In a recent issue of a prestigious American travel magazine, a well-known author wrote about the food of Ireland. After dining at one of the Republic’s most illustrious hotels, he described his meal as “trendy” because the chef had used certain ingredients that were not, in his inflated opinion, Irish.
What, I wondered, was this self-righteous writer talking about? Was he expecting meals that merely echoed the sad memories of Famine foods impoverished immigrants carded with them during the great Diaspora of the 19th century? A bowl of boiled potatoes? Watery oat gruel? A stereo-typed platter of corned beef and cabbage? Was his knowledge of Ireland’s cuisine so misinformed as to be ignorant of the fact that foods brought to Ireland from hither and yon have formed the bedrock of a national cuisine that has evolved over two millenniums?
The main complaint expressed concerned a dish that incorporated eggplant, a food that the author scathingly declared should not have been used at all since it was not native to the country. True enough, eggplant originated in the Middle East. Would this ersatz gourmet also contend that potatoes should not appear on Irish menus? Though practically synonymous with Irish cuisine, spuds originated in Peru and were first grown in Ireland during the 16th century when imported seedlings were planted by Sir Walter Scott at his estate in County Cork.
Perhaps the author would also look askance at Irish whiskey. The secret of distilling spirits was brought to Ireland by fifth century Mediterranean missionaries. Even the word has foreign roots. Since spirits were originally used for medicinal purposes, the pious dis-tillers called their miraculous curative aqua vitae which is Latin for `water of fife.’ Translated to Gaelic, the phrase became uisce beatha. Over time the second word was dropped, and the spelling of uisce was modernized to `whiskey.’
How a respected writer’s realm of reckoning could be so narrow as to disallow that Ireland’s chefs are some of the most innovative, cutting-edge cookery masters of the modem world both amazed and annoyed me. A nation’s cooks expand its cuisine by incorporating the best of the new with the best of the old. The pathways foods have traveled through history wind about the planet much like a meandering country lane.
Ireland’s earliest nomadic people hunted deer and wild boar in the great forests that covered the land. They snared pigeon, duck, partridge and grouse in the marshes and meadows. They fished the clear rivers for salmon, trout and eel, gathered limpets, oysters and mussels along the coast, and plucked berries from bushes that dotted the hills. Then came the Neolithic farmers carrying cattle, sheep, cabbages, carrots, turnips, onions and precious sacks of wheat, barley, rye and oats across the sea in their little currach boats.
The Normans added wine, peas, beans, pheasant, oranges, lemons, raisins, plums, apricots, almonds, cinnamon, nutmeg, mace, pepper, cakes, pies, sugar and Renaissance cooking methods.
Of all the foods introduced from the New World, potatoes had the most impact. So firmly did they take root in the Irish diet that not even successions of devastating crop failures and famines diminished their popular appeal.
From British colonies in Asia and Africa came tea, Ireland’s preferred beverage, and coffee, which always ranked a poor second until a wily bartender invented Irish Coffee. The 20th century did little to enhance Ireland’s food, adding only white bread and mass-produced processed comestibles to the picture. Pairing Ireland and cuisine in the same breath became a culinary joke.
Enter the Grande Dame of Modem Irish Cookery: Myrtle Allen.
Shortly after World War II, Ivan and Myrtle Allen took over a 300-acre Ballymaloe farm in Shanagarry, County Cork. They raised a family in the property’s rambling Georgian manor house, sheep in the meadow, and vegetables in the garden. Over the years Myrtle became an expert cook, and when her children had grown to fine young adults, she opened a small restaurant in her home’s dining room.
She used only the freshest ingredients, supported local producers, and cooked everything from scratch. She revived, revised and revitalized Ireland’s traditional recipes. She baked her own whole-meal brown bread, potted her own pâtés, and put up her own fruit preserves. She opened a few bedrooms, served her guests glorious breakfasts, and demonstrated to one and all the quintessence of Irish hospitality. She started a revolution.
