The lobby of my old LA apartment building

I was at a shopping centre the other day when I witnessed a little girl – probably about 10 years old – throw herself at a pile of fuzzy, stuffed animals for sale while simultaneously begging her mother to buy one. “Pleeeeeease, I need one!” she squealed, clinging for dear life to one particularly pink panda.

Unconvinced, the mother firmly tugged her daughter away from the cuddly temptation and I could hear the whine slowly fade in the distance as the pair disappeared in a sea of shoppers. Though I can’t say for certain, I’m guessing that the little panda was likely forgotten by the end of that day. Out of sight, out of mind.

When I lived in Los Angeles, I was surrounded by shiny toys. Of course they were of the adult variety: high-end cars, expensive footwear, designer clothes and opulent restaurants with over-the-top menu offerings (and prices to match!). The more I was exposed to these things, the more I felt I needed them.

Every time I’d get a lift in a friend’s wood grain interior-ed Mercedes Benz, my Honda Accord started to feel like a hunk of junk. Whenever I’d dine among the privileged elite at a Hollywood hot spot, I’d long for the freedom that an inflated salary afforded them; instead of dining there once every blue moon, I could go as often as I’d want. Even the gym wasn’t safe; working out next to the ladies-who-gym in all their designer workout gear would make my ratty t-shirt/tracksuit bottoms combo look like something from a charity shop reject pile.

I was raised by relatively frugal and financially-responsible parents of modest incomes; they never owned new cars (waste of money) or taken extravagant holidays. Even their worst enemy (not that they have any) would never call them “materialistic.” Yet all that sense failed to convince me that I didn’t need a better car or bigger apartment or a more impressive shoe collection when I was immersed in a culture that put such emphasis on these things. Luckily for my credit rating, I rarely caved to temptation but that didn’t mean I didn’t dream of having the money for better, bigger, more.  It didn’t manifest itself as an outward tantrum but rather a quiet, albeit sulky, internal monologue. Keeping up with the Jonses in Los Angeles means steadily acquiring more and better things – it’s only human to get caught up in the frenzy.

Since moving to Ireland almost two years ago, I never feel such yearnings. Perhaps it’s because the country is in a major recession and everyone I know has cut back; I don’t know a single person with a luxury car or an over-the-top house. My friends enjoy shopping but they’re not designer divas, and Mountaineering Man is incredibly sensible and would be as happy with a used book from Chapters than with a swank designer watch.

Don’t get me wrong; my friends in LA are not jet-setters. But the city is home to thousands of wealthy and pretend-to-be-wealthy types and they’re everywhere, showing off their bling and leading people to believe that they’re happier because they have more. I’m sure those people exist in Ireland but they’re less obvious these days, what with all the lessons of the Celtic Tiger. People here look down on those who flaunt excess – it’s just plain gauche considering the current economic climate.

These days, I’m content and happy with what I’ve got. Some would even say happy-go-lucky.

Caramelized Onion Tart with Spelt Herb Crust

This is the cheapest but most impressive main course you’ll ever make – the main ingredient is the humble, oh-so-versatile onion which are, as they say here in Ireland, as cheap as chips (cheaper, even)! I’ve featured a variation on this recipe here before but this is version features a spelt crust.

Spelt Crust

250 grams of spelt flour

Pinch of sea salt

1 tablespoon dried basil or whatever herb you like

4 tablespoons olive oil

A few tablespoons or more of very cold water

In a large mixing bowl, mix together the flour, salt and basil until combined. Now add the olive oil, and using a fork work into the dry mix. Eventually the mixture will start to form into little pebble-like balls – this is basically similar to working cold butter into dough except this will be a bit more crumbly, almost like sand. Slowly drizzle the cold water into the mixture and stir with a spatula until the mixture starts to form a dough. Once it pulls away from the edges of the bowl, it’s ready to roll. Literally!

Roll the crust out on a spelt-floured surface to about 1/8 inch thickness, then lay carefully over a 9 or 10-inch tart pan with a removable bottom. Prick all over with a fork and put into the refrigerator for 30 minutes or more, while you prepare the filling.

Onion Filling

4 tablespoons olive oil

4 medium white onions, peeled and sliced thin

Sea salt for seasoning

250 ml heavy cream, or light cooking cream

1 egg, beaten

Pinch of nutmeg

Preheat the oven to 170C. In a large saute pan, heat up the olive oil over medium heat. Put the sliced onions in the pan and cook, stirring occasionally and seasoning with a pinch of salt, for about 20 minutes or until they are caramelized and golden brown. Set aside and let cook for 5 minutes.

Put the onions in a large mixing bowl. Add in the cream, beaten egg and pinch of nutmeg and stir until incorporated. Remove the crust from the refrigerator and pour the filling into the pan. Place on a baking sheet and put in the oven for 25-30 minutes or until the center is firm. Cool for about 5 minutes and then serve.

I got my first job when I was 12 years old as a paper girl for the local newspaper, the [now defunct] Temple City Times. Every week the company would drop off 75 newspapers and I’d have to roll each one, secure it with a rubber band and if it was raining, put it into a plastic sleeve. Once they were ready to go I’d put them neatly into my canvas bag and hop on my bicycle to make the deliveries.

The rest of the delivery crew was all boys and they’d sling their big canvas bags casually over the handlebars of their bikes. But I found this too awkward; the weight of 75 papers was just too much for me to be able to balance it on my handlebars. So I had to wear the bag – which was essentially a big parka with a large pouch on each side to hold the papers. Even though the bag was designed to be worn exactly this way, it wasn’t the most stylish accessory and I looked like a complete spaz wearing this potato-sack parka/ bag thing.

