I used to be stylish. I sort of fancied myself as a girl who stayed on top of fashion. Of course, this can only objectively be spoken by someone who is clearly no longer stylish. Oh, how I loved creatively putting together a bad-assed ensemble each day to wear to my office/production shoot/post house where there would be many more bad-assed style icons, each striving to be the baddest-assed of them all. Ok, maybe it wasn’t quite that glamorous, but let’s just say that I did take my fashion personae very seriously. And still do. Well, now I guess I’m just trying to. The truth is, I am still sorting out how to dress here…in farm country and in Ireland in general. I think I’m in desparate need of a Farm-over!

Sizing in Ireland and the UK is vastly different from the USA–and I don’t mean that in a beneficial way. Irish sizes go up two sizes from American sizes. So, if you are an 8 in the USA, you are a 12 (or maybe even 14 depending on the brand) in Ireland! A bit of a blow, indeed. I was a size 8…even a healthy 6 on good days (though on certain days of the month I could also quite possibly go up to a 10) so the size change was definitely a tad bit disheartening to me. I am still trying to work out if Richard meant an Irish 10 or American 10 when he guessed my size in the early days of our relationship…naw, won’t go there. Hmm, perhaps he just meant I was a “10”? Ha! When I got pregnant I gained 3 stone (42 lbs). A few weeks after I had Geoffrey I remember fretfully getting onto the scale, only to see that I had lost only 1 stone(damn digestive biscuits!). At that point, I basically gave up on shopping because I refused to buy a size 16-18 based on the sheer principle of it. I decided I would shop for my son instead. This is why he has the wardrobe the size of a Gap Kids store.

Not only are sizes different, but regrettably, styles are as well. When I initially came for visits to Ireland, I’d always look forward to bringing home some very chic 80’s inspired Top-Shoppy blouse, vampish high boots or deconstructed little jackets to flaunt back in the States…very swish in 2003/4.  Now, I can’t be bothered with most of the drivel that I see in the local shops.  A/Wear, Topshop, BT2, Zara, H&M have all been obsessed with trashy 80’s looks for forever or so it seems. I am sorry, but I am done paying hundreds of euros for throwbacks from the 80’s….can we please move on? I rarely see anything that I am truly inspired by, which is no fun really, but does make the bank account happy I suppose. I know the 80’s have taken over the USA too, but at least there are also real alternatives such as J. Crew, BR, AK, Anthropologie, GAP–even Target, if you’re in need of a reprieve. And while I love to browse the new collections by Vivienne Westwood, Karen Millen, Orla Kiely, McQueen and all the European designers in Harvey Nichs or BT, that means a 2 hour drive to Dublin if I want to see the best of it. I sorely miss seeing the latest displays from classic American designers like CK, RL,DK, MK in the big department stores that were basically right around the corner from me.  I guess the good news is that now that I usually only shop in the USA everything seems like such a better deal with the current decreasing value of the dollar.

Having said that, even if I wasn’t bothered by the size issue and if everything didn’t look so damned 80’s, I still wouldn’t know how to dress here! As I noted before, the weather is always a wee bit wet and windy so my fantasy “farm look” comprised of cute circle skirts with tees and Wellingtons never really works in real life. Besides women here don’t consider Wellies to be stylish in any way, shape or form and wouldn’t dream of wearing them outside of their home garden. And, if I could still fit into my pre-pregnancy wardrobe: various types of skinny jeans tucked into my favorite high boots, dainty silky blouses with shiny little tuxedo jackets, matching cashmere skirts and shells worn with bare legs and kitten heels, (yes, I am grieving this loss)….none of it is practical in my new life. When I try to wear sportier things like windbreakers, fleeces, cargos, sneakers, I just feel like a boy. Alas, not ladylike at all.

Hence, my search continues for my best Irish farm girl wardrobe…..

The suggestion box is open.

Slainte,

Imen

Tags: BT, farm, fashion, GAP, glamor, Harvey Nichs, ireland, J. Crew, McQueen, Orla Kiely, shopping, style, Target, USA

