A while back, I wrote a blog post about What I’ve Learned since moving here to Ireland. Now, on the six-month anniversary of my move here, I’d like to present what I love about Ireland and about living here.

*High visibility jackets: I know you think I’m crazy right about now. OK, I don’t really love the high visibility jacket in and of itself, but I love what it represents. About a month into my relocation, my friend and I took a walk down a country road sometime in the early evening. It was still quite bright outside, but as we walked we were stopped by four separate people asking us why we were not wearing high visibility jackets. These people literally pulled their cars over, rolled down their windows and gave out to us (as they say here).

“You’ll get hit by a car!” said one. “The sun is going down and it’ll be dark soon, what are you thinking?” asked another. Even a week later my friend’s cousin, who was one of the people who’d stopped us, scolded me again saying, “I still can’t believe yous (<– slang for you girls, you guys, you people) were out on the road with no high vis jackets!”

I found all this fretting about high visibility jackets touching, really. Out in rural Ireland it gets really dark at night and therefore everyone who lives there owns one of these jackets. It’s as essential to the country wardrobe as Wellies and rain slickers. Whether you’re walking your dog or changing a flat tire, if it’s anywhere close to dusk you’ll be sporting one. In Los Angeles, the only people wearing high visibility jackets are road crew workers and night-time cyclists. I’ve never owned one (or even uttered the words “high visibility jacket”) my entire life. I remember that was the day I understood I was in a totally different place.

Singing of the Irish national anthem at pubs: I only recently discovered that at the end of the night, the band at a lot of pubs plays the Irish national anthem. I was at Mathew’s about a month ago when, seemingly out of nowhere, everyone stood up and started singing (well, let’s be honest, most of them didn’t know all the words and were just slurring random stuff really). It turns out this is a tradition around these parts and a cool but somewhat bizarre one at that. No one seems to know why they do it; they just do it because they’ve always done it. The thought of Americans singing their national anthem at a bar makes me laugh out loud but somehow, here, it works.

Random Irish kids at a football match (not sure if these kids are bold but they sure are cute!)

Bold Irish kids: There’s something about little freckled-faced, toe-headed Irish kids that always makes me smile – especially the bold ones. My friend’s niece, who is only three years old, was recently put into the “naughty chair” for being bad. When her father removed her from the chair and asked her if she had something to say for herself, she replied, “Yeah, f*ck off!” I know this isn’t really anything to be proud of but for some reason I found this response to be typically Irish and therefore hilarious. Tom, the 9-year-old kid my friend watches after school, is the classic bold Irish kid. He’ll hide my friend’s handbag, set all kinds of reminders on the television (so they’ll pop up during my friend’s favorite shows, interrupting the program) and basically run amok the whole time. Once, he seized some chocolate from the kitchen that was meant for someone else, ran into one of the bedrooms, locked the door and ate all the chocolate – all while my friend was pounding on the door, demanding he come out with the candy. Afterward he opened the door, face covered in chocolate, with a huge, unapologetic grin on his gob.

Enterprising spirit: Though Ireland is experiencing one of the worst recessions in its history, people in my town aren’t afraid to plow ahead with new businesses. I recently visited Cake Couture, a cake decorating shop on West Street that sells all kinds of frosting tips, food coloring pastes and other tools for professional and home bakers. Then there’s Traders, the lovely coffee shop I’ve written about before, which serves incredible coffee drinks and handcrafted sandwiches and desserts. Opening such niche businesses during a recession may seem insane to some; you might wonder who would spend 15 euro on a cake decorating kit or 2.50 euro on a cup of coffee during these trying times. But these businesses took a chance and are doing well. Most importantly, it gives the community and the economy a much-needed boost. The Irish have gone through many hardships in the past and the result is a fearless survival instinct among its people, which I truly admire.

IrishFoodies: I’m grateful and happy to be part of the IrishFoodies, a community of food bloggers in Ireland that formed about a month after I moved here. I have made many wonderful friends through this group and once a month we have a themed cook-along, where everyone makes a dish based on the theme and shares it on Twitter and their blogs. The theme this month is vegetarian (#vegetwarian on Twitter), so I came up with these Curried Butternut Squash Patties on Rocket.

Curried Butternut Squash Patties on Rocket
(makes about 8 medium patties)

1 medium-sized butternut squash, peeled and cut into 1-inch cubes
3 tablespoons + ¼ cup olive oil
1 red bell pepper, minced
2 shallots, minced
½ green bell pepper, minced
1 tablespoon curry powder
1 teaspoon turmeric
1 teaspoon garam masala
4 tablespoons wholemeal flour
1 egg
Salt and pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 180 C degrees. On a baking tray, spread the butternut squash cubes out into one layer. Drizzle with 2 tablespoons of olive oil, and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Bake in the oven for about 20 minutes, or until the cubes are easily pierced with a fork. While the squash bakes, heat 1 tablespoon of olive oil in a sauté pan over medium heat. Add in the bell peppers and shallots, and cook until caramelized – about 15 minutes. Don’t stir it around too much; this will help quicken the caramelization process. Remove from heat and stir in the curry, turmeric and garam masala. Season with salt and pepper.

In a large bowl, mash the butternut squash cubes with the sautéed pepper/onion mixture. Add in the egg and mash until incorporated, then add in the wholemeal flour and mix until blended. In a shallow sauté pan, heat the remaining ¼ cup of olive oil over medium-high heat. Using a spoon, scoop out about ¼ cup of the squash mash and drop into the hot oil. Leave enough room between each patty to allow them to spread a little and do not overcrowd the pan. Cook on each side for about 2 minutes or until golden brown; careful as you flip them!

