This was years before The Secret and all that power of positive thinking stuff became trendy, but the message in that small frame conveyed the same meaning. I took it to heart, and every once in a while I’d look at it and try to picture what I wanted; initially it was superficial things like a new car or wardrobe. I’d picture myself in a fabulous new dress and wish for it – a bit childish, really.

Then a couple of years ago I found myself entirely frustrated with my life and wanting to make some major changes. And though I’d lost that framed message somewhere in my many moves I thought a lot about the meaning behind those words. I was fed up with the way things were: work was unfulfilling, dating was downright sufferable and while I had a few good friends I felt they were all moving forward with love and career and I was stuck in a holding pattern.

I think before that realization, I always looked toward outside influences, things and people to make my life better. Perhaps if I went out more, I could meet the right guy. Or if I bought the right clothes or got the perfect haircut, I’d feel better. My work as a contributor to a popular celebrity gossip magazine got me into fun parties and on red carpets but I actually kind of hated the work. I liked the attention and approval I received from impressed acquaintances more than the job itself, which basically made me a typical attention-seeking Los Angelino on the fringes of show business. How utterly cliché.

Right after my visit to Ireland in the autumn of 2009, I started to think about that framed message much differently. I knew I had to change from the inside out – and that in order to truly visualize what I wanted I had to first believe anything was possible. I started by getting out of bed every morning with a sense of purpose, and I committed to starting the day with a workout at least 5 days a week. On my walk to the gym, I’d think about the kind of life I wanted for myself – I knew I wanted to live in Europe and write and meet a wonderful man and be happy. It started with general ideas and got more specific as time went on. On my walk home, I’d go over all the things in my life that I was grateful for…something I rarely thought about before then.

I also nurtured myself in other ways. Once every two weeks, I’d go to the art house cinema down the road on my own to watch a film. I remember seeing “An Education” – a movie about a British schoolgirl who dreams of traveling to Paris and reading books and eating at fabulous restaurants – and it further cemented my own dreams of moving. With a lot of hard work, a bit of luck and a good amount of faith, I got approved for permission to move and live in Ireland in early 2010.

I won’t get into all that happened after I landed – most of you already know from reading this blog (and for those who are new, welcome, and feel free to peruse the archives!). About a month after I got here, I wrote an email “from the future” to my two best friends back home, describing in detail what my life would be like in six months’ time. Again, I referred to the message in the picture frame – I pictured everything very clearly in my mind and wrote down what I saw word for word. It involved a career in writing, a great apartment and a fabulous new man. It took a little more than six months, but almost everything I wrote in that email is now my reality.

So as you prepare your New Year’s resolutions for 2012, really try and see what it is you want to accomplish and nurture that dream. If you would have told me three years ago that I’d be living in Dublin with Mountaineering Man, doing work I enjoy and feeling this fulfilled with life, I would have thought you were nuts. Don’t set any limits, just reach for the stars.

Easy Breakfast Egg Cups

I know many of you (including me!) will resolve to shed a few pounds in the new year. One of the best tips for losing weight? Make sure to eat a good breakfast! These egg cups are easy to make, loaded with protein and contain no processed carbs. Make a ten at the beginning of the week and take two for breakfast each day. Simply reheat in the microwave on medium-low for one minute.

Makes 10

8 medium eggs

200 ml low-fat milk or soy milk

1/2 red bell pepper, minced

2 spring onions, chopped

4 slices of cooked turkey rashers, chopped into small dice

3 ounces low-fat ricotta cheese

Pinch of salt and pepper

Preheat oven to 160 C. In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs and the milk until combined. Pour the contents evenly into a muffin tin, using only 10 out of the 12 muffin moulds. Drop in an even amount of red bell pepper, spring onion and turkey rashers into each egg mixture mould, then do the same with the ricotta cheese (just scoop out with a small spoon and plop ‘em in there!). Add a pinch of salt and pepper to each.

Bake for 10-12 minutes or until the egg is set; depending on your oven it may take up to 5 minutes longer. Just check and make sure it’s not wobbly in the center. Remove from the oven and let cool. Refrigerate – keeps for 5 days.

My friends Janet, Veronica and Giselle at Bottega Louie – one of our favorite restaurants in LA – sharing a pizza and some starters for dinner.

I’ll always remember the first time I went to a tapas restaurant in Ireland with my new-found Irish friends. It was a little place in Drogheda (which is sadly now out of business) and as soon as I opened the menu and saw favorites like garlic mushrooms, chili prawns and spicy potatoes I knew I was in for a treat.

Or so I thought.

“I’m getting the prawns and the salad,” said one friend. “What are you going to get?”

What do you mean what am I going to get? Tapas is all about sharing, I told her. It’s the Spanish culinary tradition of snacks or little bites served on small plates, and the idea is to get a bunch of dishes to share with friends.

“OK, well you can have a bite of my prawns. So what are you going to order?” she deadpanned.

Through further explanation of the beauty of tapas (That way we can all try a lot of dishes on the menu, I reasoned), my friends seemed to grasp the concept and we each chose two dishes on the menu to order. But when the plates were set on the table, each friend quickly grabbed her two orders and tucked right in and offered me a bite of her food before promptly finishing off the rest.

