Looking out at the view, I couldn’t help but agree with Adam Medcalf, head chef at Inchydoney Island Lodge and Spa. The graceful sweep of West Cork coastline at Inchydoney is not a sight that you would tire of easily.

Around Inchydoney

I was in Inchydoney as a guest of the resort, invited to sample their new West Cork menu (yeah, it’s a dirty job…). Except, as Adam – who has worked here for over five years – will tell you, the West Cork nature of the menu is not really that new. From farmhouse cheeses, locally grown vegetables and Clonakilty black pudding, to fish and meats, both fresh and smoked, anyone looking to source high quality, locally produced food in West Cork is spoiled for choice. The restaurant at Inchydoney has always taken advantage of the bountiful raw materials within arms reach. It would have been rude of me not to get stuck in and see what exactly they made of those raw materials.

Dinner, in other words, was served.

Let there be bread

You know you’ve embarked on a fine dining experience when additional, unordered courses start to appear on your plate. In this case, proceedings began with an amuse bouche consisting of a claw which had parted company from its parent crab.

West Cork crab claw

Not so amusing for the crab, one supposes, but I thank you crab for your sacrifice. It was well worth it.

In between courses, a palate-cleansing white port and rosemary sorbet was possibly my favourite bite of the evening.

White port and rosemary sorbet

As for the principal courses, they arrived beautifully presented and artfully deconstructed. I am always tempted, in these situations, to nibble at each carefully presented mound in turn but, if the chef has done his job well, the amalgamation of separately presented edibles into a single forkful is always greater than the sum of its parts. That, by and large, was the case here.

Dinner at Inchydoney:
starters (top): dressed local crabmeat (left) and Ardsallagh goats cheese parfait (right)
main courses (middle): pan fried hake with smoked salmon and scallion risotto (left) and roasted pepper and potato herb gnocchi (right)
desserts (bottom): iced vanilla parfait (left) and hot chocolate fondant with pistachio ice cream (right)

Truth be told, I could probably have dined exclusively on the West Cork crab and been well satiated, but my belly didn’t exactly object to the company assembled within by the end of the evening.

And the rest of me didn’t exactly object to the hospitality at the resort, which was staffed, among others, by possibly the most gracious hotel manager I have ever had the pleasure to meet. Their spa treatments, meanwhile, provided an opportunity to be both scrubbed with strawberries and wrapped in chocolate. A dessert menu of a profoundly different kind.

Moon over Inchydoney Strand

Ireland … isn’t exactly the sexiest country in the world … constant gray skies, cool temperatures and an obsession with one of nature’s homeliest vegetables….

Clare, from An American in Ireland

Ouch. Harsh but true.

By tradition, we, like our food, are more hearty and plain than delicate and fancy. We are bacon and cabbage and boiled potatoes. We are soda bread, apple tart and the ubiquitous cup of tea. We are the food that you go to your Mammy’s house for. But when we eat out, we generally look to foreign cuisines for something a little outside of our Irish selves.

Perhaps, to my shame, that’s the reason why, in all my years of living in Dublin, I had managed, until now, to avoid darkening the door of Gallagher’s Boxty House. With its traditional Irish menu and diddly-eye music, it sat firmly in my “just for tourists” category.

Gallagher's Boxty House, Temple Bar

Yet a restaurant, of whatever type, that has been around for 22 years, has to be doing something right. And as for Pádraic Óg Gallagher, owner and originator of Gallagher’s Boxty House, I can but admire a man who builds an entire menu around boxty, Ireland’s own particular contribution to the pantheon of potato pancakes. The popularity of Gallagher’s boxty is borne out by the restaurant’s one-tonne-a-week potato habit.

The boxty family: boxty pancake, baked boxty loaf and boiled boxty

Whilst most of the boxty served up is in the form of thick, substantial pancakes, you can also sample boiled boxty, which is dense but lovely in a stodgy way, and the lighter textured baked boxty loaf. The boxty pancakes, meanwhile, you will find wrapped around all sorts of things including (yes) bacon and cabbage. All substantial and satisfying stuff.

Boxty pancake with bacon and cabbage

My visit to Gallagher’s Boxty House, though, was more than the sum of the boxties served.

