The first time someone asked me this question I was foolishly offended.  It was broached while I was at my first Irish fashion show which was being held at the Dunraven Arms Hotel in Adare.  Modest fashion shows are de riguer here for fundraising. You will hear about 30 fashion shows a week in Ireland and when your first beautifully designed invitation arrives in the letterbox you feel so privileged that you’ve been included in the guest list of such a stylish, upscale event. But, then you turn up to find decorative tchochkes scattered about on tables and your friend’s teenage girls modelling clothes from the “The Fancy Faery” boutique/deli down the road.  A little different than expected. Still, fair play to them because these type of fashion shows raise loads of money for charity and are definitely a form of entertainment of one shape or another….especially for those who live in small villages or rural areas.

But back to the question of horsiness. While I was mingling with the crowd of fancy ladies…and by ladies I do mean Ladies. Lady Dunraven, for instance, could be found perusing the crowds in her sophisticated manner at such affairs. I started chatting with a particular group whom wondered if I was horsey. One lady rather emphatically asked me “Are you horsey?” (pronounced HAWR-SEE) I honestly hadn’t a clue what she meant by that and I just stood there looking at her questioning face with an equally questioning face. It almost seemed like a secret question in which I needed to know the password…a password for access to some type of secret society.  Then, after a 30 second stare-off, my friend finally nudged me and said, “you know, do you ride?” I honestly thought the woman was asking or implying that I was fat.  After all, I had a 8 month baby at home. Whew, not fat! {well, yes fat, but that’s not the point here}. But, alas, not horsey either. So when I said “oh no, no, no, not me”, I suddenly found myself alone in the middle of the room. It was definitely a horsey fashion show. And I was definitely not horsey. It’s worth mentioning that riding is of a different ilk in the States where Western riding seems to be more of the norm. Cowboy boots and denims prevail versus the tailored look of jodphurs, riding jackets and velvet helmets here.

So being “horsey” is admired in Ireland. I didn’t know this before I moved over. If I had, perhaps I would have spent more time riding with my friend A.T. before leaving.  Point to Points, The National Hunt, The Irish National Stud…if you’ve anything to do with horses I’d say you definitely get a gold star approval rating in this country. The most famous horsey events are the big races, and the fierce fashion competition that goes with them, called “Ladies Days”.  For example, the world renowned Galway Races have discerning judges that not only judge the racing, but also how stylish the ladies in attendance are….and the winner gets a prize too. The society pages of Irish magazines are chock full of photos featuring all the fancy “ladies” dressed to the nines from top to toe in gorgeous designer headpieces to Louboutin heels as they walk around and graciously pose for photographers on the grassy racecourse grounds.

R gave me Clonshire riding lessons for Christmas so when it warms up a bit I will keep you posted on any upcoming riding adventures….and any hints of horsiness that might ensue.

Slan Abhaile,

Imen

Photo courtesy of Stella McCartney

Tags: Adare, Christian Louboutin, Clonshire, Dublin Fashion Week, Dunraven Arms, farmer, Galway Races, Horse, ireland, Ladies Days, National Hunt, National Stud, Point to Point, Racing, riding, Stella McCartney

I know. This is a delicate topic. And totally unfunny. But, I really want to share about it for two reasons: 1. my experience with Irish funerals is far different than my experience with American funerals and 2. If you are ever wondering if your Irish farmer boyfriend is telling the truth when he says he is going to a funeral up to 2-3 times/month it could definitely be true.

Here in the Irish countryside many things are still done the old-fashioned way and this would definitely apply to funerals. Imagine my surprise when the first visitation I attended was right in the home of the dearly departed with her laying in her own candlelit bedroom with people paying their respects at the bedside. I have to be honest and say that I was absolutely terrified.  I had never in my life been required to be intimately close with a deceased person. But, I had to shrug off my fears and go in because it was R’s amazing grandmother who was also a very special person to me. She had lived to see so many changes in Ireland and left us at the ripe age of 91.  I loved listening to her stories of gun hiding and squabbles between political parties. She also had great style and an unexpected sense of humour. She always asked me the same question when I walked into her home, “would you like a drop of Baileys?” and we’d have “drops” of Bailey’s in teeny, tiny, sweet little cordial glasses while I listened to her anecdotes and gossip and felt so wonderfully content in her presence. I remember once she was telling me about a trip she had taken to an island called Lough Derg and was describing how beautiful it was and that you had to go barefoot and walk on these rocks and then you’d stay up for 3 days and only drink broth with salt and pepper. I totally thought she was talking about some sort of natural spa experience where you’d go for really intensive 3 day cleansing detox.  It is actually a religious retreat. She thought I was mad…..but  I know she also loved that about me.  She had discussed her precise wishes regarding her funeral arrangements with her family and had it all sorted out before she left us . The family followed through as directed.