It’s odd that the idea of sharing plates of food seems a bit lost in Irish culinary culture. At Chinese and Indian restaurants in Ireland, patrons order their own dish – which is  completely at odds with how Americans eat both cuisines. At a sit-down Chinese or Indian restaurant in the U.S., it’s typical to order a few dishes and a big bowl of steamed rice and share everything; a little chow mein, a little kung-pow chicken and an egg roll with some rice for each person. Here, it’s common for Susan to order a chow mein as her main while Earnan orders the kung-pow chicken for himself. It’s absolutely weird for me to eat an entire plate of what I consider a community-style dish like chow mein, but here it’s perceived as strange to do otherwise.

Remember the famous line from a well-known Friends episode, Joey doesn’t share food!? Sometimes the reaction I get from some Irish friends about dividing up a few plates is hilariously similar. I’m not sure why that is, but Mountaineering Man likes to joke that it has to do with the Great Famine.

“It wasn’t that long ago that people were punching each other over one potato,” he says, with a devilish smirk. “Maybe that’s why we don’t like to share food!”

While sometimes I just want what I want all to myself, most of the time I’d rather share a few plates so that I can try more than one dish. Back in Los Angeles my sister and I would frequently plant ourselves at the bar in a restaurant, order 3-4 appetizers and some wine and nibble all night. It’s a relaxed way to try a few different dishes and just the way I prefer to eat!

Spanish Tortilla

This popular Spanish dish is featured on several tapas menus in LA and showcases Ireland’s most beloved veg, the potato! While my recipe is for a full-sized tortilla, you can make them smaller for a proper tapas dish by cutting the recipe down. It’s really a dish for leftovers; the only required ingredients are potatoes, eggs and onions – the rest is up to you. I’ve had tortilla with tomatoes, cured meats and a variety of veg.

4-7 teaspoons of olive oil (will depend on the size of your pan)

4 medium potatoes, peeled and sliced thinly

1 medium onion, sliced thinly

1/2 green bell pepper, sliced thinly

10 thin slices of chorizo

3 eggs, beaten

Handful of grated cheese – whatever type you like!

Salt and pepper to taste

In a large, heavy-bottomed sauté pan, heat up one teaspoon of olive oil over medium heat. Working in batches, put in one layer of onion, potato and bell pepper and cook for about 5-7 minutes or until they are all tender. Place onto a plate and repeat step one (1 teaspoon of oil, potato, onion, bell pepper) until all the potato and veg are cooked. Set aside.

Heat up another teaspoon of olive oil in the same pan over medium heat. Now place one layer of potato, bell pepper and onion in the pan, followed by a layer of chorizo slices. Repeat until all the potato, veg and chorizo are in the pan. Pour the eggs over the whole lot and cook. Do not mess with it – let the egg cook on the bottom, which should take about 5 minutes or so. There shouldn’t be too much runny egg on the top at this stage, though the top will not be cooked yet.

Now here’s the hard part about making Spanish Tortilla: You need to flip it over! But here’s the easy way. Get a plate as large as your pan. Gently use a spatula to loosen the edges of the egg/potato and slide the whole thing onto the plate – cooked side down so it shouldn’t be too difficult. Now place the pan over the plate and quickly and confidently flip it back into the pan so that the uncooked side is now down in the pan; if you are unsure of how to do it, check out this step-by-step process. Cook for an additional 3-4 minutes and then sprinkle the cheese on top of the tortilla and cook until it melts – about 2 minutes. Slice and serve!

For my last night in The Drog, I booked Mountaineering Man and myself a room at the d Hotel. I’d spent the better part of the week packing, hauling and cleaning and I wanted MM and I to have a relaxing last evening in town. We went to Eastern Seaboard with my Collon friends (Sinead, Aoife, Earnan and Grainne) and retreated to our lovely room at the hotel, delighted at the knowledge that there were only a few more boxes and items left in my perfectly-clean apartment to take the Dublin the next day.

We slept in, MM went for his usual 10k run (this time in the hotel’s gym instead of outdoors) and we had a sumptuous breakfast at the d’s restaurant before heading out to get the last of my things. I found the perfect loading zone space right near the entrance to my apartment and we made a few trips up and down the lift, filling my tiny car to near capacity. It was on our second-to-last trip to the car – I had a few small bags and MM had my big television set – that I realized I’d locked my keys in the apartment. Just when I thought I was out it pulls me back in! After ringing the building manager several times with no answer, we had no other choice but to call a locksmith and pay up (though in fairness the guy was very fast and only charged me 40 Euro, not bad at all). Drama resolved and crisis averted, I said goodbye to Drogheda and we headed off into the sunset. Well, it was the M1 but it actually was sunny…so there.

After a whirlwind day of unpacking, I finally have everything in its rightful place. And since I moved into MM’s apartment, I rearranged a few things to make everything fit. What used to be a “junk press” in the kitchen (you know the one: old bills, mobile phone charger cords, random bits and bobs of that nature) is now a fully-stocked spice cabinet. The hallway closet, once home to only a couple of suitcases and a few pairs of trainers, is now my wardrobe – complete with a full rolling hanger rack for all my clothes. In the once-bachelor apartment are now very un-bachelor-like items like girly perfume and (*gasp*) tampons.