One day when I was at the Temple City Times office to pick up my [paltry] paycheck, one the paperboys asked me why I always delivered all my papers. “You know that out of those 75 papers, only 15 are subscribers. The rest are just free papers you have to give out so people will sign up for a subscription.” He then went on to tell me that he only delivered the subscription papers and threw the rest away, because “no one would know.”

Though I knew that the extra 60 papers were giveaways I’d never even considered not delivering them…until that moment. When I thought about it, the free papers were rarely even read or picked up for that matter. I knew this because on my route I’d see most of the free papers still sitting on the front porches, driveways and lawns where I’d tossed them the week before. A few houses sported a mini pile of untouched papers, which would turn into a messy, gray papier-mâché volcano after a few rains. Why should I go through all the trouble to give them something they didn’t want in the first place?

After that day, I’d roll up my 15 subscription papers then promptly hide the other ones in the cabinet above my closet to throw away later (when my parents were sure to be gone for long enough for me to do so). I could now sling the canvas bag over my handlebars like all the paperboys did, and it felt great. Then one day I came home from school to find the cabinet doors wide open, exposing what was probably 500 or more newspapers. Apparently my father went to investigate after he noticed lots of black fingerprints on the white cabinet doors. I was busted!

When my parents asked my why I’d done it, I told them the truth: I was tired of looking like a dork and wanted to fit in with the paperboys. It was so important that I’d completely overlooked the fact that I was stealing and totally ripping off my employer. While I never again did anything illegal in an effort to feel included, I wasted many more teenage and adult years worrying and trying to fit in with a number of people, places, trends, etc. Why do we put ourselves through the stress? I guess that’s the million dollar question!

Since moving to Ireland, I’ve learned to let my insecurities go. Being a foreigner in a new country will do that to you! I STILL don’t get most inside jokes, I am utterly clueless about all things Irish music/celebrities/pop culture, have a hard time understanding most regional accents and there’s still a lot of confusion over social and cultural traditions here. For all intents and purposes, I’m a square American peg in a round Irish hole, and that’s perfectly fine. My friends and co-workers accept and even embrace our differences and so do I.

And I’m much happier for it.

Leftover Breakfast Frittata

You can really use anything in this frittata – the only must-haves are the eggs and cheese. In this case we had one potato and one small fillet of sea bass so that’s what I put in. But you can use sausage, other veg – anything you want! The point is to be flexible and go with the flow !

1 teaspoon olive oil

1/2 red bell pepper, diced

1/2 white onion, diced

1 potato, cooked and cut into 1/4-inch thick slices

1 cooked sea bass fillet, cut into small pieces

4 eggs

Few splashes of milk

Salt & pepper

Handful grated cheese

Handful torn fresh basil

In a medium-sized sauté pan, heat up the olive oil over medium-high heat. Add in the bell pepper and onion and cook for about 5 minutes, or until soft. Now add in the potato and the sea bass fillet and stir with the onion and peppers and cook for about 2 minutes or until warmed through. Make sure the ingredients are evenly spread out over the pan.

Turn on the oven to the grill setting at 180C. In a bowl, whisk the eggs and milk together and add a dash of salt and pepper. Pour the mixture over the pepper/onion/potato/sea bass into the pan – it should still be over medium-high heat. Let it cook without touching it for 3 minutes. Top with the shredded cheese then put under the grill (broiler) for another 3 minutes or until the egg has set. Remove from the oven and top with the fresh basil.

Took this during my shed time yesterday, which involved a long walk on the beach with my friend Ela.

When I first moved to Ireland, I observed a noticeable divide between men and women when it came to socalising. Every time I’d go to the pub with my friends (back when I used to live in Drogheda), the men would separate from the women seconds after walking into the bar. For the first hour or so, it was guy talk on one side of the room and girl talk on the other. Once all the catching-up was done, everyone mingled.

On the surface, I suppose this scene would seem a bit antiquated. And if I’m honest, I found it slightly jarring at first. But lately I’m beginning to appreciate this understanding that guys need their designated guy time and girls need theirs – I’m not sure why but the Irish seem to get this better than most Americans I know. There’s no offence taken or need to make excuses or apologise, which is refreshing.

Mountaineering Man’s dad meets up with a couple of his buddies at a café every weekday morning. He explains it as a time to just talk shop with the fellas. MM’s mother has a regular weekly card game with the ladies. My dad has lunch twice a week with a couple of his friends, and my mother has dinner with her Zumba class friends after a workout once or twice a week. I like that they don’t feel the need to make their plans opposite each other’s; there’s none of this “Well since you’re having a guys’ night I’ll go out with my friends” tit-for-tat style competitiveness; they understand that each person having his/her own time makes them better as a couple.

MM and I have our own “me” time that we spend separately – MM calls it his “shed time.” For him, this is often a relaxing hour on the sofa, head buried in an Updike novel with his latest Secret Book & Record Store CD purchase playing in the background. Or the occasional afternoon with a couple of whiskeys and a newspaper at the Long Hall or Neary’s, a rare and treasured treat. And while he sometimes has a guys’ night out with his buddies, a typical bonding activity with his friends usually involves mountain climbing or hill walking on a Saturday.

My “girly” time is spent in a variety of ways: sometimes it’s an afternoon browsing the shops followed by a nice espresso and sweet at a café and sometimes there’s a night out or a walk with my friends. But more often than not, my favourite me time activity is cooking. Every Sunday while MM is reading, I’m tinkering around the kitchen cooking a few things for the week. I always make a loaf of this spelt bread, two slices of which I take for breakfast every day; then there’s a batch of baked blueberry oatmeal for MM’s daily breakfasts. I usually make a batch of spelt muffins as well, either banana or apple & raisin – it’s nice to have a healthy on-the-go snack for us during our busy week. And for my lunch I’ll make a pot of either veggie chili or curried lentils or something legume-y and satisfying, mainly because I’m staying away from wheat and it’s difficult to find wheat-free options near work. The bonus of course is that I go all week and basically spend no money besides my 1.75 toll for the East-Link.