It lived up to its promise of “bia, caint, ceol agus craic” / “food, chat, music and fun”, thanks, at least in part, to a generous helping of boxty and potato lore from Pádraic Óg himself. As we indulged our obsession with that homeliest of vegetables, I realised that sometimes it takes a local to celebrate the truth of what we are.

So, when I was invited recently to not only sample a selection of wines from Cloudy Bay, but to meet their viticulturist Siobán Harnett, I was hardly going to say no. The fact that this invitation also involved eating in Michelin-starred Guilbaud’s again was, er, a bonus – admittedly one that you might actually sell your granny for. None of your fried dandelions on the menu here, no sirree. Instead a range of delicate and impressive eats, designed to complement the ever elegant liquids of Cloudy Bay.

On the Guilbaud's Cloudy Bay lunch menu:
Stewed Basque Pepper Terrine, Croustillant of Dublin Bay Prawns (yeah, I had to look it up too - they're crispy, in other words), Fillet of Charolais Beef, Rhubarb Cheese Cake (with an eminently edible candy-striped white chocolate surround)

Located in the Marlborough region and best known for its flagship sauvignon blanc, Cloudy Bay was one of the first widely exported New Zealand wines. It doesn’t live in the cheap bracket, but mention Cloudy Bay to anyone involved in the business of importing wine here and you will quickly find that it has a dedicated and enthusiastic following.

As viticulturist, Siobán’s job is to grow grapes of the type, quantity, quality and taste profile required for making Cloudy Bay wines. Listening to her, you come to realise that behind every great winemaker is a great viticulturist, one who knows the soil and vines intimately and understands the minutiae of the effects wrought by the weather experienced during every growing season.

Getting to know the Cloudy Bay team

The wines, too, she knows well, and like any good matchmaker, she made the appropriate introductions and let us get on with the job of getting know each other. It was a pleasure to meet them all, from the crisp, sparkling Pelorus and the silky 2006 Chardonnay to the beautifully smooth 2007 Pinot Noir.

There was, though, a special place in my affections for the 2009 Sauvignon Blanc, which Siobán described (in a good way) as tropical and sweaty and had that distinctive grapefruit zing, one of the signatures of Marlborough sauvignon blanc. I had a soft spot, too, for the 2006 Te Koko. Also made from sauvignon blanc grapes, this was a mellower, less acidic and more honeyed affair. These grapes are not inoculated with a specific yeast, but, rather, allowed to ferment using the natural yeasts in the air, a process which takes longer and is more difficult to control. The result, compared to your typical New Zealand sauvignon blanc, is more bass than treble, but it was a true quencher of the thirsts in both mind and body, and very satisfying for that.

He hoped that I had enjoyed my meal. “Ah, that dessert with the rosé…” he murmured, clearly reliving the pleasure of it in his own mind.

I, in return, gushed. My first time to eat at Guilbaud’s and, yes, the dessert course had been as sublime a pairing of food and wine as I have had the privilege of tasting. The rest of the meal I might add (in a clear triumph of understatement) was none too shabby either.

What you would call some very serious eats...

...and the drinks to match

Proprietor of the legendary Michelin-starred restaurant that bears his name, Patrick Guilbaud displayed qualities that I would hope to find in any good restaurateur – a sincere pride in the food served and a graciousness in the service given. His restaurant, well deserving of its top-notch reputation, is the kind of place entirely appropriate to the occasion that had earned me an invite – a gala dinner showcasing Ruinart champagne.

Four very fine Ruinart champagnes, all for me

I will admit that this particular brand of champagne was new to me, but a friend, having seen my drinks menu, exclaimed simply “Ruinart! The world’s best…”. That might just tell you something about it.

I learned more on the subject from Patrick Shelley, French-domiciled Irish man and International Director with Ruinart, who explained that it is the oldest champagne house around, established in 1729 by textile merchants who found that their clients soon showed far more interest in matters of bubbly than in matters of cloth.