MM has been a great sport through all my frantic rearranging, though he’s still trying to figure out where everything is. This morning at 5:20 a.m. I walked into the kitchen to see him completely naked and standing on a chair anxiously rummaging through the upper kitchen press. I’d put his vitamins somewhere else and forgot to mention where – oops. Oh and he was naked because he’d just gotten out of the shower and he was up at 5:20 a.m. because he always has to be into work at a ridiculously early hour – something I’m still adjusting to!

But it’s been a wonderful first few days of co-habitation (or as a couple of friends so eloquently call it, living in sin). I’ve been cooking up a storm and enjoying every minute of it; I suppose it’s an important part of the nesting process. MM’s certainly not complaining. Instead of stopping by Tesco (he hates shopping), figuring out what to buy (did I tell you he hates shopping!?) and preparing a meal after a day at the office and a 6-mile run, he’s coming home to a fab meal every night. Since I work from home, like to shop and love to cook, it works out perfectly. Sure, there may come a time where I tire of cooking every night but right now I relish it.

Right now, I’m just taking pleasure in all of it.

Thai Turkey Patties with Curried Brown Sticky Rice

The first meal I cooked after officially moving in was Thai Turkey Patties, which was inspired by Donal Skehan’s Thai Fish Cakes recipe from his Kitchen Hero cookbook. It’s got a lot of the same ingredients but instead of fish I’m using turkey. I paired it with an easy Curried Brown Sticky Rice dish that I made up on the fly.

Thai Turkey Patties

1 pound turkey mince

1 small green chili, minced

2 garlic cloves, minced

2 spring onions, chopped into small pieces

1 tablespoon Thai red curry paste

1 tablespoon Asian fish sauce

4 tablespoons chopped fresh coriander

1 teaspoon lime zest

1 egg, beaten

2 tablespoons olive oil

In a large bowl, mix together the turkey, chili, garlic, spring onion, curry paste, fish sauce, coriander and lime zest until incorporated. Mix in the beaten egg. Using a spoon, scoop out the mix and form balls – the size is really up to you and depends on how big you like your patties. Pat down to form patties, like a burger. Heat up the oil in a sauté pan over medium heat and place patties in the pan. Cook on each side over medium heat for 3-4 minutes. Serve hot.

Curried Brown Sticky Rice

1 cup brown Japanese-style sushi rice

2 cups cold water

2 teaspoons Asian curry powder

Handful of spring onions, chopped

Put the rice and water and curry powder into a medium-sized pot and stir. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat. As soon as it boils, turn the heat down to low and place a lid on the pot. Let the rice cook slowly, over low heat, for 25-35 minutes or until the rice has absorbed all the liquid (do not remove the lid during this process!). Remove from heat and let sit, with the lid on, for 10 minutes. Stir in the spring onions and serve immediately.

Remember a while back when I introduced Mountaineering Man on the blog? It’s hard to believe it’s been almost eight months since we started dating but it has, and now we’re taking the next step: cohabitation!

So yes, I’m moving in with MM. Though we were initially going to look for a two-bedroom place we’ve decided to move into his one-bed until that gets sorted. A lot of couples have their starter apartment and this will be ours, complete with a major lack of closet space and one, small bathroom.

Despite the tight quarters, I’m really looking forward to it. While it’ll certainly be more convenient (I’ve been living out of a suitcase half the week for the last several months, commuting between my Drogheda digs and his Dublin apartment), that’s just one small benefit. I’m excited about taking the next step with someone I not only love but really like; I genuinely enjoy spending time with him. Whether we’re lounging around and reading the paper or hiking up in Wicklow, it just feels…easy.

By easy I don’t mean perfect, but I never wanted perfection (and thankfully for me, neither does he!). What I mean is there’s no major drama, which is something I grew quite accustomed to in past relationships. Sure, we have our little battles – most of which are typical and almost laughable: I am certain that every time I walk into the bathroom, the toilet seat will be up, and he can say without hesitation that he’s not fond of all the hair I leave behind after my daily blow-dry routine. He reluctantly but respectfully puts up with my mania for kitchenware shops and I support his preoccupation with all things mountaineering. I tolerate his penchant for playing Tom Waits way too loud and he accepts my love of Come Dine With Me and even watches with me every Sunday night, though I know he’d rather have his head in a book.

There’s a good deal of balance between us and we both carry an even but different distribution of weight, if you will. I cook, he cleans. He’d rather walk in the rain, I’m all for a taxi and we’ll end up on the LUAS. He’s relatively private and I blog very publicly about my (and now our) life. Naturally we also have a lot in common: We’re both a bit OTT with planning and organization; we adore weekend getaways; we tend to lean toward sarcasm when it comes to our senses of humour; and we share a mutual dislike of anything twee. And, thankfully, we both love food.

I don’t think that I could be truly compatible with a picky eater. My last boyfriend saw food merely as something that resolved hunger – he had no appreciation for a good meal and was perfectly happy with a granola bar for breakfast, lunch and dinner. But MM really enjoys food, has a wide range of tastes and – perhaps most important of all – is very open to trying new things. For our second date he chose Yamamori, because he knew I love sushi. And though back then he struggled with his chopsticks and didn’t have a clue what he was eating he’s now quite skillful with the hashi and is mad for scallop sushi and the soft-shell crab roll. He is a willing guinea pig to my cooking experiments and always complimentary of the dishes I create (well, except for the time I made an ill-fated hash of beetroot, asparagus and under-cooked potato).

