It was the simplest of ideas. To meet of a summer’s evening, drink tea and eat cake.
Gisela, from Life is a Festival, who organised yesterday’s Dublin Tea Up, asked only that you bring yourself, your favourite mug and a baked contribution if you were so inclined (and yes, as you’ll see later, I was).
The result was an Irish teatime gone into overdrive – currant scones and butter, rhubarb tart, swiss roll, iced buns, treacly flapjacks and more. There was even a lady who, in true Mrs. Doyle style, would (go on, go on) offer you one of her baked treats (you will, you will) until such time as you took it (which I did, I did).
Tea from Clement & Pekoe plus lots of scones, cake, tart and buns
“I like to eat my food, not smell it.”
My 18 year old niece was objecting to the liberal application of herbs on food of any kind.
Rosemary she found particularly objectionable. “Makes things taste all planty”, says she. Well yes, I suppose it would.
I think I can safely say that it not had not occurred to me that a “planty” taste was something to avoid. I forget that copious amounts of herbage may not be to everyone’s taste, being firmly of the opinion that a handful of fresh herbs can do a lot to enhance most things. Like potatoes.
My very own parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
My First Feta Cheese
There I was, proud as punch, admiring my first batch of feta cheese.
I knew that, before long, I would be all “feta this” and “feta that”, a salad here and a spanakopita there, and still enough feta left over to impress friends and family. It was a big, cheesy win.
Until I remembered that technically I’m not allowed to call it feta.
Not according to the European Union at any rate.