Put finished patties onto paper cloths to drain. Assemble the rocket and top with the butternut squash patties. I dressed my rocket with basic olive oil and vinegar but you can use whatever dressing you like.

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When I was visiting my friends in Collon last September (this was the trip that basically got the wheels turning about moving to Ireland), I noticed red and black checkered flags all over the village. Pubs, houses, telephone poles – they were everywhere. I soon found out that these flags bore the colors of the Mattock Rangers, the local Gaelic football club, and that the team was close to securing a spot in the 2009 finals. The anticipation and anxiety of the village was evident in the bits and pieces of conversation I overheard during my visit. It was as if the entire population of Collon was holding its collective breath, careful not to jinx a victory by too much talk while at the same time silently agonizing over the thought of a loss.

I went back to America before the final match but heard from friends that the Mattock Rangers clinched the championship the following month. I saw video and photos of the three-day celebration around Collon village, and it looked absolutely mad. The guys were jumping on tables, the team paraded through the streets on the back of a huge flat-bed truck and it seemed the entire village was out partying for those three days and nights – kids, moms, dads, grandparents, the whole lot. I didn’t quite understand the passion and, most importantly, the significance of the team and what they meant to the community until I saw that evidence. For the village of Collon, the Mattock Rangers represent its hopes and dreams; it’s not just a football team, it’s a way of life for many in the community.

(click to enlarge photos)

Now that I live here and have friends on the team, I’m getting a much better understanding of what the game and the lifestyle means to the players. I recently talked to a few friends on the Mattock Rangers to get a better understanding of the sport. What sets Gaelic football apart from other sports in Ireland is that none of the players get paid and your team/club is determined by where you live. If you live in Collon, you’ll be a Mattock Ranger and that’s that. As team member Niall Callan says, “You don’t pick your club, your club picks you.” This basically means that even if the team is doing poorly, you stick with it. In most other sports, it’d be easy enough to move to a better team but here, you’re in it for better or for worse. “I think it makes the game more honest and people play for pride rather than money,” adds Earnan Roche, who has been with the club for most of his life.

While I’ve never been a big sports buff I have to admit that the dedication and passion the community has for the team is infectious. The games, especially the championship ones, are packed with friends and family donning red and black jerseys. The mothers of the players are the most fanatical; I don’t shock easily but the vulgarities that come out of their mouths when a ref gives a bad call are down-right scandalous! Of course it’s all in good fun and I have to give props to those sassy moms for their absolute enthusiasm for the sport…but if I was a ref I wouldn’t want to meet those ladies in a dark alley. “Gaelic teams represent where people come from and brings pride…it boosts community spirit. People in the area feel the buzz and excitement of the finals and the heartbreak of losing,” explains Mattock Ranger Daniel Bannon.

Because there is no money in the sport, all the players have day jobs. Many have wives, girlfriends and children. They practice every week, rain or shine, they take part in fundraising efforts for the club and they consistently put themselves in harm’s way (in Gaelic there is no padding or protective gear) for the love of the sport. The Italians have a saying, la cosa nostra, which literally translated means “this thing of ours”- the silent but unbreakable loyalty among the men of the mafia. While the Mattock Rangers is no criminal element (at least that I know of, ha!) I liken their devotion, perseverance and commitment to the spirit of this old adage. While many outsiders question why anyone would want to endure all the hardships of being on a Gaelic team, the men of the Mattock Rangers get it. It’s just this thing of theirs and their community and it’s a bond that can never be broken.

*I decided to make some cookies with Mattock Rangers colors for the quarter-finals yesterday. I will admit that, 4 hours into the 6 hours it took to bake and decorate these, I was actually muttering, “They better win!” to myself. They did win (though it was a nail-biter!) and now it’s off to the semi-finals next weekend.

Mattock Rangers Cookies

For the cookies:
1 cup (227 grams) of unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 cup of granulated sugar
1 egg
½ vanilla bean
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3 cups all-purpose flour
1 ½ teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon of salt

For the icing:
4 cups icing sugar
¼ cup milk (more or less as needed)
Red food coloring
Black food coloring

In a large bowl, beat the butter and sugar together until light and fluffy. Add in the egg, the seeds from inside the vanilla pod and the vanilla extract and mix well. Set aside. In another bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder and salt. Then add the flour mixture, slowly to the butter/sugar/egg mixture – I usually do it in 3-4 parts. The dough will be a little crumbly in the bowl but will come together if you press it gently with your hands.

Roll the dough out on a floured surface to about ¼ inch thickness – it’s easier to roll out if you do it between two pieces of grease-proof/parchment paper. Then place the dough into the refrigerator for 30-40 minutes until chilled. Cut the dough with a round cookie cutter or whatever else shapes you want to use, then place the cookies on a greased baking sheet. Bake in a preheated 170 C (350 F) oven for 10-12 minutes or until the edges of the cookies are slightly golden. Carefully remove the cookies and place on a cooling rack and let cool completely.

For the icing: Mix together the icing sugar and milk. You want the consistency to be slightly runny but not too watery – it should be easy to spread on the cookies but not too thin. You can add more milk if it’s too thick and more icing sugar if too thin. Take half of the icing and put it into another bowl. Add the red food coloring to one, and black to the other. The amount of food coloring really depends on how deep you want the color to be, so test it out and see what happens. I prefer food coloring pastes, as they are much easier to work with and give off a much richer, deeper color. You can buy them in most baking shops.