Generally speaking, up until 15 years ago, a country Irish wake would always take place in the home. It was very much a social event and open to the public.  The corpse would be dressed in a dark, neutral coloured habit or shroud and “layed out” on their bed or in a small coffin.  No embalmment techniques or fancy makeup. A prayer book might be propped under the chin to keep one’s mouth closed. Mourners would fill the room and sit beside the dead and would be there to support the others who came to sympathise.  Often, a punch made of cloves, sugar, whiskey and boiled water would be served and a barrel of stout would be on hand. Men smoked white clay pipes and sniffed snuff. This celebration would go on for 1-3 days as they never wanted the dead person to feel alone which, to my mind, is a lovely gesture. Three days of crying, laughing, eulogizing, agonizing.  Sounds pretty cathartic to me…and not such a scary idea after all. After the wake, there was the funeral mass and burial. The coffin is carried on shoulders and walked around the circumference of the graveyard before stopping at the gravesite. One month later, the “month’s mind” takes place in the local church to remember the person. Each year after there is an anniversary mass as well.

The introduction of funeral homes have taken the responsibility off of the immediate family to entertain mourners in their homes and wakes are now called “removals”. These funeral homes are very different from the what I would be accustomed to in the States….no plush carpets and rugs, ambient music, heavy drapes, displays of flowers here. In fact, very much a low-key event. The rural village funeral home is designed a bit like a garage where the a big door is opened to the street, the coffin is in the middle of the room, the family in chairs in a semi circle around the coffin. The family receives all the sympathisers who, in a single file cue, come through and shake hands with them all and walk out.  Out here it still is similar in the way that people gather from far and wide…whether you were a first cousin or a friend of a friend of a friend, you will be at the removal. It is important to be a part of the community and show your respect. This is why R goes so frequently. In America funerals are much more discreet. You might not think so right off the bat, but really, compared to Ireland they are more private and formal affairs if you will. Very rarely would you go to a funeral of someone you’d never personally met at least once.  It’s just in my American nature to feel like an interloper going to a removal of someone I didn’t know. Not to mention I don’t have enough dressy clothes anymore to keep up with them all.

I was hoping to feature Mr. McDonnell and the farm for this post, but he’s sooooooo slow and stilllllll writing his answers to all of our quirky questions. By the way, if you have a fun, funny, embarrassing…even dorky  question, please drop me a line: imen.producer@ireland.com.

Slan Abhaile,

Imen

Tags: American, farmer, Funeral, ireland, Irish, Louhg Derg, Wake

Sorry, but I need to write about this. I think about it all the time. I could be swinging away on a beautiful Spring day and still pondering. Not sure why, but I must confess, I’ve become utterly fascinated with the cacophony of incidental language twists here in Ireland.

Oh yes, wait a minute.  I am sure why….

Too much time on my hands. Pure and simple.  (See #5 on the “On Marrying An Irish Farmer” tab)

Anyway, it’s just that people tend to use the words LIKE, SO and NOW an awwwwful lot here.  And not really in the way you’d think they would. When I first starting hearing these words all the time it was a bit perplexing. This is because when Americans use the words LIKE, SO and NOW we tend do it in ways which all seem far different than the manner in which many Irish speakers are using them.

You see, the word LIKE is used significantly more as an afterthought here. For instance, you might hear someone say, “That cow is really sick LIKE.” or  “He went to the shop LIKE”.  Whereas, in the USA, we might say something more along the lines of this: “LIKE, oh my God, that’s awesome” or “I LIKE your new Hummer” or maybe this: “That Bergdorf blonde has very straw-LIKE hair”.  But rarely, if ever, would we say “I know LIKE”.  And consider it a complete sentence. And say it  just to say it. No, we tend to use our LIKES in the beginning of a sentence. And, if you must know–our EXPLETIVES at the end of sentences &%$#*&^!!!