And it is expensive, yes. Champagne generally is (er, except when somebody else is paying for it…). And this is the good stuff. Chardonnay-based, requiring delicate handling and bottle-aging for at least 3-4 years in cavernous chalk pits that date from Roman times. The signature Ruinart brand, the wonderfully crisp non-vintage Blanc de Blancs, will go on my wishlist for special celebrations. Fancy or what?

In fact I fully expect, by now, for you to be deeply concerned about the fact that I might be in danger of getting notions far above my humble spud station, dazzled by the bright lights of Michelin-stardom. Rest assured, however, that I will not be allowed to forget that ’tis far from Michelin-starred eateries and champagne that I was raised. My mother, for one, can be trusted to bring it right back down to the things that matter:

“You got a good feed so”, says she, “that’s the main thing”.

I think that my name is on a list somewhere. Some Italian food mafia list.

And make no mistake, they are out to feed me.

First, Milano’s invite me to come and taste their new Francesco Mazzei range. All of it. Two starters, a pasta dish and three pizzas. In one sitting.

Let me tell you that the word full doesn’t remotely cover it.

Milano's Francesco Mazzei Pizzas:
Calabrese (sweet, chili-hot and sausagey, the crowd favourite), Mia Sofia (a thin-based pizza blanca that is all about the mushrooms) and Rustichella (which, let's face it, people will love for the pancetta)

Then, when I had finished digesting that, they sent their guys around with dough balls and pizza from the new Milano At Home range (eh, don’t mind if I do, grazie mille). Perhaps they’re out to change my spudly ways (after all, with the noble exception of gnocchi, Italians don’t seem to go in much for the whole potatoes thing). Or maybe they wondered if I had opinions to share, which, when it comes to food, I generally do.

Let me start by saying that the dishes by Francesco Mazzei – chef proprietor of L’Anima in London – seemed to me to be about simplicity and quality of ingredients. It was good to see that his choice of lovely Calabrian olive oil and oregano are now being used, not just with his own dishes, but throughout the Milano’s range. The corollary, of course, is that, without good quality ingredients, Francesco’s dishes do not have a whole lot to hide behind.

And that was the one niggle in an otherwise enjoyable meal.

The Insalata Semplice

The Insalata Semplice – a classic tomato and mozzarella salad – was, for me, let down by a lack of flavour in some of the tomatoes used. Now, it’s fair to say that we in Ireland are no strangers to poor quality tomatoes – goodness knows, those sold in supermarkets here don’t often taste of anything – but neither should we be too surprised that tomatoes lack flavour when they are not anywhere near being in season here. In fact, I expect that it is difficult, or at least expensive, to source large quantities of really good quality, flavoursome tomatoes here at this time of year.

The real question is, why bother?

Do we really want to eat fresh tomato salad (a) when the season dictates that tomatoes are unlikely to be anywhere near their best and (b) when it’s still freezing outside ? (yes, winter is proving very hard to shake this year)

The word seasonality has been bandied about much of late, but how many of us still expect to be able to order a fresh tomato salad year-round and would be perturbed if we couldn’t?

And before you ask, I will own up to the fact that I am as guilty as anyone of buying, and expecting to be able to buy, fresh tomatoes year-round. And there is (I am sure) a lot of effort involved in devising seasonally sensitive menus, particularly when you are trying to roll them out across a restaurant chain like Milano’s.

It goes to show, I suppose, that we have a long way to go when it comes to this whole eating seasonally and locally lark. I’ll shut up now before someone reminds me gently to just, er, fuhgeddaboudit…

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Minestrone

Given the continued low temperatures outside, I am inclined much more towards soup than salad these days, and minestrone is Italian for just the kind of hearty soup I fancy in this weather.

Minestrone is also all about what you have to hand, so adjust to suit your own stash of vegetables. This version has got the the olive oil, mushroom and oregano that featured strongly in the Francesco Mazzei Milano’s menu. It’s also tomatoey, but thanks to good quality tinned tomatoes, which are a better choice at this time of year.

As for the pasta, use whatever dried pasta you have to hand, breaking larger pieces up into whatever size pieces you’d like to find in your soup.