It might sound hectic to some, but I find these few hours of cooking very relaxing and satisfying. We have a little bar with stools in the kitchen, so I’ll sit there with my laptop and peruse Pinterest or read the news while I’m waiting for things to bake or even chat on the telephone with friends back home. It’s not a day at the spa but I thoroughly enjoy this time every week.

Prawn Pho

Last week I spent a good few me hours in the kitchen preparing the broth for this Prawn Pho. I’d never made pho before, but my research discovered that the most important part of this Vietnamese noodle soup is the broth. As we’d had prawns the week prior, I boiled the prawn shells and heads to make a stock and stored it in the freezer. After defrosting a week later, I used that stock to boil even more prawn heads/shells in to make the stock as rich as possible. Of course you can buy fish stock but it won’t be the same – it’s completely worth the effort.

Prawn Stock (see instructions below on how to make)

20 whole raw prawns, in their shells with the heads on (I get mine at Oriental Emporium in Dublin)

2 star anise

2 teaspoons whole coriander seeds

2 whole cloves

2 cardamom pods, crushed

1 whole onion, peeled and cut in half

1 three-inch chunk of fresh ginger

Cooked rice pho noodles – how much is really up to how hungry you are; cook according to package directions

To top pho:

Handful of fresh bean sprouts

Handful of fresh coriander

1 red chili, sliced thinly

1 green chili, sliced thinly

Sriracha sauce (you can also get this at Oriental Emporium or Asia Market on Drury Street)

Thinly sliced red onion

Several fresh lime wedges

Salt to season

I’ll start with a warning: This recipe is not for the squeamish! Basically to get really rich prawn broth, you will need to boil shells and heads, which means you will be de-shelling and beheading the prawns…or you could ask your kind fishmonger to save you some and he/she might just!

To make my stock, I got 20 whole raw prawns a week before I was making this pho (remember the prawn tostada? I got it for those). I peeled and took the heads off, then threw the shells/heads into cold water and brought it up to a boil. I then turned the heat down and let it simmer for an hour, covered. I strained the stock and then let it simmer, uncovered, until it was reduced by half. I then poured it into a container and put it in the freezer.

On pho eating day: I thawed the aforementioned stock in a large soup pot. I then took my new 20 whole prawns and took the shells and heads off (and also deveined them, but you throws those out do not keep the veins!). I put those shells/heads into the thawed stock, added another couple of heaping cups of water and brought to a boil. Then, I turned the heat down and let simmer for an hour, covered.

While the stock is simmering: Heat a small sauté pan over medium-high heat. Once hot, put the star anise, cloves, coriander seeds and cardamom pods into the pan – this is to toast the spices. Keep shaking the pan because these will burn very easily. Once you smell the fragrance of the spices – about 3 minutes – remove from heat and set aside.

Once your stock has been simmering for an hour, strain out all the shells/heads – you should pass it first through a sieve and then again through a muslin or cheesecloth-lined sieve. Pour it back into the soup pot. Now add in the toasted whole spices, the onion and the ginger and simmer for another 35 minutes over medium-low heat. Taste it at this point and add salt if it needs more seasoning. Now put the peeled prawns in, and let cook only for five minutes; the soup is very hot at this point and it won’t take long to cook the prawns. Once they are cooked, you’re ready to assemble the pho.

Divide the cooked rice pho noodles between two large bowls. Pour the hot soup and prawns over each, dividing evenly (you’ll likely have some stock left). Once at the table, garnish with the bean sprouts, fresh coriander, chilies, Sriracha, red onion slices and squeeze in a few lime wedges. Enjoy!

I remember back in the early days of living in Ireland – Drogheda, Co. Louth to be specific -  I often felt helpless. There were so many unfamiliar things and places and people; from laser cards (don’t have ‘em in the U.S.) to bagging your own groceries at the shop, everything was a learning experience.

As time went on, I started to figure it out and things got easier. But much like a videogame, there are many, many levels of adjustment and understanding that don’t end after mastering the basics. Sure I figured out the rules of the road and that the post office doesn’t deliver on Saturdays and how a storage heater works. But it’s those little, only-locals-know type things like the quickest route from SuperValu to the dry cleaners or what park is good for a Sunday stroll that takes a while to learn.

Then there’s the food-related stuff: Where can I buy fresh bay leaves? Does anyone in Dublin serve authentic tacos? Is there a shop that sells that super light airy French roll for Vietnamese banh mi sandwiches? These are things that I’ve had to dig for, and only recently do I feel I’ve gotten a good understanding of where to get what I’m looking for. It’s taken a lot of research – Twitter, Facebook, Google and just plain ol’ going around Dublin personally trying bits and bobs here and there and talking to shop clerks and asking my food blogging friends for advice. But it’s all worth the effort when I find what I need.

After moaning for the first year about a serious lack of good Mexican food (OK, I was in Drogheda – not exactly the culinary gem of Ireland), I’ve found some solid places I can highly recommend. I absolutely adore Pablo Picante for its Cali Carnitas burrito, filled with black beans and tangy, shredded pork and red pickled onions; it reminds me of burritos I used to have at taquerias in San Francisco. For tacos, it has to be Taco Taco on Lower Abbey Street in the Epicurean Food Hall. They’re made in the proper street taco style, with small corn tortillas, shredded lettuce and a nice heap of fresh guacamole.