At the risk of sounding a bit Suzy Homemaker, I’m really excited about the meal planning and cooking I’ll be doing in our apartment. But moreover I’m thrilled to be taking this leap of faith with my MM.

Rustic Onion and Kohlrabi Tart

I made this recently when we housesat for MM’s parents in Wexford and MM loved it so much I’ll definitely be making it again very soon. I use a deep pie dish – actually I just bought one of those throw-away pie tins – because then you can fold down the crust to make it look like the one in the photo. To do this simply put the pastry in like you would a regular pie – all the way up the sides of the tin. Pour the filling in, which only fills it up about half-way, then fold down the pastry crust and pinch the creases to create this rustic look. I served this as a main course with a side of farmer’s market greens and roasted purple sprouting broccoli.

Pastry dough from your favorite savory shortcrust recipe

1 kohlrabi, sliced thinly

3 medium onions, sliced thinly

2 teaspoons olive oil

1 large egg

12o ml heavy cream

Salt & pepper to taste

Pinch of nutmeg

Roll out your pastry and place in a deep, 8 or 9-inch pie dish or tin. Using a fork, prick the bottom of the pastry and put into the refrigerator.

Preheat oven to 170 (fan) or 190. In a large sauté pan, heat up the olive oil over medium heat. Sauté the kohlrabi and onions until tender, seasoning with salt and pepper as you cook. Set aside. In a large bowl, beat the egg and cream and add a pinch each of salt, pepper and nutmeg. Stir in the kohlrabi/onion mixture until incorporated and pour into the pastry. This will only fill the pastry about half-way, so fold down the sides of the pastry and pinch to make creases. Brush pastry with egg wash (one egg beaten and a bit of water, or just brush with leftover cream or milk).

Bake for 35 minutes or until pastry is a golden brown.

Since I try to be honest about my experience here I feel I should share the reasons why. This morning Mountaineering Man and I awoke to find a window had been smashed in his apartment building; apparently some jerkface kids in the neighborhood think it’s funny to throw rocks at windows until they shatter into a million pieces all over the sidewalk below. The window wasn’t MM’s, but rather one that looks out from the inside stairwell. There are several apartment blocks in his area that have numerous smashed communal windows, likely by the same culprits.

I’ve been seeing a lot of these moronic kids lately. Last Saturday night, as MM and his friend and I sat in a local pub, a group of four tween girls walked into the bar. Though they kept near the entrance, they loudly jeered at the barman from across the room.

“We were here last night,” one said, grinding her hips provocatively. “Last night, we were 18 years old here!”

The barman yelled for them to get out, but she kept going.

“But last night I was 18, don’t you remember?” she teased. Finally as the barman made his way toward them, they walked out. However, they stood outside, looking in from the street, taunting the barman with a variety of obscene hand gestures.

A few minutes later, two garda walked by. I felt some relief; though they were mere kids, several more had joined the girls and now they were a group of 8 or so. As the garda walked past, the girls mocked them and getting all up in their business, so to speak. One even lifted up her shirt to reveal her bra, thrusting her chest very close to one of the guards.

What did they do? Nothing. The guards laughed and kept walking, even though the girls followed them at least half-way down the street, hurling insults the whole way. They were about as effective as American mall security guards in that situation. Wait, scratch that. Mall security guards would have at least asked them to leave or rang the real police for that type of disruptive behavior. The kids in this scenario continued to harass every patron that passed them to enter the bar until finally the barman’s girlfriend went outside and gave them orders to get away or else she would ring some garda who would actually do something. I admired her for taking a stand.

That type of enforcement is incredibly rare around here. I don’t know what came first: Irish people’s indifference and general apathy or the sheer unresponsiveness of those in charge. Though this is the second window that’s been broken in MM’s apartment building in the last month, the building management hasn’t done sh*t about it (and the tenants pay a heft “management” fee annually for their services, or lack thereof). And while MM did ring and talk to someone at the management company, I’m not sure if anyone else in the building has done anything similar. People are surely fed up, but it seems their attitude is, “Ah nothing will be done about it anyway.” Call me typically American but what does it take for people to band together and demand change? Moreover, what does it take for those in charge to actually do their jobs?

I’m certainly not the poster child for American nationalism – the U.S. has its own share of problems. But I will say this: Americans generally have a D.I.Y. attitude, and we’re firm believers in the idea that each of us needs to pull ourselves up by our bootstraps. No one else is going to do it for us. I really wish I saw more of this in Ireland instead of the incredible ennui that seems to be the norm here. Needless to say I’m not referring to the entire population – I am only going on what I’ve seen so far.

In any case, tomorrow is a new day and I’m sure I’ll have a new attitude. But today I just had to vent. Thanks for reading.