You’ll need:

• 1 tblsp olive oil
• 1 tblsp butter
• 200g onion (1 large), finely chopped
• 2 cloves garlic
• 100g chestnut mushrooms, thinly sliced
• 125g carrot (2 small carrots), finely diced
• 125g celery (2 large sticks), finely diced
• 1 x 400g tin of tomatoes, chopped
• 50ml red wine (one you’d consider drinking yourself)
• 600ml water or light vegetable or chicken stock
• 150g dried pasta (break large pasta into smaller pieces)
• 1 tsp fine salt or to taste
• 1 tsp dried oregano
• freshly ground black pepper to taste
• shavings of parmesan to serve

The Steps:

• Place a large, heavy saucepan over a medium heat and, when hot, add the olive oil and butter.
• When the butter has melted, add the onion and garlic. Stir and fry over a medium heat for about 5 minutes, or until the onion is translucent.
• Add the mushrooms and cook for about another 5 minutes or until just starting to release some liquid.
• Now add the carrot and celery and stir and fry for another 7-8 minutes.
• Add the chopped tinned tomatoes, wine, water or stock, oregano, salt and black pepper. Stir to mix, bring to the boil, then cover, lower the heat and simmer for about 20 minutes or until the carrots start to become tender.
• Stir in the dried pasta and simmer until al dente – depending on the pasta, this should take somewhere around 7-10 minutes. The soup should be thick and chunky, though you can thin it with additional boiling water if you like.
• Ladle into bowls and scatter with some shavings of parmesan.

The Variations:

• Have a look in your fridge or vegetable basket and include a bit of whatever looks good – minestrone’s a bit like that. You can also throw in some cannellini or other beans if that takes your fancy.

The Results:

• Makes about 4 decent helpings

When you get an invitation that has lunch at Eden Restaurant as part of the deal, you say yes and then ask questions later.

So it was that I found myself dining stuffing my gob at Eden during the launch by the Temple Bar Cultural Trust of their well-packed 2010 programme of events (which, I am delighted to report, includes the return of the Chocolate Festival, this time making a pre-Christmas appearance in December).

However, before the gob-stuffing got underway, I wondered did my fellow lunchers notice quite how much time I had spent staring at the menu? Or if they had caught the slight trepidation in my voice as I ordered the smokies?

Smokies, you see, are a permanent and much-loved part of the menu at Eden. A starter of smoked haddock in a sauce of crème fraîche, with cherry tomatoes, spring onions and melted red cheddar.

Smoked haddock, however, has not passed my lips since childhood.

During my youth, my mother’s smoked-haddock-in-some-kind-of-white-sauce was the most singularly reviled dish of my acquaintance. A fish-on-fridays staple, it was the cause of countless you-will-not-leave-the-table-til-you-finish-your-dinner standoffs.

However, as I looked at the Eden menu, I realised that it was time, at last, to give smoked haddock a second chance.

And so the smokies were ordered and the smokies were eaten, happily. I even went out and bought some smoked haddock the very next day, figuring that we had a lot of catching up to do. And where else to begin, but with some spuds.

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Smoked Haddock Hash

This is what happens when you take some leftover boiled spuds and fry them up with the ingredients that Eden use to make their legendary smokies.

As for the melted cheese on top, it may be anathema to some who think that fish and cheese should not meet on the same plate, but it works for the original smokies and I think it works here too.

You’ll need:

• olive oil for frying
• 150g smoked haddock fillet
• 400g boiled potatoes
• 4 spring onions
• 200g cherry tomatoes (around 10-12 cherry tomatoes)
• 100g crème fraîche
• coarse salt to taste
• freshly ground black pepper to taste
• 25g sharp cheddar

The Steps:

• Cut the haddock into bite-size pieces, around 1cm wide, and slice the potatoes into pieces around 0.5cm thick, leaving the skin on if you like or peeling it off if you don’t. Finely slice the white and green parts of the spring onions and quarter the tomatoes.
• Place a large frying pan over a medium-high heat. When hot, add enough olive oil to coat the pan. Add the haddock pieces to the pan and stir and fry for 3-4 minutes or until the pieces are opaque and just cooked through. Remove the haddock to a plate.
• Return the pan to the heat and add another coating of olive oil and the sliced potatoes. Stir and fry, breaking up any larger pieces of potato as you do so, for around 10 minutes or until they are starting to brown.
• Add the spring onions and tomatoes and stir and fry for another 2-3 minutes
• Add the crème fraîche, haddock pieces, a couple of twists of black pepper and coarse salt to taste. Stir and fry for about another minute.
• Remove from the heat, sprinkle with some grated sharp cheddar and place the pan under the grill for a minute or so, allowing the cheese to melt. Now serve up, perhaps with some nice crusty buttered bread on the side.