For Chinese, there’s really only one place: China Shichuan in Sandyford, Dublin. Yes it’s a big higher-end, but this is truly authentic Chinese cuisine, not that watered-down chicken curry served with chips that you’re used to getting at most takeaways in Ireland. The dishes are loaded with chilies and authentic spices and the variety is mind-boggling. For Thai, I haven’t had better than Kin Khao in Athlone – it’s worth the trip. My favourite Indian is Spice Restaurant in Wexford. Whenever Mountaineering Man and I go visit his parents there, we take one evening to sneak off to Spice for our jalfrezi and naan bread fix!

I’ve yet to locate a great Vietnamese place with the perfect banh mi here in Dublin, and as far as I know there is no sushi restaurant with an actual sushi bar in Dublin. When I go to sushi, I want to sit at the bar in front of the sushi chef and order piece by piece, and the sushi rice has to be done just right (not too warm, not too cold, not mushy or too al dente, and definitely not packed tightly – one thing most sushi restos in Ireland seem to do quite often). There’s nothing worse than choking down a big mashed-together ball of rice under a nice piece of raw fish.

But there are a few places where I can get the ingredients to make my own sushi or tacos or whatever it is I’m craving: The Asia Market on Drury Street is fantastic for seaweed sheets (nori) and brown sushi rice and miso and tons of spices; Oriental Emporium at Jervis has an amazing selection of fresh seafood and Asian produce like bitter melon and lemongrass. The aforementioned Taco Taco sells big tins of proper, Mexican beans (black and pinto) and hot sauces and real, no-wheat-added corn tortillas.

I’m still looking for a great Cubano sandwich, a Korean barbeque place that does proper bulgogi, and a truly-inspiring Spanish paella. But I know I’ll eventually find them, as I have many other things that once eluded me. In time, I’ll be a wise local myself.

Spicy Shrimp Tostada

This is my take on the tostada, which is usually a fried flour tortilla shell filled with lettuce, beans and either chicken, beef, pork or shrimp. It has all the flavours I associate with Mexican food, and it happens to be healthy and gluten free – thanks to those lovely corn tortillas I got from Taco Taco.

12 small corn tortillas

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 small white onion, sliced into thin strips

12 large prawns, raw (I get mine from Oriental Market with the heads on and in shells, but you can get them shelled/deveined/beheaded from your fishmonger)

2 teaspoons cumin

1 teaspoon ground coriander

3 teaspoons chili powder

1 teaspoon Mexican oregano

Salt & pepper to taste

1 15-ounce tin of Mexican black beans (get at Taco Taco!)

For cilantro crema:

5-6 tablespoons natural yogurt

3 tablespoons chopped fresh coriander

1/2 clove garlic, minced

For garnish:

Shredded iceberg lettuce

Chopped fresh coriander

Preheat your oven to 170C. Lay out the tortillas on a baking tray, and brush lightly on both sides with the olive oil. Place in the oven and bake for 5 minutes, then turn once, and bake for another 2-3 minutes or until the tortillas are crisp. Set aside.

In a large sauté pan, heat up the 1 tablespoon of olive oil (or vegetable oil) over medium-high heat. Toss in the sliced onion and cook for about 2-3 minutes, then add in the shrimp. Cook for 1 minute, and then add in the cumin, coriander, chili powder and oregano. Add a pinch of salt and pepper as well and cook – stirring frequently – for another 4 minutes. It’s important not to overcook the shrimp or else they will get very rubbery.

In a separate pan, heat up the Mexican black beans. The ones from Taco Taco are already seasoned, so all you need to do is heat them up.

To make the crema: Simply blitz together the yogurt, fresh coriander and garlic in a food processor (mini works best; you can always make a bigger batch of this by using more of each ingredient, it makes a great salad dressing!).

To assemble: Lay out three tortillas on a plate. Top with the beans first, then with the shrimp/onion mixture, then top with the lettuce, fresh coriander and crema.

Makes 4 servings.

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.

This Christmas will be my first here in Ireland, since last year I went home to Los Angeles to spend the holidays in my hometown. Though it will be a bit weird being away from home (come to think of it, this will be the first Christmas spent without my own family), I’m looking forward to spending it here with Mountaineering Man and his family.

I suppose in some ways it’s appropriate; ever since I landed here in March 2010, life has been all about embracing change. From adjusting to the cold wet weather to learning loads of Irish slang, I’ve come to realise the best approach is to just roll with it.

It’s been fascinating hearing about all the traditional Christmas foods my Irish friends are looking forward to this weekend – some of which are familiar, some not. Similar to Americans, the Irish love their ham and turkey as the centerpiece of their Christmas dinner table. But here dessert is all about Christmas Pudding, which isn’t what we Yanks know as pudding at all. It’s more like fruitcake, except instead of those hideous candied green cherries popular in the American fruitcake the Irish use raisins and sultanas and nuts. Most make their “puds” – as they call ‘em – about 2-3 months ahead of time because like American fruitcake, they’ll last practically forever.

I think I’ll be sampling all of the above at MM’s parents’ place this weekend, along with stuffing and gravy and perhaps parsnips and brussel sprouts (a very traditional Christmas side dish in Ireland). And at some point during the weekend we’ll connect with my family via SKYPE – ah the wonders of modern technology!

