An American in Ireland

Food can be healing in many ways. The joy of eating something that tastes wonderful can make you feel great; the experience of feeling the various textures in your mouth and inhaling the beautiful aromas of something delicious can give you an out-of-body experience. And when you have all of the above, and you’re eating something pure, natural and prepared with love, you’re in heaven.

For me, the food at Il Valentino Bakery and Cafe encompasses all of the above. Whenever I eat lunch there (I’m lucky to have it so close to my office!), I leave feeling happy and satisfied, not stodged-up and tired. From the focaccia pizza and fresh rocket and mozzarella salad to the polenta cake and financiers, everything is made fresh on the premises by people who are passionate about what they do. At the risk of sounding corny, you can see and taste the care that goes into the food at Il Valentino.

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Though I’ve never had an enormous group of friends, I’m lucky to count a good dozen who I can describe as my closest. There are a few of us who’ve known each other since childhood, a few more who met in high school and a handful with whom I connected in college and during my early working career.

Sadly, they’re all back in the U.S. and lately I’ve been missing them something fierce, as an American might say. I miss our spontaneous happy hour meet-ups after work and our weekend trips away and our long, slow dinners washed down with far too many bottles of wine. Skype is a great tool but with the time difference and our hectic lives requires some scheduling, and it pales in comparison to an actual meeting or a night out.

I do take heart knowing that some of my best friends will be here in less than six months for our wedding; it will be so, so good to see them again and to celebrate with those closest to me. The thought of being together again gets me through the more difficult days. But I’m also bolstered by the fact that I’m forming friendships with Mountaineering Man’s circle of tight-knit mates, who over the last year-and-a-half I’ve gotten to know quite well.

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Recently I was asked to give a talk about my experience of adjusting to life as an American in Ireland for “Enlightenment Night” at the Workman’s Club in Dublin. The monthly event features a half-dozen speakers/performers who each share something that may educate, or at the very least entertain, the attendees. Organised and hosted by the incredibly talented and charming Maeve Higgins, the evening offers a bit of enlightenment on a wide range of topics.

I chose to speak about how – despite all the bad news and negativity in the press about Ireland and its economy – this country has in many ways been my salvation. Don’t get me wrong; my life in Los Angeles was fine, but I felt personally unfulfilled. And I knew the only way to get out of that rut was to change my perspective, which I found impossible to do without throwing myself into a completely different environment.

My talk revolved around the idea of perspective, because Irish people’s reaction to my story of moving from LA to Drogheda (I now live in Dublin, but lived in Co Louth for the first year) is always that of shock and horror. From what I can tell, when Irish people think of Drogheda, they get visions of broken bottles in the street, antisocial toothless teens running amuck and dog poop on every footpath (someone once referred to it as “the armpit of the North East”). But when I first arrived, I didn’t see that stuff; I saw the rolling green hills, the cute cobblestone streets and the friendly people. Yes, the dog poop was there but there were so many other, positive aspects that I didn’t focus on the poop!

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Lately life seems to be moving along at a rapid pace, but then again that’s what happens when one is planning a wedding. Considering we got engaged in February and are set to be married autumn of this year, we didn’t really give ourselves a whole lot of time!

But that’s okay. We’re not having a big wedding; in fact, we’re having 32 guests total – about half from my side, half from Mountaineering Man’s side. It’ll be our immediate family members, and a few close friends. Despite the small size it will be a real wedding, not a courthouse affair but rather a late afternoon ceremony and evening reception at a private Villa in the Chianti region of Tuscany.

I was never one of those girls who dreamt of her wedding day from a young age; as a kid I put a pillowcase on my head so I could pretend to be a nun, not a bride [and no, I had no designs to be a woman of the cloth – I was merely impersonating my teachers at school!]. But I would be lying if I didn’t admit that this wedding is a dream, albeit one that was never fully formed before I met MM. To be married to this man amidst the rolling hills of Italy, celebrating with close family and friends while feasting on traditional Tuscan fare and drinking wine from the Villa’s own vineyard…I’m pinching myself just thinking about it!

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Recently I renewed my commitment to eat healthier; not necessarily in the caloric sense, but in that I would try to shop locally and eat as much wholesome foods as possible. The less packaged food, the better.

Due to our busy work schedules, I’d gotten quite lazy of late and found myself relying solely on Tesco deliveries for our groceries. Despite the fact that something was almost always wrong in the order – rotten onions, missing items, food with expired “Sell By” dates – it wasn’t until a few weeks ago that I finally decided take back control of my weekly food shop.

The “ah-ha” moment came one evening when I was making sandwiches for Mountaineering Man to take to work the next day. As I ripped open yet another package of sliced chicken sandwich meat, I took a good look at it and realized how disgusting it was. Pinkish, shiny, not a trace of texture and clearly plugged up with salt water and gelatin, it was not nourishment – it was manufactured, God-knows-where-it-came-from processed foodstuffs.