Ice one half of the cookies with the black food coloring, and let them dry completely before icing the other side with the red icing. Store in an air-tight container and keep at room temperature. Keeps for about 3-4 days.

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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 

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The metropolis of Dublin, which deserves to be represented – along with the rest of Ireland – in the media.

I was spending time with a friend over the weekend when she expressed her dread for the upcoming work week. “But it’s a bank holiday on Monday!” I told her, thinking she’d be pleasantly surprised upon realizing she forgot about the three-day weekend. “Oh that’s not for us, that’s only for the UK,” she replied flatly.

The reason why I thought today was a bank holiday is because for the last week, it’s been mentioned in a lot of television advertisements. One cable channel was running a campaign for the Jennifer Lopez film, Maid in Manhattan, publicizing that it would be played twice “on bank holiday Monday!” A grocery store chain had an ad that promoted specials for “the upcoming bank holiday Monday!” Since these were ads playing in Ireland, I’d just assumed the holiday applied to us. Not so. Quite cruel, if you ask me.

This phenomenon – being grouped in with our sister island country of England – is something I’m still getting used to. Because Ireland is such a small country, most of our media comes from the UK. Our television programming, with the exception of a couple of channels, are produced and made for the British audience. I find it incredibly odd and somewhat frustrating that I cannot purchase a lot of the items advertised on television here, and that the special deals being promoted don’t apply to me at all.

These are Irish people, enjoying a BBQ. I want to see these people on the telly doing ads for Irish grocery stores!!

Sainsbury’s, a popular UK-based grocery chain, features popular TV chef Jamie Oliver in its alluring ads; one particular promo has Jamie running around at a picnic, cooking up delectable-looking burgers and proclaiming “Don’t just eat food, taste it!” Jamie, I would LOVE to taste those lovely picnic offerings in your fabulous commercial and also save heaps of money by getting all those amazing special deals Sainsbury’s offers in their ads, but hey – I LIVE IN IRELAND and we don’t even have a single Sainsbury here! Don’t be such a tease, Jamie!

Of course it’s not Jamie Oliver’s fault that we’re subjected to this constant barrage of ads applicable to only UK-based residents. They are relevant to Northern Ireland, as the region is officially the UK, but for those in the Republic of Ireland it’s all useless information. While I understand the reasons for why we’re grouped in with the UK it doesn’t make it any less odd for me. I remember an uproar last year over a fast-food chain in California that ran television commercials promoting its food on channels that broadcasted in LA. Apparently the closest restaurant was 90 miles outside of Los Angeles, so residents of LA complained it was too far away and therefore the ads should stop running in their area. Keep in mind this is all within Southern California! The restaurant ceased advertising on the local LA stations.

As an American, it’s slightly amusing and somewhat weird but I imagine it must be down-right annoying for the Irish. It often feels that Ireland is not well-represented in the media in film, television and even advertisements. Sure we have a couple of Irish stations but they’re barely a blip on the map compared to the vast number of UK broadcasting channels and media companies that are represented on our television screens. Sometimes it’s hard not to feel like the red-headed stepchild (literally) of England when all you hear on the telly are British accents.

Irish Beef Steak with Peppers and Onions
(Serves 2)

1 tablespoon olive oil (purchased from Supervalu, an Irish grocery store!)
2 filet of steak (from Ireland!)
1/2 red bell pepper, sliced,  (purchased at my local farmer’s market in Ireland!)
1/2 green bell pepper, sliced (purchased at my local farmer’s market in Ireland!)
2 shallots, sliced (purchased at my local farmer’s market in Ireland!)
6 brown mushrooms, sliced (purchased at my local farmer’s market in Ireland!)
1 red chili, sliced (purchased at my local Asian grocer in Ireland!)
Salt and pepper (purchased from Supervalu, an Irish grocery store!)

Preheat oven to 180 C. In a large sauté pan, heat up the olive oil over medium heat. Season the steaks with salt and pepper. After the pan is very hot, sear the steaks on all sides – about 45 seconds on each side. Remove the steaks, put onto a baking sheet and put in the oven for 6 minutes. While the steak is cooking, add the bell peppers, onions and chili into the same pan used to sear off the steaks. Cook over medium heat for about 10 minutes, until the vegetables are nice and caramelized. While the peppers are cooking, remove the steak and cover with tinfoil and let rest for at least 5 minutes. Plate the steaks and top with the pepper/onion/chili/mushroom mixture. Serve!

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Nancy (right smack in the middle!) with her siblings at a recent birthday celebration for her brother.

Being from Los Angeles, I have a pretty specific definition of the Independent Woman. She’s single or dating someone (or a few people!), has a successful career, rents a nice apartment or perhaps even owns a condo or house and has a social calendar that involves lots of fabulous restaurants, bars and friends. She not only brings home the bacon (or maybe some organic chorizo), but she can fry it up in a pan, toss it on a bed of farmers’ market vegetables and have it all ready for an impromptu Friday-night dinner party for a few of her closest pals without breaking a sweat.

Suffice it to say, I was that Independent Woman living in Los Angeles. And though now I live in Ireland, I’ve worked hard to maintain that IW lifestyle – though it’s not always easy. I do rent a fabulous apartment and have maintained my writing career but there are not a lot of great restaurants or bars in the town of Drogheda, where I reside. However I still have my dinner parties and nights out and I’ve made some incredibly fabulous friends. But the more time I spend here in Ireland, the more I’m realizing that there is a whole other type of independent woman out there, and she is the polar opposite of me.

