can also get onion rings, sausages or chicken nuggets on the side. These are all items you’d find on the menu of a Chinese restaurant in Drogheda and all are wildly popular.

Some Irish cite the over boiled turnips, waterlogged carrots and mushy peas cooked by their mums for their dislike of veg. The memories of such unappetizing dishes as Sopping Broccoli Surprise has been to painful to overcome, but the real victims here are the vegetables. Flagrantly tossed aside in favor of deep-fried starches and processed carbohydrates, the gorgeous mushrooms, onions and bell peppers of Ireland face slow deteoriation and even death on supermarket shelves. So in the interest of vegetables, I’d like to share my recipe for Vegetarian Stuffed Mushrooms, which are savory and delicious and gives vegetables the recognition they deserve. Go on, give vegetables a chance!

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When Mark Twain said, “The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco,” he’d obviously never been to Ireland. From what my friends tell me, the last three summers here have been unbearably wet and cold, with weeks of downpours and cloudy skies keeping any semblance of sun from making an appearance.

That is the reason why they all predict we will have a fabulous summer this year (“Ah sure after dem last few summers, we’ll have a great one – we deserve it!”). Of course this makes no logical sense at all; good weather isn’t earned. This type of wishful thinking is just a way to cope with the weather in Ireland, which can be flat-out schizophrenic at times. In a 24-hour period, you can experience lashing rain, sun, gusting winds, hail and cloudless skies. The sheer volatility of the climate here makes it impossible to plan anything outdoors in advance, and often wrecks havoc on such important events as weddings and funerals.

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My friend Sinead is a new mother and working hard to get her “5 a day” of fruit and veg. My friend Aoife is always trying to eat healthy. I’m making an effort to stay away from the tempting variety of cakes and sweets that seem to be everywhere here in Ireland.

These Wholemeal Blueberry & Lemon Muffins fit the bill for all of us. Made with wholemeal flour (different from whole wheat flour), yogurt and lots of blueberries (known as one of the foremost “superfoods”), these are delicious and relatively healthy. Calorie-wise these clock in at around 230 calories a piece with a good amount of fiber and loads of antioxidants. Enjoy for breakfast or as a satisfying mid-afternoon snack!

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Fresh salmon the way it should be served!

Here’s a recap of a conversation I had last night with one of my Irish friends last night:

Me: “I’m going to have a dinner party soon…what should I make?”

Friend: “Don’t make fish. I don’t like it.”

Me: “But you eat fish and chips, right?”

Friend: “Yes, but it’s fried. I don’t like fish unless it’s fried.”

Me: “Have you ever tried it not fried?”

Friend: “No, because I don’t like it.”

After a few more back-and-forths, it was determined that my friend has never eaten fish in any other form but fried, yet is adamant that he hates it. How does he know he doesn’t like something he’s never tried?

Strangely enough, we live in a fishing town and there is a wide selection of fresh, beautiful fish available at every grocery store in town. There are also several fishmongers who sell seafood that’s literally been caught that day. But from what I’ve observed so far, most people I know here not only prefer the fried variety, they actually like fish that’s had the shit cooked out of it – the complete opposite of what any fishmonger would recommend in regards to preparing fish.

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Me, just after waking up. I know you are sooo attracted to me right now!

Ever since I moved to Ireland, my hair has been less than cooperative. Gone are the soft, touchable locks of my LA days; here my hair is unmanageable and constantly tangled.

The reason is the hard water that is prevalent throughout Ireland. According to this map, I live in an area with “moderately hard” water (I can just imagine those poor folk who live in the “hard” areas!). For pipes this means lime scale buildup. For hair, it means disaster. The water here makes my hair very sticky, and by that I don’t mean sticky like honey or melted marshmallows. The best way to explain it is by comparing it to spaghetti. When you first drain cooked spaghetti, it’s loose and easy to toss with a fork. But if you let it sit in a bowl for five minutes or more, it starts sticking together. If you stick a fork in it, you’ll get clumps of spaghetti instead of nice, individual strands. My hair = five-minute old spaghetti. Fork = my hairbrush.

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Food should be colorful and inviting

Grocery shopping in a new country is always a treat for me. I honestly believe that the food and eating habits of a country reveal insights into its culture and people. So far in Ireland, I’ve managed to shop at Tesco, the large UK-based grocery chain; Dunnes and SuperValu, both Irish-owned companies; and Aldi, a German grocery chain.

Drogheda Farmers’ Market – my lifesaver!

If I had to summarize the Irish based solely on what I’ve found at their food shops, here is verdict: They love beige and yellow food. By this I mean breads, cakes, crackers, cookies, potatoes and various breaded and fried proteins. In fact, about 75% of the frozen food sections at all of the aforementioned grocery stores is comprised of breaded chicken (sticks, fingers, patties) and breaded fish (same as the chicken). They love them some chicken nuggets, so they do. You can buy them in the form of smiley face circles, chunky chunks and even “Southern Fried,” which, by the looks of it, would make Colonel Sanders roll over in his grave.  

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It’s easy to forget who you are when you first move to a new place. Before I moved to Ireland, I had been living in the same apartment in Los Angeles for over three years, and had settled into a relaxed but fairly regular routine. If I were to speak about myself in the third person, a la a voiceover description of a character in a film, it would go something like this:

Clare wakes up without an alarm clock at around 8 a.m. every morning, unless it’s a Saturday or Sunday as she would have been out with her friends trying a new restaurant or lounge which meant a few several glasses of wine that night and a bit of a headache the next day. She works from home, often in her pajamas, though lately she’s been making an effort to ready herself in the morning like every other working person she knows. In the shower, she always shampoos first, then conditions her hair, and soaps up while the conditioner sits in her hair. After rinsing the soap and conditioner off, she washes her face. She always saves the face-washing for last, though she doesn’t know why. For breakfast, lunch and dinner during the week, Clare whips up a variety of healthy dishes as she enjoys cooking. Her gym, just up the street, is a place she visits at least 5 times per week. She’s addicted to LOST and – though she wouldn’t admit it publicly – loves to sing along to old lounge tunes in her living room (with the curtains drawn, of course).

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 Irish bacon, spuds and cabbage

One of the biggest changes in the last few weeks since I moved from Los Angeles to Ireland has been my diet. Actually, let me rephrase for maximum effect: Everything, from what I eat to when and how I eat has been completely flipped on its head.

Back in Los Angeles, I had somewhat of a routine when it came to what I ate on any given day. During the week, I cooked my own breakfast, lunch and dinner – with the exception of a weekday happy hour outing that also included a few drinks and shared appetizers. On weekends, I often hosted dinner parties at my house or went out to nice restaurants with friends. Generally we’d eat and drink a bit too much but it was the weekend, after all. Still, come Sunday morning, the guilt and the promises of a clean start for Monday would kick in.

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Though I’m not in Ireland yet, I decided to start posting here to get a jump-start on my new blog. In exactly one month, I will arrive in Ireland, full of nerves, hope and promise (to get the quick story on why I’m moving go here). In the meantime, I am busy preparing for the big move.

One thing I am desperately trying to do is use up all of my pantry food. While I’ll ship a few boxes of spices and maybe even a canned good or two, it’s not feasible to send things like flour, sugar and baking soda so I’m putting them to good use by baking up a storm in my soon-to-be ex-kitchen. Today, I used up all of my agave nectar, a good portion of flour and all three brown bananas that were dying a slow death in my fruit basket.

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