I’ve also observed a few newer Irish holiday traditions of late, one being the 12 Pubs of Christmas. Basically you go out with your friends and hit 12 pubs in one night, having at least one drink in each place. People usually dress up in Santa hats or other festive garb and go a bit nuts. Few actually finish; by pub #8 most are fairly sloppy and it’s time to crawl into a taxi and head home. I’ve seen many groups on this holiday pilgrimage, laughing and singing in the streets and at times falling off barstools and breaking a glass or two. Good craic, as the Irish say!

Though I haven’t taken part in the 12 Pubs ritual, I was happy to participate in another Irish Christmas practice: buying a present for a Focus Ireland child in need. Every year Focus Ireland hands out tree ornaments, each with one wish from a needy child. The one I got was from a little 9-year-old boy, who “loves The Saturdays” – a wildly popular girl band in the UK and Ireland. Because he probably already owns all of their CDs, I wanted to try and get him something truly unique – but what? Using my Los Angeles-bred networking instincts I sent out a few emails and got some help from friend-of-a-friend Jeff Craft of XRay Touring, who put me in touch with Niall Morris of MCD in Dublin – the production company that was managing The Saturdays’ tour in Ireland.

Working his Christmas magic, Niall got me the perfect present for this little boy – and it was no small feat. He brought back a glossy, multi-page show programme from the group’s Belfast show and then walked it over to the 02 Theatre in Dublin to have each Saturday sign it. Then he personally delivered it to my office; so fresh was the ink on the signatures we smudged it a bit by accident! Exhausted from a long night at the Belfast show, Niall still delivered the goods – and I can’t thank him, The Saturdays and Jeff enough. And also thanks to Gareth at Cybercom for introducing me to Focus Ireland’s Christmas wish campaign. I know that the collector’s item is now in the hands of this little fan, and that it likely made his Christmas.

On that note: Happy (Merry) Christmas to everyone!

Papa’s Lobster Bisque

For me, Christmas just isn’t Christmas without my dad’s lobster bisque – it’s tradition in our house. Since our Christmas Eve dinner is steak and lobster, my parents take the leftover lobster and create this wonderful bisque. We eat it on Christmas day with some roasted pork sandwiches and lots of other good eats. As we are going to MM’s folks’ this year, I made this for dinner tonight so I could have a little taste of home this holiday season.

Note: This recipe isn’t exact – my father has been making this for years and these are his notes, based on many trials making this bisque. I suggest reading over the entire recipe before getting started and really try and understand it first! I’m happy to answer any questions you might have! I’ve changed a few things as most people probably wouldn’t have lobster for dinner the night before, so this recipe is designed so you can just go out and buy your lobsters for the soup. The whole process will take two days.

Serves 4-6

The night before you’ll need:

2 whole large lobsters or 3 medium sized ones. I get mine alive at Oriental Market on Abbey Street.

Water to boil lobsters in.

In a pot large enough to fit the biggest of your lobsters, boil enough water so that the lobster will be fully immersed once you put it in. Bring the water to a rolling boil first, then drop in your lobster. If you are using live lobster, carefully place it into the water and immediately put the lid on and hold it down for a few minutes. Though I have never experienced this in the past some say they thrash around for a few seconds after being placed in the water. If you would prefer to kill your lobster first, the way to do it is to drive a knife through the top of its head – like this. Some will argue that putting a live lobster into boiling water is cruel; everyone is entitled to his/her opinion. Here is a balanced article on the subject.

Back to the method: Your cooking time depends on the size of your lobster. Mine were each about 1.5 lbs, and I cooked each for 15 minutes, one at a time but using the same water. After the cooking is finished, remove the lobsters and place on a baking tray to cool. But SAVE THIS COOKING WATER as it will be the basis for your bisque.

The day of:

After the lobsters are completely cooled, pick out all of the meat – including any “caviar” you find in the middle (it’s green and looks horrible but is really good flavouring for the bisque). Set the lobster meat aside.

Dump the empty shells into a large pot. Cut them up with kitchen shears to fit them in better if you have a lot. This will be cooked with other things, and then strained for the stock.

(To approximate quantities, the following is based on one 1½ pound lobster)

You’ll need:

Shallots

Bay leaves

Garlic, smashed

Flour

Tomato paste

Milk

Reserved cooking liquid

Cream

White wine

Egg yolks

Tarragon, dried

Salt & Pepper to taste

Thyme, dried

Red pepper, dried

To the pot with the lobster shells, add 3 or 4 tablespoons of butter and heat. When the butter is melted and the pot is warm, add 2 or 3 tablespoons of cognac and continue to warm then flame with a match.

When this is done, add to the pot 2 roughly diced shallots, 1 clove of garlic, 1 tablespoon tomato paste, 2 cups of reserved cooking liquid, 1 cup of white wine, ½ teaspoon tarragon, ¼ teaspoon thyme, 1 red pepper (or a couple of shakes of crushed pepper flakes), and 1 or 2 bay leaves. Simmer, stirring occasionally, for half an hour or more, uncovered. Add more cooking liquid and or wine if you feel that what you started with seems to be evaporating too quickly.

Strain through a colander. Every drop of liquid you can get out of this is worth the effort, so really shake the colander before discarding the remaining solids. We’ll call it nectar.

Melt 1½ tablespoon butter and sauté 1½ tablespoons of finely minced shallot in a pot large enough to hold the finished bisque for a couple of minutes, then add 1½ tablespoon flour to make a roux. Dilute this with the nectar and maybe a little milk if necessary. Allow this to cool a little.

Whisk 2 egg yolks in a bowl, then slowly add some of the still very warm nectar roux and continue whisking the mixture. Return this and any remaining nectar to the pot and heat adding a cup or two of milk and tasting the result as the heat rises. Remember, you will finish the bisque with between ¼ cup to 1 cup of cream, possibly more and you want to have enough bisque for each of your guests.