Then, in equal measure, the word SO gets loads of action here too. You’ll hear: “He’s going to the match, LIKE, SO”. In this case, the addition of the word SO can be a question without the added upward inflection…rhetorical I suppose. If you buy something at the store you will always experience the SO word at least a few times during your transaction. “It will be 2.80 then SO.” You give the money and they say “thank you SO” and then when you receive your change “ok SO then”. Not usually a thank you or a you’re welcome, but I’m pretty sure it means the same thing. There is also the very important “RIGHT SO” which, in our house, basically means we’re finished here and usually occurs after a long pregnant pause in conversation………………………………………………………………………….RIGHT SO. {moving on}

I have to admit that the NOW’s really shook me though. Twas my first time going to the little market in Adare when the shopkeeper, a lovely elderly woman, said “NOW” (sharply and succinctly pronounced NE-OW as heard here) as I set my eggs and apples on the counter. It was totally out of context for me. And something about the timbre or the emphatic tone that she used made me feel like I was being scolded (scolded is the only word to describe it because it had that weird shame element to it). I immediately flashed back to 2^nd grade with Mrs. Luther who scolded us all the time for being too “talkative” in the classroom. Yes, this market lady’s NOW literally startled me and she knew it because she asked if I was okay. To which I replied with a nervous and slightly guilty laugh, “oh sorry, I’m fine, umm, did I do something?” She ignored my question and went on to say “NOW” again after scanning the apples. And “NOW” again when she put them in the bag. And then when she took my money she said “NOW SO”.  And, finally, when she bid me farewell, one last “NOW” as she waved goodbye.  Incredulous. I walked home in a complete state of total bewilderment.

Five years later I can honestly say that I’ve not succumbed to the Irish LIKE SO’s. But, as friends and family will attest, I do find myself using NOW (yes, in that tone) from time to time….and time again (it is oddly addictive)

RIGHT SO.

Slan Abhaile,

Imen

(photo courtesy of ffffound)

Tags: Adare, farmer, Irish, Irish language, Like, married, Now, slan abhaile, So, words

Born and raised on a farm in the countryside near Belfast, Trish DeSeine fell in love with France on a childhood visit.  Little did we know that she would later become a celebrated French cookery writer and television personality living in Paris. {Don’t you just love how life works sometimes?}

After 20+ years in Paris, Mme. DeSeine could be dubbed a real Parisian…but she’ll always have that warm Irish spirit and charm in her heart. I am honored to be able to share a little about about Trish and her Irish heritage with you this week.

Bon Appetit!

What was it like growing up on a farm in Ireland?

Of the three of us (I am in the middle of two brothers) I was probably the one who took most interest. I would spend many Saturday mornings with my father as he  did his weekly check on the cattle over at Belfast’s Cavehill. We helped out a bit when the hay was made, and that was great fun, but my father had an ace team of 5 burly brothers from Belfast who looked after everything. My mother was a teacher, so away during the week, but diligently cooked for any farmhands needing sustenance on Saturdays. This was nearly always mince, potatoes and carrots.  Or sometimes a pot roast or chicken and vegetable soup with barley.

Which Irish dishes do you miss…or have redesigned to be more ooh la la?

None really, you can get most ingrédients all over the world now, and happily Irish ones are pretty simple.  I do love cream and butter from home, though, and barmbrack and wheaten bread.  I certainly would not redesign Irish food. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. It’s true attraction is in its very simplicity, quality and purity. I cannot imagine destructing an Irish stew or beef in Guinness !

Are there Irish traditions or sensibilities that you get nostalgic about?

I ‘d like to be romantic and affectionate but, you see, I grew up in County Antrim, in a fiercely Unionist, Presbyterian family and community during the worst of the Troubles. Irish traditions, ie « Southern » were certainly not celebrated ! My family’s affinities leaned more towards Scotland and Great Britain. Therefore, both traditions and cultures got a bit diluted, somehow.  I studied  English in school, a Protestant Grammar school in Belfast, where only a few Irish authors and poets found their way onto the curriculum .  It’s only now that I can see how biased our upbringing was. It’s very sad, I think, that due to the violence , our entire childhood we were being prepared to « get out »  The result of this is not true nostalgia, but a type of retro-nostalgia, for an imaginary Irish childhood I would loved to have had.I always suspected people on the other side of the border were having a hell of a good time . I realise now this was absolutely true.