The Variations:

• You could, of course, use other white fish here, smoked or even not-so-smoked.

The Results:

• 2 good-sized brunch portions

Notwithstanding the fact that I’m sure I reeked of garlic after lunch yesterday, nobody seemed to mind. Or, if they did, at least they didn’t let on. They’re a generally polite and friendly crowd, food bloggers. And, of course, they had been eating lovely garlic-laden food too.

Psst, there be garlic in that there hummus

The venue was Levant, a Lebanese restaurant in London and the occasion was Food Blogger Connect. I am still recovering from the whirlwind but worthwhile trip over and back to the UK yesterday for the event, though I can at least confirm that I don’t smell so much of garlic anymore. I can also vouch for the fact that, next time I haul ass over to London for this, I’m staying. Well, for a few days at least. I say next time, because the appetite for FBC round two is there, of that I’m sure.

Lola's mini-cupcakes were (phew!) garlic-free

It had all come about because Bethany from Dirty Kitchen Secrets, Jamie from Life’s a Feast, Mowie from Mowielicious and Hilda from Saffron and Blueberry witnessed the buzz around this year’s plethora of US-based food blogger events, took matters into their own hands and organised an event of their own. Good on them I say. Food bloggers on this side of the Atlantic are just as interested in meeting, eating and having a chat about the art and craft of bloggery. They also, it has to be said, like receiving food-filled goody bags.

And so it came to pass. A great big sharable spread of Lebanese food, followed by presentations from people with information and thoughts to share: Meeta from What’s For Lunch Honey and Kang from London Eater with their own particular angles on picturing your food, Jamie from Life’s a Feast and Jeanne from Cook Sister on the written word and Kang again on social networking life in the internet fish tank. A lot to pack into one afternoon and certainly scope to do more next time. It was interesting to hear other bloggers’ perspectives on these matters, of course, but, more than that, it was a joy simply to meet the people there and, in the case of Jamie, greet someone I’d never physically met before like an old friend.

There were many more bloggers and otherwise interested parties there besides, only a fraction of whom I got to talk to. ‘Twas a pleasure to meet Paul from Get Me Cooking, Alessio from Recipe Taster, Mowie from Mowielicious, Bethany from Dirty Kitchen Secrets, Ozoz from Kitchen Butterfly, Katrina from Around the World in 80 Markets, Christina from The Thorngrove Table, Greedy Diva and a host of Sarahs – Food For Think, Maison Cupcake and Meals With Sarah among them.

So many bloggers to meet, so little time. As Arnold Schwarzenegger might say, “I’ll be back”.

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Lebanesey Potato Pie

Admittedly I don’t automatically think of potatoes with I think of Lebanese cuisine. In fact, after yesterday’s buffet at Levant, I would say that, yes, Lebanese food mostly makes me think stink of garlic. And I mean that in a good, if occasionally smelly, way.

Lebanon does, however, appear to be home to some rather large potatoes, so a potato pie with Lebanese flavours is not such an outrageous proposition. I adapted the recipe below from one I came across on the Daily Mail site here, but which contained no garlic to speak of. I soon fixed that.