Before you add the cream, but when the bisque is fairly hot, add the lobster meat which you have set aside. Stir. Taste and add salt and pepper at this time. Add whatever amount of cream desired tasting as you go.

This seems to improve by simply keeping it hot for awhile before serving. We use a large Crock Pot so guests can self-serve.

REMINDER

These measurements are approximates, based on a single lobster of a certain size.

NOTE

The absence of cognac in this dish is more than noticeable! But too much of that good thing will destroy the dish. It is essential to the character of this bisque, but use it sparingly.

There is a certain quiet that blankets Dublin in the wintertime. People seem friendlier and less argumentative. Maybe everyone is too busy rubbing their cold hands together for warmth or walking a bit faster to get out of the chill as quickly as possible – no time for quarrelling, just a swift “hiya” and a gracious wave.

The streets are hushed as well. Icy roads warrant a slower, perhaps more gentler slog to school and work. Drivers wave two, maybe even three cars to go ahead in the queue down the one-lane streets and appreciation is shown with a little flash of emergency lights – a sort of lit-up wink for their kindness.

It could be that people want to slow down so they can take a look at the Christmas decorations in the villages around Dublin. Each seems to have its own big pine tree, decorated with long strands of golden lights and a few rustic ornaments. Some have a nativity set or a Santa Claus while others roll out the enormous candy canes and sleighs packed with gift boxes. The morning frost makes everything glisten as if it had been designed that way. And in the evenings the twinkling lights emit a soft glow, giving the impression of warmth on a cold, dark night.

When it snows, as it did the other morning for the first time this winter, the pace slows even more. Pedestrians walk gingerly along the dusted footpaths and a few even stop to look up, extend a hand and catch a few falling snowflakes. When it gets heavey, there’s no better place than a cosy pub to warm up with a few pints or some mulled wine. There’s just something magical about a dimly-lit tavern, complete with a roaring fire and a friendly barman.

There’s just something naturally Christmas-y about Ireland in winter, and I feel more in the holiday spirit than ever before. Mountaineering Man and I bought a little tree and a few ornaments and a some sparkly candles – it’s our first Christmas living together so I really want to make our home as festive as possible. And since ‘tis the season, I made a very celebratory breakfast this morning: Panettone French Toast. Panettone is an Italian Christmas bread that’s buttery and rich and light all at once. It’s a brioche dough studded with dried citrus peel and it’s very popular around this time of year. We topped ours with a little cinnamon honey but you can use maple syrup, icing sugar or even whipped cream.

Panettone French Toast

2 eggs, beaten

200 ml whole milk

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 teaspoon honey

6 thick slices of Panettone (I got ours at Carluccio’s, which has small and big ones – one small round is perfect for this recipe!).

1 tablespoon butter

In a shallow, large dish, beat the eggs together and add the milk, vanilla and honey and whisk until blended. Now heat up the butter in a large sauté pan over medium-high heat. Take each slice of bread and put it into the egg/milk mixture – just lay it down quickly and remove it, then do the other side but don’t let it soak up too much of the liquid. Place the bread slices in the pan and cook for about 2-4 minutes on each side, or until it starts to get golden brown. Serve with honey, maple syrup or whatever you want.

It’s been a while since I’ve done a round-up of things I find funny and/or odd in Ireland, and believe me the list expands on an almost-daily basis. Just because I’ve been here for a while now doesn’t mean I understand the bizarrities (<– my own creation) of the Emerald Isle any better than I did when I was fresh off the plane back in March 2010. Here are a few recent discoveries:

Confusing names: I remember the first time someone offered me a flapjack here in Ireland; what I got was not what I would call a flapjack. What we Americans call a flapjack is basically a pancake – an American pancake, mind you, not the thin, crepe-like “pancakes” of Ireland. What people here call a flapjack is basically a soft granola bar to me – a bar made up of oats, with maybe some nuts and/or dried fruit. On a similar note, I recently made some cinnamon rolls for a bake-off, and no one seemed to know what they were. People were calling them everything from morning buns to cakey thing, which is no surprise considering I’ve never seen a cinnamon roll at a bakery in Ireland.

Speaking of pancakes: I think I’ve written here before about how most of my friends – church-going or not – give up something for Lent. Whether it’s chocolate (a hugely popular sacrifice), bread or alcohol, it seems like everyone is giving up something for these 40 days. So the day before everyone gives up their [fill in the blank], they have what people here call “Pancake Tuesday.” On the evening before Lent begins, people whip up pancakes loaded with all kinds of toppings: chocolate drops, whipped cream, Golden Syrup, marshmallows – you name it, it’s on there. The tradition stems from Shrove Tuesday, which dates back to the early Middle Ages. Back then the church forbade its members from eating meat, eggs and dairy products during Lent, so mammies used up whatever eggs, milk and butter they had left to make pancakes. I doubt they were topped with M&Ms, but as they say you can’t stop progress!

Death on the Radio: As the Irish are obsessed with obituaries (seriously, the fascination is odd), it’s no surprise that the weekly announcement of death notices broadcast on radio stations around the country is popular listening to many in rural Ireland. So popular are they that some radio stations read them off 3-5 days per week. For some families, gathering ‘round the radio with a cup of tea to hear a loved one, neighbour or acquaintance’s name being read from the death list is part of the normal weekend routine. “Ah yes, James – there he is!” a mother of a friend of mine would say, after hearing the name of an old school mate who’d recently passed. It’s almost as if the death is not real until it’s confirmed on the radio here in Ireland.