Thirty-four years down the road, Myrtle Allen has become a legend in her own time. A former president of the European Union of Chefs, Myrtle specialized in the presentation of locally available ingredients in a contemporary yet uniquely Irish style — a philosophy which has been adopted and adhered to by every great cook in the nation. Manor houses, hunting and fishing lodges, country estates, pubs and farms throughout the land have opened their doors and extended Ireland’s legendary hospitality to visitors from around the world.
But Myrtle is not the only culinary doyenne in the Allen family. Daughterin-law Darina Allen is quite the Queen of Irish Cuisine as well.
In 1983, Darina began to give cookery classes in her home on the edge of Shanagarry Village, just two miles from Ballymaloe House. Her intention was to teach the cooking style she had learned under Myrtle’s careful tutelage. Little more than a decade later, those classes have generated a dozen cookbooks, eight Simply Delicious television series, and a state-of-the-art cooking school with two practice kitchens, a large mirrored demonstration kitchen, a test kitchen dining room, a huge herb garden, and an extensive research library.
Students pursuing culinary careers enroll in 12-week professional certificate courses in September and January. Between Easter and July, the school offers one- to five- day classes in a wide variety of subjects ranging from irresistible Irish breakfasts and bread-making to cooking with fresh herbs and edible flowers. A traditional Christmas food demonstration and autumn mushroom hunt are perennial favorites. Through the years, graduates of the Ballymaloe Cookery School have gone on to open many of Ireland’s finest restaurants, pubs, delicatessens and guesthouses. All carry on the Ballymaloe tradition of using only the finest ingredients, preparing food with love, and presenting it as a work of art.
In the 12th century poem “Aisling Meic Con Glinne” (The Vision of MacConglinne), a scholar sets off to visit the greatest gourmet in Ireland, King Cathal Mac Finguine of Munster. At one point he has a dream about a land of plenty with wheaten bread, salmon, smoked bacon, mutton, beef, cheese, carrots, kale, berries, hazelnuts, a butter mountain, a lake of milk, a moat of custard surrounding a castle made of meat and roofed over with sausages and puddings. Behind the castle he finds a wood of sweet apples and a river of ale. Perhaps he was dreaming of Ballymaloe. Sláinte!
Recipes
Myrtle Allen’s Brown Bread
In the Ballymaloe kitchen, the flour and mixing bowl are heated in a low oven before making the bread.
1 pound wholemeal flour
2 teaspoons salt
1 ounce yeast
1 tablespoon molasses
12 fluid ounces water at blood heat.
In a large bowl stir together flour and salt. In a small bowl combine the yeast and molasses in 1/2 cup lukewarm water and let proof for 5-10 minutes. Pour the yeast mixture and 1 1/2 cups more lukewarm water into the dry ingredients and blend with a wooden spoon to make a thick sticky dough. (If necessary, add up to 1/4 cup more water.)
Turn into a buttered loaf pan, 9x5x3 inches. Cover lightly with a tea towel and set aside to rise for 20-30 minutes, or until the dough nearly reaches the top of the loaf pan.
Bake in the middle of a preheated 450 F degree oven for 10 minutes, then lower the heat to 425 F and bake 35-40 minutes longer, or until the top is richly browned and the loaf sounds hollow when tapped. Turn out onto a rack and let cool completely before slicing. Makes 1 loaf.
Myrtle Allen’s Brown Bread
Peas have been popular in Ireland since Norman times, but Darina Allen gives the ancient soup a modern twist by adding New World chilies and cilantro.
4 tablespoons butter
1 cup minced onion
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 hot green chili pepper, seeded and minced
3 cups fresh shelled peas (good quality frozen peas are also fine)
4 cups chicken broth
2 tablespoons chopped fresh cilantro
salt and freshly ground black pepper
sugar
softly whipped cream
fresh cilantro leaves
Melt the butter over low heat and sweat the onion, garlic, and chili for 3-4 minutes. Add the peas and cover with the stock. Bring to a boil and simmer for 7-8 minutes. Add the freshly chopped cilantro. Puree in a blender or food processor, then reheat if necessary. Season with salt and pepper, and add a pinch of sugar which enhances the flavor. Serve garnished with a swirl of softly whipped cream and a few fresh cilantro leaves. Makes four servings.
Editor’s Note: This article was originally published in the July/August 1998 issue of Irish America. ⬥
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