Being on set with all the cameras and lights and rigs was a thrill and when the actors came out we giggled with excitement. The biggest star of the film was ‘80s child actress Alyssa Milano, who at the time was trying to break her good-girl image. I remember she wore a skimpy outfit and smoked cigarettes and made out with one her male costars in between takes. That male costar was a very wet-behind-the-ears Ben Affleck, sporting a bitchin’ Vanilla Ice hairdo. (It should be noted that many years later, we realized the cast was actually quite impressive: Matt Damon, Matthew McConaughey, Brendan Fraser – all of whom were complete unknowns back then – as well as the late, great Spalding Gray were all in the movie). We soaked in the atmosphere and did everything we could to get an understanding of the storyline, but because we were just extras no one told us anything. We had no idea what the movie was about but we didn’t care. We were just happy to be there.

For this scene, Cat and I walked behind the cast holding stuffed animals that we’d supposedly won at a carnival game. It took over a dozen takes for the cast to get their lines right!

 Because the scenes being filmed that day were at the boardwalk (a beachside amusement park), Cat and I were placed on a Ferris wheel along with a dozen other extras. We were given fake boxes of popcorn to hold. The instructions were to pretend like we were eating popcorn and to NOT look at the camera. Going around and around on the wheel, we had a great view of Alyssa and Ben doing their big romantic scene a few feet away from the ride. At first it was enjoyable; we had the wind in our hair and a fantastic view of the ocean. But after the 20^th take, which was about the 1000^th turn on the Ferris wheel, our initial excitement started to dissipate. We felt confused and pointless…without an understanding of the big picture we lost interest. The view was starting to blur and my head hurt. Finally another extra in the seat above ours yelled out, “I’m gonna f*cking HURL!” which prompted the director to stop the ride and replace us with a new set of extras. Green in the face and disillusioned, we filmed one more scene and then ditched the set and went home before the day was even over.

Sometimes life in Ireland, as a foreigner, can feel a bit like being an extra in a film. At first there’s all this excitement at the newness and strangeness of it all, followed by a long learning process that presents a new challenge every other day. There are so many things I’m still clueless about, like the current election candidates and their political parties and what they represent and how the whole process even works. Trying to wrap my brain around all of it has been a struggle. Even something as seemingly insignificant as Irish and British celebrities can be frustrating at times; I peruse the magazine stands and have no idea who these people are (more often than not, I will not know any of the five contenders on “Celebrity Come Dine with Me”). It’s just weird living in a place where so many things are still unfamiliar to me. At times it feels like I’m back on that Ferris wheel, squinting and struggling to get a Big Picture grasp on things.

But I’m not going to ditch Ireland and go home. The ride can make me a bit green in the face at times, but I’m nowhere near disillusioned. Like that movie with Alyssa Milano – called Glory Daze – the cast here in Ireland (MM, my friends, fellow bloggers, etc.) is pretty amazing and despite the frustrations I’m not going anywhere – you’re stuck with me. Maybe soon I’ll move up from being an extra to a supporting player…we’ll just have to wait and see!

“You’re a Star!” Apple Tart Tatin (adapted from the Barefoot Contessa)

This cake requires confidence and gusto; because it requires you to turn it out onto a plate 15 minutes after removing from the oven, there’s no room for hesitation or fear. And if some of the apple or caramel gets stuck to the baking dish, you have to figure it out quickly. It’s difficult but when you turn it over and it comes out cleanly, you’ll feel like a star! When I made this for MM’s parents, I had to do a little patch-work job on the few bits that were left stuck to the dish but it all worked out in the end!

6 tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temperature, plus extra for greasing the dish

1 1/4 apples, peeled and sliced into 12 pieces

350 grams granulated sugar, divided

2 extra-large eggs, at room temperature

82 grams non-fat natural yogurt

1/2 teaspoon grated lemon zest

1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

120 grams plus 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

1/2 teaspoon baking powder

1/4 teaspoon kosher salt

Icing sugar

Preheat the oven to 180 degrees C.

Generously butter a 9-inch glass pie dish and arrange the apples in the dish, cut side down.

Combine 200 grams of the granulated sugar and 80 ml water in a small saucepan and cook over high heat until it turns a warm amber color, about 185 degrees C on a candy thermometer. Swirl the pan but don’t stir. Pour evenly over the apple slices.

Meanwhile, cream the 6 tablespoons of butter and the remaining granulated sugar in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, until light and fluffy. Lower the speed and beat in the eggs 1 at a time. Add the yogurt, zest, and vanilla and mix until combined. Sift together the flour, baking powder, and salt and, with the mixer on low speed, add it to the butter mixture. Mix only until combined.

Pour the cake batter evenly over the apple slices and bake for 30 to 40 minutes, until a cake tester comes out clean. Cool for 15 minutes, then invert the cake onto a flat plate. If an apple slice sticks, ease it out and replace it in the design on top of the cake. Serve warm or at room temperature, dusted with icing sugar.

Dealing with any government agency or office in the United States, at least in my experience, is an absolute nightmare. If you’re calling on the telephone, forget the naïve notion that you’ll actually get a human being on the other end; the truth is you’ll end up going through a series of automated communications designed to never, ever connect you with anything other than a taunting, recorded message. It’s like the digital equivalent of a garden maze, except there is no exit.

And don’t even get me started on the DMV (Department of Motor Vehicles), where people go to slowly spiral into mental insanity from excruciating waiting periods and the miles of red tape it takes to do simple tasks like getting a driver’s license, renewing your vehicle registration or filing paperwork to sell your car. People who work at the DMV are a whole other species as well. Generally they are intentionally rude, pissed-off types who seem to take great pleasure in toying with their hapless victims customers.* If you have to accomplish anything at the DMV you need to block out the entire day because you’ll be there under those Vitamin D-draining fluorescent lights, listening to an automated voice calling out numbers (none of which will be yours) all…day..long.