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When I was a kid, I loved to fish. For a short time we lived in rural Arkansas and like most kids in the area we’d go fishing in the lake or in the creek (or “crick” if you’re saying it like a true Arkansan). At first my dad got my sister and me plain bamboo poles with a string and a hook tied to the end, but eventually we graduated onto real fishing poles complete with a reel (for real!).

He taught us how to scale and even gut the fish we caught, and sometimes we’d wrap them in foil with some lemon slices and a squeeze of mayonnaise (weird I know, but so good) and throw them over a campfire to cook. Other times we’d cook them up at home on the stovetop – but either way, the fact that we’d caught it ourselves made the fish that much more delicious.

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It seems appropriate on this St. Patrick’s Day weekend to pay homage to Ireland, my current home and land of rolling green hills, shepherd’s pie and Guinness. Aren’t these the things that come to mind when most foreigners think of the Emerald Isle?

Thing is, Ireland is so much more. And the longer I live here, the more I realize just how much this country has to offer – especially when it comes to breathtaking views and FOOD. I’ll admit that when I first moved here I thought Irish food was terrible: overcooked meat, over-boiled veg and breaded & fried everything. I was wrong.

Last weekend, I sampled the best of Irish food in a place that is quite possibly one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. Along with a few other food bloggers, I was invited to spend a weekend at Inchydoney Island Lodge & Spa in West Cork. Though I’d been to Cork, I’d never visited this picturesque coastal area before. With its pristine beaches and lush green pastures, West Cork is an absolute stunner of a place.

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Things have been so nuts lately I completely forgot that March 4^th marked the two-year anniversary of my move to Ireland. I suppose in one sense, that’s a good thing – living here has become so normal that I don’t find myself counting days or marking time based on when I arrived – or when I’ll leave, if and when that day ever comes.

If I thought the first year of living here was a whirlwind, the second has been a down-right blizzard of activity and major life changes. In the last year, I moved from my humble little apartment in the centre of Drogheda town centre into Mountaineering Man’s bachelor apartment in Dublin 8. We then moved together to our place in Raheny a few months later.

I spent my first Christmas in Ireland with MM’s family, which was lovely (though no sign of snow this year, which to be honest was a bit sad for me!); I’m working like crazy (a good thing) and I’ve made a good number of new friends in Dublin over the last 12 months. Of course there was the engagement (!!) and now I’m in the thick of wedding planning. We’ve already got our appointment at the courthouse and in the autumn we’ll marry in Tuscany (more on that later, I promise!).

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Though Mountaineering Man loves to eat and [luckily for me] he loves my cooking, he’s not nearly as obsessed about food as I am. And while he’s been doing regular stints in our kitchen for the last few months, he hasn’t exactly morphed into a foodie-o-phile as some may have predicted.

For one, there’s only so much food talk he can handle. Whenever we go on double dates with LikeMamUsedToBake and her husband, he and Mr. LikeMamUsedToBake erect an invisible wall to block out us girls’ hours-long cooking and baking chatter; same goes for when we dine out with Mr. and Mrs. Edible Ireland. The guys are happy to engage in any talk that doesn’t involve food, probably because they all get plenty of culinary conversation from us ladies at home.

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Before Mountaineering Man, before The Coombe and before Raheny, there was Drogheda. As many of you know, that’s where I first landed after leaving Los Angeles for a new life in Ireland.

Though I eventually moved south to the Big Smoke, I left a part of my heart in Drogheda. In part it’s because my friends live in nearby Collon, but it’s also due to a few places I fell in love with during my year-long stay there. Thankfully for me MM also took a liking to these places during his many visits to me during our early dating days, so he’s always up for taking a quick drive up north to Co. Louth.

We recently spent a weekend visiting all of our favourite places and even added a new eatery to our must-go Drogheda stops. After arriving around mid-day on a Saturday, we visited Brown Hound Bakery, the gorgeous, glass-encased bakery owned by Jeni Glasgow & Reuven Diaz, the duo behind the Eastern Seaboard Bar & Grill next door. As you’ve read many times on this blog, we are HUGE fans of Eastern Seaboard. Jeni & Reuven just get food – it’s as simple as that.

After picking up some chocolate banana bread at the bakery, we ventured next door to the latest Glasgow/Diaz venture, Mo’s takeaway. Named after Jeni’s mum, this takeaway isn’t like any you’ve experienced in Ireland. It’s freshly made, locally-produced food that’s as good as what’s served in the Eastern Seaboard. Scanning the menu, we had a tough time narrowing down our choices so we over-ordered: Two corn dogs, one order of onion rings, a side of carrot salad and an order of popcorn shrimp.

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