World's heaviest potato? (image from bbc.co.uk)

For the pie:

• 500g potatoes, preferably a floury variety
• 125g coarse bulgar wheat
• 25g plain flour
• 0.25 tsp cinnamon
• 250g onion (2 small-ish specimens), finely sliced
• 2 large cloves garlic, finely chopped
• 50g pine nuts
• 50g flat leaf parsley (leaves + thin stems), finely chopped (or substitute fresh coriander)
• 2 tsp lemon juice
• 1 tsp sumac (optional)
• salt and freshly ground black pepper
• 1.5 tblsp olive oil plus more for coating dish and frying

To serve:

• 150g natural yoghurt
• 3 tblsp finely chopped mint leaves
• small pinch of sugar
• pinch of cayenne pepper
• coarse salt to taste
• 3-4 spring onions, white and light green parts finely sliced

You’ll also need:

• An ovenproof dish – mine was 20cm x 20cm x 5cm

The Steps:

• Rinse the bulgar in several changes of water, then place in a small bowl and add cold water to cover by a few cm. Leave aside to soak for at least 30 minutes.
• Peel your potatoes and cut into roughly even-sized slices, around 1-2cm thick. Rinse them under cold water.
• Bring about 1l of water to the boil in a saucepan, add about 1 tsp salt and the potato slices. Bring back to the boil and reduce to a simmer. Simmer gently, covered, for around 12-15 minutes or until just fork-tender. Alternatively, you can steam the potatoes until they reach the same stage.
• You can now go ahead and preheat your oven to 220C
• While the potatoes are cooking, place a large frying pan over a medium heat. When hot add enough oil to coat the pan and add the onions. Stir and fry for around 8-10 minutes, until soft and starting to colour. Add the garlic and pine nuts and stir and fry for another 2-3 minutes. Add the chopped parsley, stir and fry for about a minute, then remove from the heat and season with the lemon juice, sumac (if using) plus salt and black pepper to taste.
• When the potatoes are done, drain well and return them to the saucepan. Then either let them sit, covered by a tea-towel, for about 5 minutes or place the pan over a low heat and stir the potatoes gently for a minute or so, so that they dry out.
• Put the dried and still-warm potatoes through a potato ricer and into a large bowl, or mash gently in the bowl using a masher or a fork.
• In another small bowl, whisk together the flour, cinnamon, about 0.5 tsp salt and a couple of twists of black pepper.
• Drain the bulgar and, placing the drained bulgar in a clean tea-towel, squeeze out as much water as you can.
• Add the bulgar and flour to the mashed potato and mix gently to combine. Taste for salt and add more if needed.
• Brush the base of your ovenproof dish with oil and spread with half of the potato mixture. Add the onions in a single layer next, then top with the remaining potato, smoothing with the back of a spoon. Brush about 1.5 tblsp of olive oil over the potato and, using the tip of a sharp knife, make shallow diagonal cuts in the top of the pie, with about 2-3cm between cuts, so that it marks out a diamond pattern.
• Bake at 220C for about 10 minutes, then reduce the heat to 190C and bake for about another 30 minutes or until golden on top.
• Serve pieces of the pie, warm or at room temperature, scattered with sliced spring onions and a couple of spoonfuls of mint yoghurt, made by mixing together the yoghurt, mint and sugar, with salt and cayenne to taste. This would also be nice with some grilled or roasted courgettes.

The Variations:

• Crumble some goats cheese or feta between the onion and top potato layer or perhaps add some tomatoes to the onion mix or maybe some fried courgette slices.

The Results:

• Serves 4, as long as nobody gets greedy

Oh dear. Was I really starting to sound like a pickled spud?

I pondered this as I sat in Mulligan’s during last Thursday’s Arthur’s Day festivities, sipping, in point of fact, a pint of water, albeit served in a Guinness glass. I admit that the glass would have been filled with Guinness were it not for the fact that I was stuffed to the gills, having had the pleasure, earlier that evening, of meeting Oyster Food & Culture and her mum for dinner (and, er, wine) in 101 Talbot.

I don’t suppose it would help the situation any to mention that the night before the vodka cocktail episode, I was in attendance at a wine-and-menu-tasting affair at Enowine and their soon-to-be-relaunched restaurant, La Cuvee. No, I don’t suppose it would.

Part of the Enomatic sampling system

Seeing as my reputation is shot anyway, I may as well tell you that I was impressed with Enowine’s self-service Enomatic sampling system, with a goodly range of bottles set up to dispense 30ml samples. The system is such that the wine is dispensed without allowing oxygen back into the bottle, so each drop should taste as it would were the bottle freshly opened. You just load your Enomatic card with credit and select your tipples at will. For the record, my favourite of the night was the lovely Clonakilla shiraz.