My friend’s mother Nancy is in her 60s. She’s raised seven of her own children plus three nieces and nephews who lost their mother at a young age. She left school early to help out around her family’s farm. Nancy is the backbone, the main caretaker, the confidant, and the foundation of her family and though she’s never had a professional career or a high-fashion wardrobe, she is as strong as any female CEO of a Fortune 500 company.

Though Nancy has been married for over 39 years, it is she who does the bulk of the heavy lifting – both physically and metaphorically. I don’t know how many times I’ve dropped by the house to see Nancy out in the yard, pushing the lawnmower up and down her enormous back garden. If she’s expecting special visitors (like out-of-town relatives), Nancy is outside with a can of paint and a brush, literally touching up the exterior of the 200-year-old family farmhouse she’s lived in her whole life. Her hands are cracked and weathered from years of wrestling piles of laundry in and out of the washing machine and fighting the oft-blustery wind to get the washing hung outside. At least a couple times a week, she’s out there in a sudden downpour, frantically removing socks and sheets and towels from the clothesline. She cooks a homemade meal nearly every night of the week and is sweeping and dusting every other day. She once showed me how she literally sweeps dirt under the kitchen rug, and then vacuums it up at the end of the week. Efficient and enterprising – it’s genius!

But despite all the cooking and cleaning and consoling and counseling that fills her itinerary every week, Nancy still takes care of herself in a way that would make even Carrie Bradshaw proud. Every Saturday morning, she goes to the hair salon in the town center to get her locks shampooed and coiffed. Right after her appointment, she walks across the way to her favorite little café and orders a salad sandwich on white bread and a pot of tea with lots of milk. She sits alone, savoring every bite of her sandwich and every sip of tea but mostly she takes pleasure in the peace of just having a little time to herself. Since I live in town and knew she ate alone every week I used to pop into the café for a chat, but ever since she told me how much she relishes this precious hour to herself I’ve stopped coming by. Anyone who actually enjoys eating alone in a restaurant truly embraces the spirit of independence, and far be it for me to intrude on Nancy’s small but valuable bit of personal freedom. I admire that she takes this break every week; every independent woman understands that having a little time for herself only makes her a better mother, wife and friend.

If you’d have asked me six months ago if I would ever consider a mother of seven with no professional career an independent woman, I’d have laughed at the idea. But a big part of living in a new country and adjusting to a new culture is recognizing that my narrow-minded idea of something can actually have more than one form or meaning. An independent woman isn’t always the career-minded singleton with loads of Jimmy Choos in her closet; sometimes she’s a stay-at-home mother in the Irish countryside.

Crispy Chorizo Salad
(Serves 2)

50 grams of spicy chorizo, sliced thin
3 cups of little gem lettuce
1 carrot, sliced thin
½ yellow bell pepper, sliced thin
½ red bell pepper, sliced thin
½ cup cherry tomatoes, halved
1 spring onion, sliced thin

Dressing:

Leftover drippings from chorizo
2 tablespoons good balsamic vinegar1 teaspoon anchovy paste
1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon whole grain mustard
Salt and pepper to season

In a shallow pan, cook the chorizo over medium heat for about 5 minutes or until a lot of the fat has cooked off into the pan. Set aside and let cool while you prepare the salad.

Divide the lettuce, carrot, bell peppers, cherry tomatoes and spring onions onto two plates. Carefully remove the chorizo from the pan using tongs, and divide evenly on top of the salads. To make the dressing, pour the chorizo drippings into a plastic container, then add the remaining dressing ingredients. Secure the lid and shake for a few seconds or until the ingredients are combined. Season with salt and pepper.

Drizzle the salad with the dressing and serve!

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Roasted butternut squash on mixed greens with crispy shallots and sage leaves is pure vegan goodness

My hometown of Los Angeles can be a bit odd at times, to say the least. It’s not unusual to overhear someone at Starbucks place an order that would make even the most seasoned barista’s head spin: “Non-fat, half-caf, half-decaf, low-fat tall soy latte with one squirt of no-sugar vanilla syrup, extra hot and served in a grande-sized cup…to go.” It’s also quite common to see menu items that sound more like rabbit food than nourishment for humans, like macrobiotic sea cake with a side of millet or heirloom-varietal organic brown rice biscuits with honey and carob chips. In the health-conscious, model-and-actor Mecca of LA, people can be certifiably obsessed with what they put into their mouths, and restaurants and even Starbucks must cater to the oft-ridiculous requests of its customers if they want to stay in business.

In Drogheda, I get a double-take when I ask for low-fat salad dressing and I once got a cup of instant coffee when I asked for decaf at a local café (I sent it back). There aren’t a lot of choices around here, especially for people who want something healthy and/or beyond the average meat-and-potatoes fare. I imagine being a vegetarian in Ireland is about as unproblematic as being an alcoholic in Kuwait.

Slow-roasted tomatoes for the vegan pizza; wonton cones, baked: simply roll the wonton skins into cones, then stuff inside with grease-proof paper to keep them from falling. Bake for 8 minutes in 180-degree oven.