Here in Ireland, it’s a completely different story (again, this is in my experience). I recently had to get a PPS number, which is the Irish equivalent of a social security number. I braced myself for the long waits and frustrations that would surely accompany such a task but was pleasantly surprised to get through the entire process in less than 30 minutes. When I rang the office to ask about its operating hours, someone (as in an actual, living breathing human!) answered the phone after two rings – TWO RINGS!! When I went to the office in Dundalk I was given a number and was called to the counter after waiting a whole 5 minutes. The woman who helped me was friendly (*gasp*), even telling me about her Japanese language classes after she realized I was born in Japan. By the end of the visit I was approved for my PPS number.

Whenever I email the Department of Justice, which is the agency that deals with immigration, I get a response within 48 hours. And it’s not an automated email, it’s one written by a real person with clear and helpful answers to my questions. Last week I was granted a renewal for my Specific Crafts Business Permission (basically a visa) and was told to go to my local garda (police) station to get the renewal stamp for my passport. I called for an appointment, got one for the following morning and was soon sitting having a nice chat with Dennis The Immigration Officer. I got my new ID card and stamp in about 10 minutes.

The only glitch was that when I was trying to leave the garda parking lot, my car got stuck in the snow. Dennis was happy to help. He wedged a wooden board under one of my tires, rolled up his sleeves and began to push my car as I put it into reverse. Suddenly he yelped out in pain and started hopping around in the snow, gripping his leg. I was absolutely horrified; had I run over his foot? Apparently the board had flown out from under my tire and struck him in the shin. He told me to sit tight and then hobbled back to the station to get more guys to help. Soon enough I was on my way, unstuck, embarrassed and feeling very guilty. I’m not sure how bad it is but I’m guessing Dennis is still limping a bit…he was hit pretty hard.

So today I am going to drop off some holiday treats (Apple Butter, Maple & Cinnamon Granola, and Potato Crisp Shortbread) to Dennis. To be honest I wish I could do the same for the nice folks at the PPS office in Dundalk and the Department of Justice Immigration Services in Dublin, because I am eternally grateful for all their help over the last year. Never in a million years did I think I would ever have a pleasurable experience working with a government agency, but here in Ireland all of my gov-related dealings have been positive. There’s been a lot of bad press on government agencies and officials here lately, but there are plenty of good ones out there as well. This holiday season I’d like to give them the recognition they deserve.

*Of course not all DMV employees are like this, just the ones I’ve had the pleasure of dealing with!

Maple & Cinnamon Granola

3 cups oats

¼ cup hazelnuts

¼ cup pecans

½ cup marcona almonds

¼ cup sunflower or pumpkin seeds

½ cup dried blueberries

½ cup dried cranberries

½ cup light brown sugar

1 tablespoon ground cinnamon

½ cup honey

¾ cup real maple syrup

Pinch salt

Preheat your oven to 170 C degrees. In a large bowl, combine all of the ingredients and stir together, making sure the oats/nuts/fruit is well coated with the sugar, honey and syrup. Spread the mix onto a baking sheet lined with parchment paper and bake for 40 minutes, removing from the oven half-way through baking to mix the granola. Cool and pack into jars. Perfect on top of yogurt or with some milk. Enjoy!

Potato Crisp Shortbread Cookies

8 oz unsalted butter at room temp

½ cup granulated sugar

1 ¾ cup flour

1 cup crushed salted potato crisps

1 teaspoon vanilla

Preheat oven to 170 C degrees. In a bowl, combine the flour and the crushed potato chips, set aside. In another bowl, cream together the butter, sugar and vanilla. Incorporate the dry ingredients into the butter/sugar mixture until just combined. Using a teaspoon scoop out the dough and roll into a ball with your hands. Roll the balls into granulated sugar, then place on the parchment-lined baking sheet. Press each ball down lightly with your fingers. Bake for 12 minutes or until the edges are nice and golden. Store in airtight container.

Waking up to see a winter wonderland outside your window is something us Angelenos only dream of, so when it happened the other day I was as giddy as a kid at Christmas. As I pulled back the curtains I could see that everything had a good dusting of lovely white snow and as the sun rose the powder sparkled like flecks of sparkly diamonds. I actually gasped at the sight. Of course as I came to find out in the coming day, marveling at the snow from the comfort of my hotel room is totally different than the reality of being in and dealing with the cold wet stuff outside.

This way to a mega-challenging climb; His & Hers hiking boots.

I was in Westport, County Mayo, for a weekend getaway with my boyfriend when the snow fell in the middle of the night. From our breakfast table, the view was breathtaking, but I soon realized that I would be out there and up there because we had plans to climb Croagh Patrick that morning. While I hiked plenty in Los Angeles, this mountain would be a major effort on a nice day, but in the snow? As my mountain climber partner ogled the peak with visible excitement (he scaled the Alps on his last holidays) I did my best to contain my nervousness. I’m always up for a challenge, I told myself, and I refuse to be the wimpy American girl in this scenario (amazing the crazy things you’ll do for pride…and for love). I laced up my hiking boots, bundled up my goose down jacket and told him I was ready to face Croagh Patrick.