When I did my TV shows for RTE, this  fantasy came alive for me a little, I started to believe that the nearly unified Ireland was indeed now ALL mine, and that it embraced me right back. Now, with the situation so bad again, I’m not so sure. People  in the street or in pubs and shops are adorable when I’m in Dublin. But I was treated very shabbily by RTE Cork, despite my shows’ good ratings and that spoiled the homecoming expérience slightly.

I guess I miss the way folk would pop in unannounced, for a cup of tea and a piece of cake, and how we would call with friends in a very unceremonious way.  The Irish kitchens of my childhood always had a good stash of traybakes, scones or Victoria sandwich.

Do your children love their Irish heritage..what do they like about Ireland?

They know very little of it, having spent much more time in Scotland and London. They feel more what the French would call « Anglo Saxon »  or « from an English speaking culture » than Irish.  Hopefully we’ll have time in the future to go back and explore a little more.

Do you ever use Irish slang?

Rarely, I don’t get much of a chance in France ! But my nows and my downs with that NornOrn impossible vowel sound are still perfectly intact. My children have a slight NIrish accent in their English which is really lovely.

Any tips on acclimating to another culture?

Fall in love !

What are some of your favourite places in Ireland that you would recommend visiting?

The Hugh Lane in Dublin and the Bacon exhibit in particular. Ballyvolane House near Cork for a long lazy weekend and fantastic food .

Would you ever move back to Ireland?

No. Home is here in Paris with my children.

Luckily, even though she now calls Paris her home, we can still have her via her remarkable culinary treasures.

Trish has written a hugely popular series of illustrated cookbooks. Her most recent is “Comme Au Resto” which shows how to take the latest trends and le presentation from restaurant meals to give your own entertaining a bit of glamour without all the cheffy fuss. My favourite? “I Want Chocolate”, you will never think of chocolate in the same way again. You can find Trish’s books available worldwide on Amazon, Barnes & Noble & Easons or for more information visit her beautiful website Trish DeSeine.com

Slan Abhaile,

Imen

Tags: Ballyvolane House, Belfast, chocolate, Cork, Dublin, farmer, Hugh Lane, ireland, married, Northern Ireland, paris, RTE, Trish Deseine, Troubles

Caveat: because I grew up in the Midwest of the USA and am accustomed to such Fargo-like isms such as “ya betcha” and “pret’near”, I feel I can write about this topic in an unbiased, non-judging manner. Oh, and even poke fun a little bit.

This post sets out to help you avoid any embarrassing moments of confusion or shock when confronted with some commonly used Irish slang words or expressions while you are living in or visiting Ireland. After nearly 5 years of living here, I’ve heard so many new terms and phrases that I would venture to say that clever Irish communication style is one the of the top things Ireland has on offer. It most certainly makes my day on a regular basis!

So, without further adieu, here is Part 1, A-J, the shortlisted glossary of my favourite Irish slang words and phrases derived from both farm country and city life alike:

Ask Me Arse: (v) (rhetorical) What do you take me for.  “You need a lift to Dublin to go shopping? Ask me arse! That’s tree (3) hours away!”

Bang On: (adj) Correct. Perfectly accurate. “Ohhhh, that Tiffany key necklace is bang on sweetie. May I please have one?”

Banjaxed: (adj) Broken. Severely damaged. “Me head is totally banjaxed after last night’s (drinking) session with the lads”

Babby (n) Baby. Small Child. Name of Imen’s forthcoming babywear line. “Me ma had her first babby when she was 12 and never looked back”

Bejeebus: (expr) By Jesus. “Bejeebus! The magpies are savage round here this year!”

Black Stuff. (n) Stout. “I’ll take a pint of the black stuff and a half-pint of Bulmer’s for the lady”

The Business. (n) Something cool. “Monart Spa is the business, don’t you think sweetie? We really must get away for a weekend soon”

Call. (v) to drop by someone’s home. (usually unexpectedly). “I think I’ll just call over to Imen’s this morning, I’m sure she’ll be well prepared for guests.” {yeah right}

Craic. (n) pronounced “crack”.  Fun. “There’s great craic to be found at the pub round the corner”  {and you most likely won’t get arrested for it}

Chancer (n) Untrustworthy person.  “That aul chancer, he’d better put it right”

Cow. (n) crabby lady. “She’s a right old cow, but sure, she always goes to mass on time so she’s grand”

Da. (n) Father. Irish for father.  “Me and me Da used to go sloe picking in the fields.”