I recently got a bit of insight into the life of an Irish veggie from Aoife Barry, who writes the blog Adventures in Veg and has a vegetarian food column in the Irish Independent. Though she’s not a vegan, she doesn’t eat any meat, fish, poultry, dairy or eggs. Luckily she lives in Dublin, where vegetarian fare is more widely available than in a small town like Drogheda, but in a country that loves its rashers, sausages and steak Aoife says she finds cooking her own meals makes it easier to stick to her healthy diet.

Inspired by her blog and her commitment to healthy cooking, I invited Aoife and a few other bloggers for a full, vegan dinner at my place. When I mentioned this to one of my Irish friends, her exact response was “Yuck!” One of the biggest misconceptions of vegan or vegetarian fare, at least in my experience, is that it’s nothing but bland, tasteless vegetables or weird, fake meat products and I wanted to make a meal that would appeal to both carnivores and veggies alike. Besides Aoife, my dinner guests were Kristin from Dinner du Jour, Roseanne from LikeMamUsedToBake and Aoife from ICanHasCook? – all meat eaters (myself included!).

Wonton cones filled with guacamole…had a few extras that I filled with leftover cashew cheese and roasted red peppers.

The key to any good meal is balance, and since a lot of vegan food involves bread or carbohydrates this can be difficult. I knew I was making a pizza for my main course, so I didn’t want anything too bready for a starter; on the other hand, I wanted to keep things interesting and avoid more common appetizers like carrot sticks or a plate of grilled vegetables. I finally settled on baked wonton “cones” filled with a guacamole made with avocados, garlic, fresh corn kernels and yellow bell peppers. They were filling without being overly heavy and they were a hit with the whole group (whew!).

Homemade pizza dough using Roma pizza/pasta flour; table ready for vegan feast!

For dinner, I made a salad of farmer’s market greens and roasted butternut squash topped with fried shallots and sage leaves all tossed together with a simple dressing of balsamic vinegar, olive oil and mustard. Earlier in the day I made the pizza dough, using the fabulous Roma pizza/pasta flour that the company so kindly sent me a few weeks before to try; the flour was lighter and less starchy than regular baking flour and the dough came together quickly and easily. For the vegan pizza I also made up a quick batch of cashew cheese, which is a creamy concoction made of raw cashews, lemon juice, garlic and water. Roasted tomatoes, caramelized onions and fresh basil topped the cheese and I’m pretty convinced that the finished pizza would have appealed to even the most dedicated carnivore!

Vegan pizza with roasted tomatoes and caramelized onions…and a bit of grease-proof paper!?

Though there was one major glitch in the meal – the parchment paper that lined my baking sheet stuck to the pizza dough, so my dinner guests had to peel off bits of paper from their slices and I’m pretty sure some even ingested a bit of paper – everyone seemed to enjoy the food. Maybe it was all the wine we drank with our meal but no one seemed to miss the meat and I’m pretty sure everyone was satisfied with their dinner. For dessert we had Aoife’s incredible vegan chocolate cupcakes and Roseanne’s insanely good vegan peanut butter cookies – both as good, if not better, as any I’ve had with dairy.

Absolutely delicious vegan chocolate cupcakes and vegan peanut butter cookies!!!

Am I going to give up meat and go veggie? Not likely. But I will definitely host more vegan/vegetarian dinner parties and am inspired to create more of these types of meals even when I’m dining solo. I enjoy the challenge of cooking vegan, and I think I might even invite my meat-loving Irish friends over for a little experiment sometime in the near future. If I can get them to eat and like vegan cuisine, anything is possible!

Vegan Roasted Tomato and Caramelized Onion Pizza

Pizza dough (I used Roma’s recipe; feel free to use your own!) enough for two, large pizzas

Cashew Cheese (click for recipe)

For roasted tomatoes:
4 cups of cherry tomatoes, halved
4 large garlic cloves with skins on
2 tablespoons olive oil
Maldon sea salt and fresh ground pepper to taste

For caramelized onions:
5 large yellow onions, sliced thinly
¼ cup olive oil

1 cup fresh torn basil

Make pizza dough the day before or at least a few hours before you need to bake the pizza; most pizza dough recipes require two rises so this takes time.

To roast tomatoes, preheat the oven to 110 degrees Celsius. On a baking sheet, lay the tomatoes and garlic out in one layer and drizzle with the olive oil. Sprinkle with salt and pepper. Bake for three hours until the tomatoes are a little wrinkly on the outside and just slightly juicy on the inside; the purpose of roasting the tomatoes is so they are not too watery – this can make the pizza soggy!

To caramelize the onions, heat the olive oil in a large sauté pan over medium heat. Put in the sliced onions, and cook until golden brown, stirring occasionally. This process can take anywhere from 40 minutes to an hour. Set aside.

To assemble pizza: Preheat the oven to 200 degrees Celsius. Spread the cashew cheese evenly over the pizza dough crusts, then top with the caramelized onions, then tomatoes. Bake for 12-15 minutes or until the crust is golden brown. Top with fresh torn basil leaves and salt and pepper to season. Don’t line your baking sheet with parchment paper – use a silicon baking liner or just coat the baking pan with olive oil before putting the pizza dough on it!

Roasted Butternut Squash Salad with Fried Shallots and Sage

1 medium-sized butternut squash, peeled and cut into 1-inch cubes
1 tablespoon olive oil plus ¼ cup (keep separate)
½ tablespoon balsamic vinegar
1 teaspoon sea salt
½ teaspoon fresh ground pepper
1 tablespoon dark brown sugar
3 shallots, sliced thinly
6 sage leaves
6 cups spring mix/farmer’s market greens (rocket, baby spinach, etc.)