X marks the spot: The ridge I managed to scramble to, as pointed out by this fabulous illustration.

The first half-hour was relatively smooth, despite the craggy, loose rocks underfoot. But when we hit the really steep and snowy part things got a bit rough…well, for me. Even with a pole I slipped a few times, though I somehow managed to catch myself before falling flat on my butt. I’ll admit there was a certain amount of complaining and maybe even a whine and perhaps even a foot stamp or two (while his back was turned, naturally) but somehow I managed to climb up to the ridge between the two peaks before he realized the only way he’d get me to the top was to strap me on his back and carry me. It was so cold I couldn’t feel my face and so windy that the hot tea we poured from the thermos into the cup just blew away and turned to ice particles (OK, maybe I’m exaggerating a touch), but the view at the ridge was unlike anything I’d ever seen. Blue skies, snowy peaks and Clew Bay glistening in the sunlight. It was truly mind-blowing to say the least.

In a lot of ways, the climb mirrored my journey here in Ireland. When I moved here 9 months ago, I was wide-eyed and a little nervous but purely optimistic. As you’ve read yourself, I quickly realized how difficult adjusting to a whole new culture could be and I think it’s safe to say there’ve been some tantrums along the way (remember my whole “quay” pronunciation rant?). There have been more than a few sleepless nights and even a meltdown or two. But now that I’ve crossed the hump, I know it was all worth it. And even with Ireland’s economic crisis and the bitterly cold winter, all I see is blue skies ahead. It’s truly mind-blowing, to say the least. 

Alfajores

These Latin sandwich cookies, Alfajores, are the perfect winter treat with a cup of tea. The dusting of powdered sugar makes them look like little snow biscuits, and the lovely dulce de leche center (with a hint of orange) is sweet and gooey and delicious. Makes a great gift. Enjoy! Recipe adapted from the one by the lovely and talented Matt Armendariz.

360 grams all-purpose flour

2 teaspoons baking powder

1 teaspoon salt

165 grams unsalted butter, room temperature

250 grams granulated sugar

2 large eggs, room temperature

200 ml milk

50 ml freshly squeezed orange juice

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

1 teaspoon grated orange zest

1 can condensed Milk

1 teaspoon of orange liqueur

Powdered sugar, for serving

Preheat oven to 177 degrees C. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper or nonstick baking mats; set aside. In a medium bowl, whisk together flour, baking powder, and salt; set aside.

In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, cream together butter and sugar on medium speed until light and fluffy, 1 to 2 minutes. Add eggs, one at a time, and continue mixing until well combined, about 1 minute. Working in batches, add flour mixture; mix until well combined. Add milk, orange juice, orange zest and vanilla; continue mixing until a dough forms, 1 to 2 minutes. Using a tablespoon or a small ice cream scoop, drop dough onto prepared baking sheets, about 2 inches apart. Transfer to oven and bake, rotating baking sheets halfway through baking, until golden, 10 to 14 minutes.

Transfer cookies to a wire rack until completely cool. In the meantime, make your dulce de leche from the condensed milk: Remove the label from the can and poke two vent holes at the top of the can. Place the can into a pot of water (hole side up) with the water coming up to about a quarter inch of the top of the can. Put pot on stove and turn on the heat and let the water simmer gently for about 1.5-2 hours, adding more water as necessary. When finished let it cool and then open the can, then stir in the orange liqueur. When cookies have cooled completely, spread the bottoms of half of the cookies with dulce de leche; sandwich together with remaining cookies. Store in an airtight container for up to 2 days. Just before serving, lightly sprinkle with confectioners’ sugar, if desired

Really hilarious drunk girl I met while out in Dublin one night; the root of all that is good and evil in Ireland.

The other night I tuned into the magical hour of television programming that is Boozed Up Irish Abroad. As the title quite obviously reveals, the reality show follows a group of young Irish tourists who party their way through the nightclubs of Majorca, the Spanish destination popular with a variety of white-trash European holiday seekers. The program highlights the fighting, vomiting, blathering and sexual exploits of these young Irish as they see who can achieve liver failure and/or get arrested first. It’s a real gem of a show really, and gives even the worst American reality shows (Real Housewives, Tiaras and Toddlers, etc.) a run their money.

With the exception of a small group, it’s not exactly a positive or accurate portrayal of the Irish. The show got me thinking about what my notions of Ireland and Irish people were before I moved here, and if particular media portrayals gave me certain expectations of what I would find in this country. I suppose since my introduction to the Irish happened many years ago when I lived with a group of them (read about them in this post) back in San Francisco, I felt relatively familiar with the culture and attitudes of Ireland before coming here. So I had to go further back than that…did I have any preconceived ideas before I met them?

I do recall a popular television ad in the ‘80s-‘90s for a soap called Irish Spring. There were several ads but the one I remember took place at some sort of horse show and featured an Irish man and woman talking about the benefits of the soap. At one point the man uses a pocketknife to cut a slice of soap (this was standard in all the Irish Spring ads) revealing its green and white striping, which represented the two deodorant scents in Irish Spring. The tagline was, “Clean as a whistle!” and it was stated several times in a much-exaggerated Irish accent. It didn’t give me any specific impression of Irish people, other than that they were clean and relatively happy. Keep in mind I was about 8 years old when these ads were popular.