Warning! Spoiler Alert

This post contains approx. 500,000 calories

Perhaps I need to write more about the drab weather in Ireland because since my last posting the weather has been absolutely gorgeous! Blue skies and sun for 4 full days so far. I must say, this makes life here so much more agreeable.
One really nice thing about living on an Irish farm is the “farm dinner” as it is affectionately known here by people-both country dwellers and city folks alike. Farm dinners usually consist of a large plate of tender roasted meat–possibly beef, lamb, pork, chicken or ham; a couple portions of soft, buttery, vegetables, namely cabbage, carrots, peas, brussels sprouts, broccoli, cauliflower… and of course, some form of potato–typically boiled in their jackets or mashed. Pretty standard stuff, but exquisitely delicious and totally comforting (and sustaining)….especially on a gray, rainy Irish day. My mother-in-law, Peggy, still insists on lovingly cooking these massive dinners for “the men” (her sons, husband, farm apprentices and whoever else drops in at a moment’s notice) each and every single day. She is truly a saint. Of course, I’d love to join them each day, but try not to overdo it, as I would only be adding more work for her and more inches around my waist. When I do have lunch at the farm I will usually bring a dessert to share…they especially love my rhubarb/berry cobbler and the All-American Angelfood cake with cream and berries. Sometimes I will bake a flourless chocolate cake, which always goes over well too. There is always a slice of something for dessert and a cup of tea with sweetmeal biscuits (cookies) after dinner. These biscuits are called “digestives” because they were once thought to have antacid properties…this clarification works for me, as these little shortbread-y cookies, which are not too sweet, are remarkably delectable. And addicting. And basically, my weight-loss arch nemesis.
At the end of the day, the supper or the “tea” as it is commonly referred to as, is served. Tea occurs at the farm at around 630PM and may consist of a light sandwich or a “country salad” of boiled egg with mayonnaise, tomato slices and cole slaw with a slice of brown soda bread. The odd smoked salmon or a “fry” which is like a mini Irish breakfast is also a possibility. A cup of tea or two is compulsory. Thus, the big meal on the farm (and in many Irish homes) is dinner or lunch, which is probably better for you than our big American heavy supper in the evening and a light lunch at noon. Still, I have yet to fully embrace the tea concept and I tend to make a substantial family evening meal each night. Luckily, there have been no complaints, but I am sure that eventually we will transition to this style of eating.
During the holidays we take our meals in the formal dining room in the main farmhouse. Peggy has this wonderful mid-century modern, heated hostess trolley and dessert cart. We have the same indispensable and lavish menu for each big holiday gathering. The menu reads like this: Prawn cocktail with Mary-Rose sauce for a starter, and then a rustic, creamy soup followed by the main entrée. She will usually prepare a goose for one the holidays with her special potato stuffing, along with mashed potatoes, potato croquettes, 2-3 vegetables, a bread dressing and gravy. Yes, there are 3 different potato preparations listed there. Each plate is pre-made, designed with each tasty element, sized appropriately and waiting patiently in the trolley for its assigned dinner guest. After the main course, there will be 5 or 6 desserts to choose from as well as ice creams galore. A boozy trifle, a plucky plum pudding, a delicate pavlova with fresh berries and cream, a twice-frosted chocolate gateaux and some other kind of wonderful sweet treat. You are required to try a little of each on your plate and you don’t mind. By that time, you’re drunk with food (and possibly wine) and your defenses are most certainly down. After all those desserts, would you believe the “after dinner” chocolates are brought out? Why yes, indeed…After Eight chocolate mints and Chocolate Liqueurs to linger over accompanied by tea to sip (or just more wine if you’re me). I am sure you can make out that there isn’t a lot of moving around after these feasts. This type of banquet is not just taking place at our farm, but in homes all around the country. It’s like for one day everyone receives a permission slip from God to commit one the seven deadly sins: Gluttony!
Being a breakfast person, the piece de résistance for me is The Full Irish Breakfast. Eggs, sausages, rashers (bacon, thick cut and very lean), sautéed mushrooms and tomato halves, baked beans, and black and white puddings with toast. Not that I eat the puddings, but still, something about all of rest is just fully satisfying to me. Puddings, forgive me, taste like what I can only imagine a scab would taste like. And rightly so-they are basically dried blood. But enough of that—Richard makes THE BEST Irish breakfast ever. Him, the Shannon Airport restaurant and BIA in Adare-sheer perfection. Yummy, scrummy and positively del-ish.
Irish stew, seafood chowders, fresh fish with exquisitely prepared velvety sauces, slow roasted, melt-in-your mouth roasts covered with creative reductions, sticky toffee pudding, Banoffee pie, bakewell tarts with cream and a persimmon on the side, a beautiful glazed ham sandwich or a Ploughman’s with pickles and chutney, a filet mignon that you can cut with a butter knife, flavourful roasted parsnips and swede, chocolate biscuit cake, raspberry roulade, savoury Shepard’s pie or Fisherman’s Pie, honey and lemon glazed turnips that taste like mango, cranberry/mushroom/nut filo parcels, spicy curries….a mother’s simple stuffed chicken. From the fancy Mustard Seed in Ballingarry or the distinguished Chapter One in Dublin to delightful organic lunches at the Avoca cafe or an inventive vegetarian dish at Ciaran’s….even a simple tasty fish n chip from chippers ‘round the country: you are definitely spoilt for choice.
Without question, and contrary to popular belief, Irish food is fabulous….from farm dinners to high-priced gourmet meals. It seems that all Irish chefs, professional and domestic, have a way with food…they prepare it with love, a love you can most certainly taste.