Dressing:

3 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
Salt and pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 200 degrees Celsius. In a large bowl, toss together the butternut squash cubes, 1 tablespoon of olive oil, ½ tablespoon balsamic vinegar, sea salt, black pepper and brown sugar until the squash cubes are coated. Pour out onto a greased baking sheet and bake for 15 minutes, or until squash cubes are tender. Set aside.

Heat the ¼ cup of olive oil in a small, shallow sauté pan over high heat. Fry the shallot slices in batches, placing fried shallots on a paper towel to remove excess oil (I find it easier to fry in batches so I can use less oil but it’s up to you). When finished frying the shallots, fry the sage leaves and also set on paper towel to remove oil.

To assemble the salad: Make the dressing by combing all the ingredients in a jar and shake until blended. Place salad greens in a large bowl, and top with still-warm squash cubes. Add dressing and toss together. Sprinkle the salad with fried shallots and crumbled sage leaves. Enjoy!

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Our menu for the evening, a la chef Imen!

It was bound to happen: Normalcy has set into my life here in Ireland. I know my way around town, I have favorite restaurants and pubs and I rarely go to the gym I joined a few months ago (if that’s not a sign of being settled I don’t know what is). Gone are the days of getting hopelessly lost on the way to the gas station and having to ask grocery store clerks to educate me on the difference between rashers and streaky bacon. I know that Come Dine with Me, my favorite show on television, reruns all five episodes on Sunday afternoons, and that if I don’t have a 1 Euro coin for the shopping cart I can use a 20-cent coin as it’s exactly the same size. In a nutshell, I’ve assimilated and life has become somewhat routine.

Richard, the Irish farmer himself, and Imen; Corey and Liam of Irish Fireside.

A few months ago, I would have given anything to feel this settled but now that it’s happened I’m feeling the itch to get out of town and see more of the country. So when my friend and fellow American Imen McDonnell invited me to stay at her family’s farm in Limerick, I booked my train ticket and kissed my routine life goodbye – at least for a couple of days. I met Imen, who writes the wonderful blog I Married an Irish Farmer, at a blogger gathering at Bord Bia in Dublin last May. We clicked immediately. Whether it’s gabbing for hours about the funny frustrations of adjusting to life in Ireland or trading tidbits on our favorite destinations  (we’re both travel nuts), I always have a blast with her and see her as a kindred spirit, a soul sister.

Clockwise from the top: Beautiful McDonnell Farm steaks on the grill; a fresh and vibrant summer salad; Richard whips up his famous Irish coffee; gorgeous champagne with stinging nettle cordial.

Imen had also invited two other guests as well, the fabulous Liam and Corey of the highly-regarded travel website Irish Fireside. Shortly after our arrival Imen’s husband Richard (THE Irish farmer!) gave us a guided tour of the farm. It was fascinating to see all the innovative techniques utilized in running the place; we visited the site of the future wind farm and reviewed the robotic milking machines for the cows. Afterward we gathered for dinner at the house, and what a feast it was. Imen presented us with a beautiful roasted tomato salad to start, then grilled steaks from the farm (topped with Irish whiskey butter!) and served them with the best roasted potatoes I’ve ever eaten. We finished with a boozy berry trifle, which was soaked with limoncello and then Richard made his famous Irish coffees. The five of us sat around the big dining room table with full bellies, drinking and playing games until late into the night. It was cozy and warm and full of laughter.

While Corey and Liam had to leave the next day, I  geared up for an adventurous outing with Imen and her adorable son, Geoffrey. We drove to the breathtaking beach at Ballybunion and I had my first-ever seaweed bath. Basically it’s a bathtub filled with hot water and lots of seaweed, which makes the water viscous and slimy. The collagen from the seaweed works wonders and after a 30-minute soak my skin was noticeably softer. Afterward we walked along the beach, gawked at dozens of washed-up jellyfish and Geoffrey dug a hole in the sand so deep I think China was on the other end. We ate lasagna and sandwiches at a beachside café and played a few arcade games at the local fun zone before heading back to the farm. In the evening, I cooked a simple pasta amatriciana and we drank loads of wine and watched a chick flick (Geoffrey and Richard understandably excused themselves for the film).

The cliffsides at Ballybunion; the train ride back home.

A couple of days of farm fresh country air, home cooking, nature walks and good friends was exactly what I needed to put everything into perspective. While my day-to-day life may seem a bit humdrum at times, I was reminded on this trip just how lucky I am to be living here. Visiting Imen and Richard and their farm, meeting Corey and Liam, experiencing the natural beauty of the cliffs at Ballybunion…these, and nearly every single encounter here is something new, something unique. On the train ride home, I caught a glimpse of two white horses galloping in a green field with their manes billowing like ribbons of silk against the wind. I actually gasped out loud; if this was Los Angeles, I’d be looking for the cameras and lighting because a scene like this could only be created by a Hollywood studio. But in Ireland, it’s extraordinary and utterly real…just like my new life here.

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I’ve always believed that food is an important reflection of the culture in any country, and as a food and travel journalist this is something I’ve been lucky enough to explore in a good few places. Since moving to Ireland I have learned that the potato is King, beef is a staple in most people’s diets and cabbage is almost always boiled and served with Irish bacon (which is more like ham for us Americans than what we know as bacon).