Doss (on the) (n) Failing to show up for work/school during specified hours. “I swear I wasn’t on de doss, I really did have a brain transplant yesterday!’

Dub. (adj) Someone from Dublin. “Once a Dub, always a Dub”

Eejit. (n) Person of limited mental capacity. Complete moron. “That eejit is back on Fair City again”

Fair Play. (expr) Well done. “Fair play to all of ye who finally put grit down on the icy roads!”

Fanny. (n) Female genitals. {and I don’t mean your bum} “She had on no knickers and you could see her fanny, to think!!”

Feck. (v)(n) Politically correct term for f**k.  “Oh feck! I said f**k!”

Full Shilling. (not the) (adj) Mentally challenged. “All those loud Americans…definitely not of the full shilling”

Gas. (adj) Amusing. Funny. Hilarious. “That Des Bishop sure is gas”

Give out. (v) To yell. Scream. Reprimand.  “Me mum’s giving out to me again fer wearing too much mascara and me tacky white leather boots!”

Grand. (adj) Fine. Good. “Who me? Sure, I’m grand”

Happy Out. (adj). To be content. “Just leave me at Brown Thomas for the afternoon and I’ll be happy out”

Holy Show. (v) To make a big deal out of something. “Bejeebus! he really made a holy show of things!”

Hooley.(n) Raucous celebration involving drinking and singing. “There’s a hooley on tonite at Kelly’s!”

Howaya/Hiya/Heya. (greeting). Hi. Hello. “Heya, anything strange(new)with you?”

Jacks (n) Toilet. Restroom. “Did you see the state of de jacks in there?! They couldn’t be arsed to have em cleaned” note: the term toilet is used here more so than bathroom/restroom…”I need to go to the toilet” is a very common expression or “I’m going to the loo”.

Janey Mack! (expr) Expression of utter disbelief. Wow! “Janey Mack! That See by Chloe bag would be half the price in the USA!”

Jar (n). A pint of beer or stout. “Okay so, let’s dander down to the local for a jar or two”

So that’s part one, stay tuned for part two…

Thank you for all of your emails for last week’s drawing to win Donal Skehan’s, Good Mood Food. And the winner is: Cathy Stephens of Baton Rouge, LA. USA. Congratulations!

Slan Abhaile,

Imen

Tags: Bulmers, Des Bishop, Fair City, Fargo, farmer, Good Mood Food, ireland, Irish slang, married, See by Chloe

One of my favourite things about living in Ireland is discovering exciting new people, places and things (and, of course, food!). Last week, I discovered one such remarkable person whom I am delighted to share with you all—that is, if you haven’t already heard of him. His name is Donal Skehan, a bright new star in Ireland’s culinary world and according to RTE (Ireland’s largest broadcasting network), “Ireland’s Answer to Jamie Oliver”.  Pretty impressive stuff for a 23 year-old fellow from Howth.

Donal’s book, “Good Mood Food” hit the stores in October and has been flying off the shelves ever since. Based on the blog that he started 2 years ago, Good Mood Food, is filled with delicious recipes that maybe even my husband could make (yes, that’s a hint honey). He’s young and fresh and his recipes mimic that style…healthful and light–many of which you’d think were coming from Northern California rather than Ireland. And let’s face it, sometimes on a gray, rainy Irish day it would be grand to have one of Donal’s yummy sunny recipes on hand just to put a little spring into your step.

When he’s not cooking, blogging or shooting, he’s recording music with his band, Industry, which makes him all the more fascinating. Still, the best bit about Donal is that for all the press and publicity he is an undeniably friendly guy with a genuine love for all things food (including a wonderfully quirky addiction to reading cookbooks). This lovely spirit of friendly foodie enthusiasm comes through in his book, blog…even his tweets.

Donal graciously took the time to share with me a little more about himself and his relationship with Ireland:

What was is the best thing about growing up in Ireland?

I grew up in Howth which is a fishing village 30 mins from Dublin city centre and as kids we had the run of huge green fields filled with horses behind the house, so one of my favourite things was to be lucky enough to have the freedom to spend the whole day out in the open air!  It’s only now that I really appreciate it and realise what a special thing it was.