Not just wine, but food

Lest you think I am beyond redemption, I hasten to add that the evening wasn’t just about wine. La Cuvee treated us to food too, for which I am always thankful. Fishcake, sea-bream with asparagus risotto and chocolate pudding with pistachio ice cream. I rolled home afterward, burping (in a good way) as I went. I wish them luck with their restaurant relaunch.

Speaking of restaurants, I’m told that Dine in Dublin is back, where, from October 12th to 18th, a range of city centre restaurants will be offering 3 course dinner menus for either €25 or €30 per head. (And no, the price does not include any vino. I checked.)

If posh nosh in general is your thing, then Whoseview, a newly established local review site, tell me that users who accumulate 2000 points by means of their reviewing prowess can claim a free 1 year G Club membership. That, in turn, allows them to claim healthy discounts in a range of fine dining establishments (not to mention an excuse to write even more reviews).

After all that, I find I’m getting a bit thirsty. Just as well I’ve signed up for the Curious Wines Dublin tasting on Nov. 6th then, isn’t it?

Fishy Fishy Kinsale

I must confess that, it being Kinsale, the self-proclaimed fine food capital of Ireland, I had secretly hoped to steer the panel discussion towards the potato end of the spectrum, no doubt wowing all and sundry in the process with my growing collection of obscure potato factoids. As it turns out, my fellow panelists knew much more about blogging than spuds so, generous soul that I am, we mostly talked about that instead. Having wondered, before the talk, whether we’d have much to say, it turns out that we had plenty, with a lot of interest from the audience on topics such as the demise of print media and the different styles of reading and, hence, writing on the internet. And, yes, there was a little bit of chat about my life as a cyber-spud. I’ll think of it as a pilot episode. Who knows, perhaps next year I’ll return with my own show!

As for the rest of the weekend, it was not devoid of other worthy mentions for the humble spud. Indeed, the award for Best Performance By A Salad In A Supporting Role went to the salad of new potatoes that lurked beneath the crab platter at the excellent Fishy Fishy Café. New potatoes with homemade mayonnaise and chives told a winning tale of simplicity and good ingredients. Just one of the many good food stories often told in Kinsale.

Pike Place Spuds

I am also prone to having palpitations induced by sights like this causa made with purple mash (and, frankly, at this stage in our relationship, my excitement at meeting and eating purple spuds should not surprise any of you).

Causa with purple mash and tuna at La Mar, San Francisco

My encounter with the causa, a Peruvian dish traditionally consisting of layered potato and seafood, came about through the happy circumstance of being in San Francisco and of meeting the lovely Oyster Food & Culture for lunch at La Mar.

This Peruvian restaurant is known for its ceviche, tasty fishy morsels, marinated raw in citrus juice and chillies, so we dove into the ceviche tasting but, Peru being the ancestral home of the potato ‘n’ all, I felt duty bound to try one of their star spudded causas. And not just any causa but, being a purple spud innocent, the causa bearing that colour was the one that had my name on it. I’m not sure what I was building myself up for, because purple potatoes actually don’t have what I suppose I would think of as a purple taste. Probably not even necessarily the tastiest of spuds, but they do remain defiantly purple, nonetheless, and a bit of a star attraction on the plate. The causa was a worthy first time purple experience.

Ceviche tasting, La Mar style

As for the rest of the lunch at La Mar, we were agreed that the ceviche chifa – with Mahi Mahi in what tasted like a Vietnamese-style sauce, with ginger, peanuts and pickled veg, stole the show. The pisco sours were very fine too. And the dulce de leche with port meringue. Not to mention the good company. A very fine way to spend 3 hours on a Thursday afternoon I thought.

As I left the restaurant and wandered through the nearby Ferry Building marketplace, I glanced longingly once more at the exotic vegetables for sale. Concerned as I already was about getting my Japanese knives past customs and security, I didn’t want to risk bringing spuds, purple or otherwise, back to Ireland as well. Besides, that’s probably in the same category as bringing coals to Newcastle and people might think me ever so slightly strange.