I’m also starting to get a better understanding of what flavors appeal to the Irish palate. When it comes to potato chips (or crisps, as they say here), the most common flavors are smoky bacon, cheese and onion and salt and vinegar. People especially seem fond of the bacon variety, at least that’s what I gather from my friends. And though a lot of Irish I know have an aversion to seafood, they adore the popular prawn cocktail-flavored crisps – something I’ve never seen in the U.S.

Tayto bacon waffle crisps; Digestive biscuits

When it comes to condiments, it seems the most common here is sweet chili sauce. It is literally everywhere. There are sweet chili crisps, sweet chili kebabs, sweet chili mayo and I’ve yet to go to a single restaurant where there aren’t at least two “sweet chili” items on the menu. For a country of relatively mild palates, it’s surprising that anything with chili would be so widely accepted. The same curry chicken that has my Irish friends sweating buckets leaves my tongue totally unaffected, and with the exception of Indian food I’ve yet to find anything really spicy here. In fact, most restaurants don’t offer Tabasco, something that’s as common as ketchup back home. Usually when I ask a waitress for Tabasco her response is, “We only have sweet chili sauce.”

Black currant isn’t my cup of tea; one of Ireland’s favorite condiments

Black currant is another common flavor here that hasn’t really caught on back in the states. I recently purchased a bottle of Ribena, a hugely popular black currant syrup that’s diluted with water and served as a beverage. I have to say I didn’t enjoy it at all; it was cloyingly sweet and didn’t have enough of a sour/acid angle to balance out the sugariness. But for the most part, it seems the Irish prefer their sweets on the light side and for that reason I actually prefer many of the desserts here to the ones back home. Digestive biscuits, a cookie that’s a staple with tea, has the flavor of graham crackers but with a lovely, crumbly, whole-wheat texture. And most cakes and buns here are topped with fresh cream instead of gloppy, overly-sugared buttercream frosting, a favorite back in the U.S. If the cake itself is sweet, most people won’t add sugar to the whipped cream; instead they may top it with a little jam or fresh fruit.

Salad of beetroot and black and white pudding

While there are many new foods and flavors that I’ve embraced here (I love crumbled ham, even though I have no idea what the crumble part is made of), there are many that I miss, namely sushi. Though my Irish friends eat black pudding, which is a sausage made from pig or cow blood, they and most Irish people I know run screaming for the hills at the mere mention of raw fish. Luckily I can get sushi-grade fish at my local fishmonger, so recently I whipped up a little taste of LA in the form of a seared tuna salad with Asian-style dressing. For my Irish friends, I’m including another salad here – a fresh summer salad of beetroot and black and white puddings. Enjoy!

Seared Tuna Salad with Asian Dressing
(Serves 2)

4 tablespoons soy sauce
1 teaspoon fresh ginger, minced
1 clove fresh garlic, minced
1 teaspoon wasabi paste (available at Asian markets)
1 tablespoon rice wine vinegar
1 teaspoon caster sugar
2 scallions/spring onions, chopped
Two 4-oz tuna steaks (sushi grade)

Dressing:
2 tablespoons soy sauce
2 tablespoons olive oil
Few drops of sesame oil
1 teaspoon ginger, minced
1 teaspoon rice wine vinegar
2 teaspoons toasted sesame seeds

Salad – this is totally up to you! I use mixed greens, carrots, tomato, spring onions and bell peppers.

In a plastic container, mix together the first 7 ingredients (soy sauce to scallions). Place the tuna steaks into this mixture and let marinate for at least 30 minutes.

While the tuna is marinating, make the dressing by combining all the ingredients into a small jar or container with a lid and shake until combined.

To cook the tuna: Heat 1 tablespoon of oil in a sauté pan over high heat until very hot, almost smoking. Place the tuna steaks in the pan and let cook for 2 minutes on one side (do not move the steaks around, just let it sear for 2 minutes!). Turn over and cook for 1 minute on the other side. Remove from heat, let rest for 5 minutes and then slice. Place the tuna slices on salad and finish with dressing. Enjoy!

Salad of Beetroot and Black & White Puddings
(Serves 2)

2 beetroot, cooked and sliced
4 slices black pudding
4 slices white pudding

Dressing:
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon anchovy paste

Salad – again, up to you on whatever greens/veg you like!

In a small sauté pan, heat 1 teaspoon of olive oil. Add black and white pudding slices and cook for about 2 minutes on each side. Remove from heat and let cool for a minute, then remove the casings from pudding slices.

To assemble the salad, put greens on a plate, then fan out the beetroot slices and pudding slices. Top with dressing and serve.

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In a place like Los Angeles, most Irish bars try especially hard to capture the essence of a real pub in Ireland. There are the dark wood accents, the Guinness on tap and the thick-accented Irish bartenders (or at least struggling actors pretending to be Irish). It’s a bit like the theme restaurants at Disneyland; while they’ve manage to capture the look and feel it lacks the  spirit of a true Irish watering hole.

There’s probably no Irish drinking establishment more authentic as the auld country pub in Ireland, and I’m lucky enough to have found one where I’m becoming a semi-regular [cue the theme song from “Cheers”]. The place is Mathews, which is bewilderingly pronounced “Mat-te-tis” and it’s an old pub in the middle of tiny Collon village, about a 15-minute drive from my place. On any given Friday or Saturday night, I know that my friends Bushman and Richella will be behind the bar, and that at least a few people I know will be wearing holes into the old barstools. On the weekends there will be some choice covers (think Garth Brooks and Air Supply) performed by a well-meaning and painfully earnest musician and by the end of a long night there might be a drunkard or two being thrown out on his ass by James, the barman you just don’t f*ck with.