Which Irish dishes do you love…or have you redesigned to be “good mood food”?

You can’t beat a good Irish stew and like most families, we have our own version, the recipe for which is on the blog. I also love baking Irish soda bread, it’s a flavour which tastes so distinctly like home to me.

In what ways do you support Irish farmers and producers?

I think one of the most important thing is to buy veg that is in season, Ireland produces fantastic fresh fruit and vegetables and by choosing home grown seasonal veg, we as consumers are not only helping the environment, but we end up eating more fresh food.  I actually got to visit a free range Turkey farm before Christmas and it was hugely inspiring, the birds lived a happy life, were extremely healthy and had a farmer that was incredibly passionate about what he did.  In the world we live in it’s becoming more and more important to know where our food comes, and the step by step process its goes through before ending up on our plates.

What are some Irish traditions or sensibilities that you love?

I think growing up I would always have been a little dismissive of Irish traditions, the music, the language etc, but having grown up a little more and travelled, I am so proud to be Irish and I love showing off our fantastic culture to any visitors we have!

What are your fave places in Ireland that you would recommend visiting?

In the last two years I have travelled more in Ireland than ever before and it’s been great because you get to see the amazing sights we have to offer on our doorstep.  We took a little road trip to the Burren and drive up to Galway from there and the views are just amazing.  I also went to Irish college on Achill Island in Mayo in my teens and it’s a really special place too!  Lots of good surf!  Of course I also have to mention my home village of Howth as well, it gets huge numbers of tourists right through the year, we have an amazing cliff walk which is a must see!

In your words, describe your book, Good Mood Food.

Good Mood Food is all about simple, healthy homecooking.  It’s full of really easy healthy recipes that are perfect for even those who haven’t done too much cooking before.  I like to think that I write recipes that become part of a routine, simple family meals which can be done with your eyes closed!

Donal is currently filming an episode of Market Kitchen for the BBC’s Good Food Channel which will air later this month. You can read his blog at: http://www.thegoodmoodfoodblog.com. His book, Good Mood Food is available online at http://www.mercierpress.ie/

I have decided to give one priviledged reader a copy of “Good Mood Food”. If you’re interested, please email me at imen.producer@ireland.com before Monday. I will be drawing a name and announcing the winner next week.

In the weeks to come I will be featuring more extraordinary Irish talents as well as blogging about my wee life as an Irish farmer’s wife.

Slan Abhaile,

Imen

Tags: blog, Burren, Donal Skehan, farmer, Galway, Good Mood Food, Howth, Imen McDonnell, Industry, ireland, Jamie Oliver, married, RTE

Our Dromoland Wedding – Keith Woodard Photography

The Irish Wedding. A divine specimen to behold. And to imbibe. And imbibe. Oh, and did I say imbibe? There is no leaving an Irish wedding until at least 3AM. Not even if you are the bride and groom. In fact, the bride and groom are always the last to leave. It is customary that the two lovebirds maintain their life-of-the-party-personae until every last guest has turned in or collapsed at their feet from “too much drink taken”.  And yes, wedding ceremonies usually begin early in the afternoon as in the States so it is one long, lush, lovely day in which to participate. This is particularly fresh in my mind as we attended a friend’s wedding this week in Tipperary (pronounced Tipper-RARE-ee).  And I am still recovering (2 days later).  But it was such a beautiful day; a fabulously fun-loving couple, their sentimental church ceremony that began with the Irish Uillean pipes, a lovely part of the service which was recited in Irish and a reception that took place at a hotel at the foot the dramatic Glen of Aherlow. (sidebar: I love that Ireland has glens and reeks and skrees and gorgeous folkloric topography like that).

As weddings do, we were reminded of our very own romantic Irish wedding and began feeling nostalgic. Our day, to an American girl, was the stuff that fairy tales are made up of… The ceremony took place in the most charming old church, which is said to be the finest remaining example of the “barn” church in Ireland. We borrowed Seamus, the spirited violinist from Bunratty, and he gleefully performed our chosen music. We also enlisted the help of Michelle McDermott, a brilliant wedding planner since I didn’t have much knowledge of the who’s who/what’s what here at the time. Our reception was carried out at the idyllic and distinguished Dromoland Castle in Newmarket-on-Fergus, Co Clare. When we arrived at the gates, we were greeted by two beautiful white stallions and a vintage carriage awaiting to transport us into the estate (see photo above). We meandered down a path passing by ponds and geese which eventually lead to a walled garden. I had never felt so taken away by feelings of awe and joy and love in my life as I did on that day, it was truly spectacular. (For those of you who don’t know, I should tell you that these fabulous feelings set in AFTER the actual ceremony…the before and during part is, well, you’ll find out).