Another ad from that same era was for a cereal called Lucky Charms. It was a kids’ cereal that consisted of plain, unsweetened pebble-type bits and colorful marshmallow candies (basically we would pick out all the marshmallows and leave the healthy bits behind). An animated “Lucky the Leprechaun” would list off the marshmallow candies in the ads: Pink hearts, orange stars, yellow moons, green clovers, blue diamonds and purple horseshoes and claim that the kids in the ads were “… always after me Lucky Charms!” He’d devise some scheme to get away from them but in the end the kids would get the Lucky Charms. The tagline was, “They’re magically delicious!” The only impression it left on me was that Lucky the Leprechaun wasn’t that smart as he could never outfox the kids.

When I was interviewed recently by journalist Brian O’Connell for his story on foreign women’s perception of Irish men, he asked me if I had any preconceived ideas of what Irish men would be like based on movies, television, etc. I couldn’t think of any when he asked me, but now I recall American actor Chris O’Donnell in “Circle of Friends,” which in retrospect was probably a good representation of life in a small Irish village back in the 1950s but it didn’t make a strong impact as far as Irish men were concerned. I do remember enjoying the storyline where the hot guy was attracted to the “fat” girl (I put that in quotes as I didn’t think Minnie Driver was necessarily fat in the movie, just quite curvy). However “The Commitments,” which in my opinion is a near-perfect film, left me with the impression that Irish men are fond of the drink (which, so far I’ve found to be true), fond of women and not afraid to show it (again, true) and pepper everything they say with four-letter words (both the “F” and “C” varieties, and yes I’ve found this to be true with everyone here, not just the males).

But just as I hope the Irish don’t judge Americans on what’s portrayed of them in the media (Jersey Shore, anyone?), I certainly don’t believe that all, or even most Irish are anything like what is presented of them on television and movies. Then again it certainly wouldn’t be a bad thing if real people similar to the cast of those Irish Spring ads, in all their chipper, freshly-scrubbed and attractive glory, actually existed here. I’ll let you know if I find them.

Whenever my friends and I go to the pub, something strange occurs. Though we all go there together, the second we arrive there is a separation of the sexes: the women sit at one table and the men at another. It’s kind of like the Red Sea, but instead of Moses it’s a peculiar, old-fashioned standard that parts us.

I suppose no matter the culture, women have their bond with other women and men with men but I still find this automatic, consistent division very hard to understand. While I’ve never been one to pay much attention to social expectations or opinions, I feel self conscious when I move over to the men’s table (and I find I’m almost always the first to make the crossover!). As the evening goes on people eventually mix but there’s always the core male table and female table enforcing the divide with talk of football on one side and babies, handbags and clothes on the other.

This morning I had coffee with my friend Trevor and I realized that he is the only male friend who I spend time with alone. I’ve been friends with both Trevor and his girlfriend for over 13 years, so it’s no big deal for us to spend time together without other people. I do have other male friends in town, but for some reason I think they’d find it strange or perhaps even get the wrong impression if I invited them out because as far as I can see, nobody around here does that. Granted, most of these men are in relationships but back in Los Angeles I had plenty of male friends, married or in serious relationships, that I spent time with – either with them and their partners or just on our own. It wasn’t an issue with the women (they all know and trust me and are secure in their relationships) and none of my guy friends would think anything untoward if I extended an invitation to grab a drink or a bite to eat. I don’t need to preface an invitation with, “Don’t get the wrong impression…” when asking if they want to hang out.

I’m not exactly sure why this would be considered taboo around here, but I have a few ideas. We live in a small town where rumors spread quicker than a bacterial colony in a warm Petri dish. There’s a palatable hunger for gossip around here, and even the most innocent gesture can be misconstrued and broadcast for all to judge. It’s totally possible that my friends worry about this, and I can’t say I blame them; this anxiety is catching and it has affected the way I approach such matters. The other night I was in the neighborhood of a male friend’s apartment, and I thought I’d drop by and see if he wanted to pop into the local pub to grab a beer. But as quickly as the idea came to me it was seized by a rash of concerns: Would people in the pub think we were on a date? Will he think I am asking him out on date? What if someone got the wrong idea and told others? By the time I reached his street I was so frazzled with all the potential misinterpretations of an innocent drink between two friends that I just kept driving, ultimately deciding it just wasn’t worth the trouble.

I suppose it could also have something to do with the fact that I’ve only known these people for six months, which isn’t really that long. But at the same time this is exactly the point where I’m feeling the desire to cultivate these friendships further, which requires time beyond the big group outing where it’s nearly impossible to have a real conversation with any one person. With the women it’s fine; it’s nothing to ring a girlfriend on a Wednesday night for a quick bite and a catch-up. With the guys, there’s a lot of potential for misunderstanding thanks to this old-fashioned but prevalent social convention. Since that’s not going to change any time soon, I know I need to ignore my fears and just do as I normally would. A lot easier said than done.

*Illustration credits: jscreationzs/FreeDigitalPhotos.net; Filomena Scalise/FreeDigitalPhotos.net