Insults: I’m always impressed at how the Irish can turn any ordinary word into an insult just by using it in place of a standard slur. Perfect example: Cabbage. “What a stupid cabbage!” one might say. Another seemingly harmless word frequently used on the offensive: wagon. “She’s some wagon, isn’t she?!” One of my favourites uses a word that I grew up with, except I always identified it with furry, cute puppets. “That muppet wouldn’t shut his mouth! Did you ever hear such nonsense?”

Peanut Butter Rice Krispie Bars

Whenever I see Rice Krispie Bars here in Ireland, they’re made with melted chocolate and little else. Basically you melt chocolate, stir in the cereal, spread it out in a pan and let cool. But the bars I grew up always, ALWAYS used melted marshmallows, a bit of butter and the cereal bits. There’s just something so satisfying about that chewy, crunchy combination of Rice Krispies and melted marshmallows that can’t be beat. I recently made a peanut butter version, which went over very well with my Irish friends.

2 tablespoons butter

4 cups mini marshmallows (or 3 cups regular-sized marshmallows)

½ cup smooth peanut butter

6 cups Rice Krispie cereal

1 bar of dark chocolate, about 8 ounces

½ cup chopped peanuts

In a large soup pot, melt the butter over medium heat. As soon as the butter is melted, throw in the marshmallows, stirring constantly, and let melt completely (about 5 minutes). Then add in the peanut butter, stirring until it’s all incorporated with the melted marshmallows. Turn the heat to low, then stir in the cereal. When it’s all mixed together, press into a buttered 9 x 13 baking tin (I wet my hands with a bit of water to prevent sticking) and let cool for an hour.

To decorate: Break up the dark chocolate bar and put into a microwave-proof bowl. The melting time really depends on your microwave’s strength, so I recommend trying 30 seconds at a time, stirring every time you check, until it’s completely melted. Be careful not to overcook it, otherwise the chocolate will become gloppy and separate.

Using a spoon, drizzle the chocolate over the Rice Krispies and then top with the chopped peanuts. Let cool for another hour and then cut into squares.

There are so many things to be thankful for this year, I hardly know where to start. I’m grateful for my health (despite a few hiccups of late, I’m perfectly fine), I’m grateful for Mountaineering Man and our lovely place in Raheny that we now call home and I’m incredibly thankful that – in a country where the unemployment rate is 14% – I’m gainfully employed.

I’m appreciative of my friends here, from my long-time mates in Collon to my relatively new circle of buddies in Dublin. I feel lucky to have my fellow food blogging friends, who I can always rely on for a weekend brunch in or a trek out to try some fabulous restaurant. I can’t ask for better friends than my life-long besties back home in San Francisco and LA. – though there’s an ocean between us we’re still as close as ever. And of course I’m thankful for my amazing family, who I got to see last month and who showed MM a wonderful time in Los Angeles during our visit. There’s MM’s family as well, who have always been so kind and warm to me and with whom I look forward to spending the holidays with this year.

It’s wild to think of where my life is now, just 21 months after moving to Ireland. And though I’ve written that sentiment on this blog many times, it still boggles my mind almost on a weekly basis. I catch myself all the time having moments of absolute surprise and delight at where I am, who I’m with and what life has become here. I find myself gazing out at the sea along the coast road on a drive to the grocery shop or at the city lights reflecting against the dark Liffey waters and think, “Wow.”

  I felt the same way last night when we hosted a big Thanksgiving at our place. To have a house full of good friends, homemade food and great craic – it’s something I don’t take for granted.

I spent three days prepping and cooking and to be honest, I loved every minute of it. Before dinner we served a selection of cheeses from Sheridan’s, which we had with some fantastic tomato chutney (gift from MM’s parents), Medjool dates and roasted garlic bulbs. I got a lovely bronze turkey from Termonfeckin Delicious farm, which I brined for 48 hours in a salt/sugar/herbs bath and it turned out lovely and moist.

With it I made a chorizo and sage stuffing, mashed potatoes, my dad’s famous oyster stuffing, a hearty root vegetable and rocket salad (from the awesome Duncan of Organic Delights) and sweet potato pie for dessert.  My friend Vanessa brought a beautiful homemade tiramisu as well, so we had *two* sweet treats to finish off the evening!

The only downside was not having enough room to have ALL our friends over; between the two of us there are at least another two dozen people we’d have liked to invite. There’s always next year. For MM, it was his first Thanksgiving; for me, it was my first time hosting Thanksgiving in Ireland. For both of us, it was the first of many more to come.

Chorizo & Sage Stuffing

The first time I had stuffing in Ireland I was surprised by its texture. Here, people use breadcrumbs to make stuffing whereas back home we usually use cubed-up bread. No offence but I much prefer the bite of good, old-fashioned American stuffing.

6 fresh, uncooked chorizo sausages

2 medium onions, minced

3 stalks of celery, minced

1 long, French baguette, cut up into cubes (about 10 cups)

4 tablespoons melted salted butter

4-5 leaves of fresh sage

2 sprigs fresh thyme

Big handful fresh parsley

3 cups warm chicken broth/stock

1 egg, beaten

Salt & Pepper to taste

Preheat the oven to 170C. Heat a large sauté pan over medium high heat – there’s no need for oil or butter as the sausages will give off a good deal of fat. Take the fresh chorizo and cut the casing down lengthwise and remove the casings. Put the sausage meat into the pan and cook, using a wooden spoon to break it down into medium-size crumbles. Cook until done, about 8-10 minutes. Remove the sausage with a slotted spoon, leaving the fat in the pan.

Keep the pan over medium-high heat and add in the onions and celery. Lower to medium heat after about 2 minutes and continue cooking until the veg are tender, about 8 minutes. Remove from heat.