What I love about country pubs and especially Mathews is that people of all ages come here. From 18 all the way up to probably 90 years old, everyone mixes together and enjoys the craic – as they say. My friend Sinead’s mom is always there on Saturdays and Sundays, sipping her vodka and white lemonade. Her husband Niall is there every night for his three pints. There are the young fellas with their cheap gold chain worn over their upturned shirt collar (not a good look, lads), the older women in their Sunday best ready for a few pints after mass and the odd elderly pervert who needs a slap on his groping hand. Country pubs don’t discriminate based on age, but if you’re a stranger you may get a few suspicious stares and a moment of tense silence when you first walk in.

The pub itself has all the characteristics of a well-worn Irish tavern. The enormous, dual-sided wooden bar is marked with beer stains and faded patches from years of elbow grease. Pints of cascading, inky Guinness settle on aluminum drains under the beer taps. The clinking of freshly-washed glasses plays against a symphony of patrons’ chatter, both of which grows louder as the night wears on. There are low tables with cushioned chairs sectioned off by partitions of frosted glass and wood, perfect for containing hushed gossip. The pool table has seen better days but still attracts a steady stream of players, all anteing up for a shot at a few quid.

Of their recent visit to Ireland, my sister and her husband said our night at Mathews was the highlight. We were a gang of about 20 or so that night and I’m pretty sure the pub stayed open a bit later than usual for us (then again, I did have a lot to drink so who knows?!). That’s the thing with country pubs; sometimes the clocks magically stop ticking and the drinking continues into the wee hours. But you didn’t hear it from me.

If the Mattock Rangers have a match or if Louth is playing, there will be a sea of red jerseys in Mathews after the game – win or lose. In Collon, it’s the place to celebrate victories and drown sorrows and you can be sure there will be support from the patrons either way. But it’s not always crowded in here. If a local has a wedding out of town half the village will be away for the celebration, which means a slow night for Mathews. Or during the summer a good few folk may go away for bank holiday weekends, leaving plenty of seats at the bar. As my friend Sinead always says, “We’re just a wee little village!” And the heart of this village, like Rovers Return in Coronation Street, is Mathews pub.

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When I first meet people in Ireland and they find out I didn’t move over for a job, they ask the inevitable question, “Did ya move here for a fella?” Considering most American women I’ve met here did in fact follow their Irish husbands back to the homeland, I can understand why people would assume such a thing. When I tell them there is no fella and that I moved here to experience a new adventure, they usually ask if I A) want to meet a man and B) if I want to have children.

Of course it would be great to meet a fabulous, intelligent, handsome, funny, adventurous, foodie-type who loves to travel and is well-versed in current events/literature/etc. (or at least someone who possesses a few of these traits!). As for the kids question, my answer typically elicits a double-take of shock and disbelief, as if I was a three-headed alien or a talking dog. I don’t know if I want to have kids and to be honest I’m pretty sure that I probably don’t though I’d never say never. Most Irish people I encounter cannot seem to wrap their brains around the concept that a woman might not want to bear children, and I’m getting used to retorts like, “Oh you’ll change your mind – just you wait!” or “But of course you do, you just haven’t met the father!” Once, an acquaintance introduced me as, “Clare, and she says she probably doesn’t want children – can you believe that?”

The thing is I’m not a woman who was born knowing she wanted to be a mother, and I’m very lucky to have parents who never pressure me about having kids. I really like and even love [most] children and truly believe there is nothing in the world that compares to having them. I sponsor a child in Vietnam and am very dedicated to her happiness and well-being. But right now having my own children is something very difficult to imagine, perhaps because I’m well aware that my goals in life aren’t necessarily conducive to having kids. I love to travel and enjoy having the freedom to do so even on a whim. I relish having a lot of time to myself and cherish my personal space. If I do end up getting married, I want to be married without kids for a reasonable amount of time. Considering I’m in my mid-30s now and am single at the moment, it’s hard to imagine where kids fit in. I am very open and would even prefer to adopt over having my own child, but again there are many factors to consider before I can say for certain.

The topic of kids is also becoming an issue as I start dating here in Ireland. Many men I meet are absolutely certain they want to have children and the fact that I’m unsure makes me an undesirable candidate. To each his own, and I respect everyone and anyone’s choices in this department, but I have to say that some of these men are kidding themselves (no pun intended). I recently met someone in his mid-40 who, for all intents and purposes, is a bona fide player. He insists he wants to have kids “one of these days.” Let’s suss out the situation: You’re 44 years old, play the field like a teenager and hit the clubs every weekend – not exactly the picture of stability and responsibility. While I understand age isn’t as big a factor for men as it is for women, showing a bit of maturity would be a good place to start if you’re going to use the kid card as a deal breaker. Sorry to burst your bubble, but women who want to have children are not going to be seeking out a middle-aged playboy for their future BabyDaddy.

Life is unpredictable and anything can happen, even something as wild as me having a baby one of these days. But for now, I think I could be perfectly happy with a husband/long-term partner and a couple of dogs and I hope people can be OK with that idea. It doesn’t really matter whether others approve or not; this is where I am in my life at the moment and no amount of peer pressure or outside expectation is going to change how I feel. I’m fine with not knowing, and though this makes dating in Ireland a bit more difficult I can live with it. I suppose the right “fella” will be one who is able to live with that as well.

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