Slainte,

Imen

Tags: country life, farm cooking, irish cooking, irish food, irish restaurants, modern girl

We are just back from a glorious week’s holidays on Martha’s Vineyard and I must admit, it was disappointing to arrive home to a rainy, gray Ireland. Not that this would be abnormal, the weather here is generally dull, but it probably seems worse after you’ve come home from a beautiful vacation under mostly sunny skies.
And with that, I am going to write about the weather. I cannot avoid it, it must be discussed and described in full detail in order to really set the scene and understand the Irish way of life. The weather here is as significant as being a part of a family or a supporting actor in a film…kind of like that entity who is always in the background somehow influencing your life—indeed, a very important ingredient in the recipe of Irish life. And if you are anything like me, you’d be affected by its force in the same way one might experience a rollercoaster ride: one minute things are one way and the next minute things have changed. Repeat this cycle over and over and then just throw in the towel and go with it. The weather literally changes so often that you cannot settle into one mode before being whipped into another mode and its accompanying state of mind. We have a 16-foot window in our family room that looks out onto the horizon where you see acres of majestic green hills and the ancient Shanid castle ruin. I often find myself sitting in an armchair in front of that window entranced by the ebb and flow of the weather; witnessing the tumultuous skies flying by, always in flux–heavy and dark one minute, then fluffy and gray the next, followed by the purest cornflower blue before the rain suddenly starts lashing down. Circus clouds, changing from bears to rabbits to torpedoes in an instant. Rainbows, rainbows and more beautiful rainbows. All so alive and gorgeous really, but somewhat unsettling just the same.
The Irish embrace this weather in a humorous way. They tirelessly chat about it, always acknowledging-even damning the rain and gray, but if it’s sunny for more than 3 days, the fear sets in and the grave grumbling of too much heat commences. You will hear weather discussion no matter where you go, it is more than just small talk; it is embedded in the culture–in the very fabric of Irish life. I personally believe it is a clever coping mechanism…a form of therapy if you will. You know, “talk it out” though I doubt any Irish person would agree. There is also a native weather language–for instance, when it is humid, it is described as being “close” and when it is cool it may be referred to as “fresh”. The term “close” initially seemed quite strange to me, but you’d have to admit that our “muggy” is pretty odd itself. The truth is, if it didn’t rain all the time Ireland wouldn’t be as magnificent and lush as it is. And it would also not leave much to complain about. Two things that this country cannot live without.
When I first came for a visit to Ireland it rained nearly every day. Hard. Richard took me to Lahinch in County Clare where we went to the beach and it downpoured and where surfers just kept on surfing. Then we went to the Ring of Kerry. And it downpoured. Bunratty. And it downpoured. Of course, I didn’t bring the proper attire with and became soaked each time we went on an adventure. Hair looking worse than a messy Osprey’s nest and my colorful dainty skirts with little fitted cotton jackets became a second skin. Richard loved it. My next trip I came prepared with beautiful striped new Wellies from Smith & Hawken and a cute raincoat which was, well, more cute than rainproof. My favorite thing became sitting inside charming old pubs and restaurants alongside a turf fire sipping Irish coffees and looking at the beautiful landscapes with my handsome Irishman from the inside out. Still, being the optimist that I am (was?) I never assumed that the weather was always so wet, after all, it was either Autumn or Spring when I visited so bad weather was to be expected, right?
When I moved to Ireland I literally became chilled to the bone for at least 2 years. I moved over on June 1st, the beginning of summer in the USA. In Ireland, it had already been summer for a month because the seasons were on a different timeline (until this year actually) so summer was May, June, July; Autumn August, September, October and so on. I fully expected it to be sunny and gorgeous. Wrong. It rained every day for a month. No matter how warm I dressed I still felt cold. The heat was on in our house, but the air felt damp to me. It was the strangest sensation that I just could not shake. I noticed about a year and a half ago that I was finally warming up. I thought to myself ‘finally, my body has adjusted to Ireland’ but in reflection, it was more likely due to our underfloor heating in our new home.
Over this past weekend it was gray and misty at times, but not rainy. Whilst playing in the garden (yard) with Geoffrey and the doggies, we spotted Richard in a field seemingly admiring the weather….sort of looking up into the sky and taking it all in with a smile on his face. We hiked over and asked him what he was doing to which he replied, “it’s a beautiful day isn’t it?”. He always says this when it’s gray and not rainy with a tiny bit of a breeze. It’s his absolute favorite weather. Of course, I think it’s awful. Call me a fair weather friend, but I think we need a little sun each day to be happy. (Not too much, I remember feeling stifled by the sun when I briefly lived in Los Angeles…sunny every day, too much light, too exposed, it was just too, too, too everything actually.) But for Richard, the overcast days feel calming and comfortable. Probably easier for him and his crew to work as well so I can’t knock him. And, as he says, you must decide that you are doing something outside no matter if it rains or not and just do it. Needless to say, our home is now stocked with every type of waterproof item in existence. And in every color too, of course.
Slainte,
Imen

Tags: gray, ireland, rain, weather