Put the bread cubes into a very large bowl. Add in the cooked sausage, onion and celery and melted butter and stir until mixed together. Roughly chop the sage, thyme leaves and parsley together and toss it into the bowl with everything else. Season with salt and pepper. Scoop the mixture into a large casserole dish or baking pan.

In a pitcher or jug, combine the warm broth and egg and then pour it evenly over the bread/sausage/onion/celery/herb mixture. Bake covered with foil for 25 minutes; remove the foil and bake for another 20 minutes and serve.

When it comes to healthcare in Ireland, the news isn’t good. The headlines in the papers and the television news reports are ripe with exclamations of how badly the system has broken down in recent years. Stories of patients waiting for beds, tests and appointments are featured daily in the Irish media.

As someone who has no private health insurance here, my own experience has been quite good. For 50 quid I can see my general practitioner and she’s available with one or two days’ notice. My prescriptions cost about 10 euro on average. Of course I have never needed emergency hospital care – which according to the news reports is a whole different story all together – until recently.

Last week I went to my GP complaining of chest pain, rather a tightness in the middle chest area, for the previous few days. She surmised it was likely esophageal spasms caused by an upsurge of stomach acids. While I was there she took my blood pressure, which was surprisingly high; I’ve always had perfect readings and my last check was only a few months ago, also perfect. She prescribed meds for the spasms and told me to come back in a few days. When I returned with the same symptoms and high blood pressure, she sent me to the emergency room at Beaumont – a public hospital in Dublin.

And that’s where I got my first dose of the reality that is public healthcare in Ireland.

Because chest pain is something that is typically considered serious, I was actually seen relatively quickly by the nurse. She took my vitals and sent me back into the waiting room, where I sat with Mountaineering Man. There were a good number of people there, some with visible injuries and some without, but the atmosphere was relatively calm. There was one man who moaned out loud every five minutes, but otherwise it wasn’t a terrible place to be.

Once I got called into the urgent emergency section, it was a different story all together. I had to leave MM – they wouldn’t let him come in with me – so I told him to just go home as it looked like I’d have quite a long wait. The area that I had to sit in was just behind the larger emergency room, which looked like a war zone. There were gurneys everywhere – so many that I had to wiggle my way in between them to get past. The patients in that room were suffering; some had bleeding head wounds, others had swollen stomachs and one woman looked like she’d been cut quite severely in the arm. She cried out loud as I walked by.

The room smelled of urine and the loud complaining from patients was jarring. There was remnants of blood on the floor, which looked like it had been haphazardly mopped up with a dry cloth. Nurses were multitasking, many running between 4-5 patients at a time; interns tried their best to help out wherever and with whatever they could. There must have been at least 50 injured in that room, which was built for about 20 patients. “Beirut looks better than this,” I heard one paramedic say.

There were also armed gardai, who sported bullet-proof vests and guarded the one exit door. I’m not really sure why, but I assumed there was an injured criminal in our midst. Then again, there were plenty of unruly patients, some wanting to leave against doctor’s orders, others so wasted they walked around aimlessly. To say the place was chaotic would be an understatement.

Though it took a total of six hours and a second round of blood tests (thanks to a “mix-up” of bloodwork), I can’t complain about the care that I received at Beaumont. I got a chest x-ray, a heart echo ultrasound and a thorough questioning of symptoms from the doctors there. The nurses were friendly and they took care of us. At one point, a woman came round with a cart and fed us biscuits, sandwiches and tea for no charge. I was utterly grateful to see her as it’d been a good 7 hours since I’d eaten at that point.

In the end I got a proper diagnoses (swelling of joints in my ribcage plus viral infection – serious enough for meds and time off work but not life-threatening) and a new prescription. But moreover I got peace of mind, which is priceless. I can’t say that the experience was entirely wonderful…there were a lot of people suffering there who were not going to get the help they needed in a timely manner. The doctors and nurses were struggling to do what they could with the limited resources available to them. And really that’s what it comes down to, we need more resources and funds for the healthcare system – a statement that will garner me the award for Stating the Obvious!

In any case, that is my first-person account of an evening in the A&E.

African Sweet Potato Soup

Sometimes the constant dampness here in Ireland makes it hard to stay well, at least for this California girl! So I try and power up with super foods that keep me healthy but also taste great. I love this hearty African soup, which also happens to be vegan, and it’s loaded with lots of great, heart-healthy veg.

1 tablespoon olive oil

2 medium yellow onions, chopped into small dice

6 cloves of garlic, finely minced

2 medium sweet potatoes or yams, chopped into medium dice

4 carrots, chopped into medium dice

2 teaspoons ground cumin

1 teaspoon dried thyme

2 teaspoons smoked paprika

1 teaspoon turmeric

1 teaspoon Tabasco

1, 15-ounce can of diced tomato

5 cups vegetable stock

1/2 creamy peanut butter

chopped parsley and spring onion for garnish

Salt and pepper to taste

In a large soup pot, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the onions and cook until tender, about 3-4 minutes. Add in the garlic and cook for another minute. Toss in the sweet potatoes and carrots and all the spices. Stir and cook for about 2 minutes.

Add in the tomatoes, Tabasco and stock and stir well. Bring to a boil and then reduce the heat and cook for 10 minutes, or until the vegetables become tender. Remove from the heat.

Using a potato masher, roughly mash the soup – you want it to still have texture so just mash until it’s a bit mushy but not smooth. Place back over medium heat and then add the peanut butter; season with salt and pepper to taste. Cook for five minutes and then remove from heat. Serve with a garnish of chopped fresh parsley and spring onions. To make it a meal, top over rice or quinoa.