Because I am American (and a former “particular” producer) we had to keep some of my traditions, however, little did I know that almost all of what I was strenuously requesting during the planning process was exclusive to weddings in the States so all of my wishes could not be granted, but still a good few were. I really wanted commercial hair and makeup for myself and my girls so we hired an editorial makeup artist from Dublin that I had read about in an Irish fashion magazine to come down and be there for the day. The hairstylist stayed on for the evening for touch ups. Very OTT for Irish standards and possibly everyone else, but I wanted to look my very best all day AND night. Also, we designed the wedding invites with a studio in the States and used a die-cut embossment of the McDonnell family crest which were produced using a combination of letterpress and engraving techniques. Die-cut embossed invites in Ireland? Again, OTT for Irish standards, but hopefully respected (jury’s still out). Here, the bride and groom to-be actually handwrite the name of each guest on the inside of the invitation on a line as shown here. I initially thought that seemed a bit slapdash, but perhaps that does add more of a personal touch.

Our meal at Dromoland may have been the best I’ve eaten in Ireland to date (really, I am not just saying that). To start, a delicate monkfish and crab velout with garlic and chives (so unforgettable that my mouth is watering writing this) followed by a gorgeous and light savory parsnip and thyme soup and after, a smooth pomegranite sorbet was offered to cleanse the palate. For the main course, a filet mignon that was so gloriously juicy and tender that you could cut it with a butterknife served with fresh organic potatoes and various roasted vegetables. Our wedding cake was round  and 4-tiered with little vintagey strands of icing creping and beading across each level. To me, it looked very timeless and classic which is exactly what I had hoped, but I had to make a serious compromise on the top tier, for when we met with the cake maker I was informed that the top is always fruit cake. What!??? How not tasty. I seriously thought she was joking (we really do make jokes about fruit cake in the States you know). But she wasn’t and R really preferred it that way too so there was no way out of it. I just could not fathom why anyone would want to eat fruitcake at a wedding.

We hired an 8-piece traditional Irish music group to start the entertainment who performed beautifully and encouraged many guests to do jigs and reels on the dance floor, the most popular being the Siege of Ennis. An example of the Siege of Ennis (or as I like to call it, the Electric Slide-Irish style) from the Tipperary wedding can be seen here. When the trad music was ended we had a deejay who creatively served up tracks until every last person left in those wee hours of the morning.

But, as any proper married American couple, R and I disappeared into the night long before that and began our life anew…..

Next week: 3 Fabulous Irish foodies-2 living in Ireland and one in Paris-and their deliciously scandalous cookbooks. And, for a few lucky food-loving readers, a free copy will be sent to you!

Slán Abhaile and Happy New Year!

Imen

Tags: bunratty, clare, cratloe, dromoland, farmer, glen of aherlow, ireland, love, marriage, siege of ennis, tipperary, wedding

Whether tis nobler to dredge or to shovel, that is the question… I am so fascinated by the fact they we, as Americans, use our eating utensils differently than almost everyone else in the world. As it was once very eloquently and matter-of-factly described to me by Riccardo, our very stylish Italian foodie friend, “You see, Americans shovel with their forks and Europeans use the dredging technique”.

Gasp. Even though the word dredge isn’t very pretty, it still sounded so much more attractive than SHOVELING. I couldn’t help but think about the hyperbole here…that Americans literally SHOVEL food into their mouths. It actually made me laugh out loud hysterically because I assumed he was making a joke when in actual fact, this is true-to-life lingo in the food/restaurant industry.  I was mortified.

Ok, so we shovel. So what. It’s taken me a lot of time to get my head around this dredging business. I remember the first time I really noticed that Richard used his utensils differently than me. And it genuinely bothered me. For some reason, in all of my previous travels abroad I hadn’t noticed how everyone was eating, but with Richard I took note and it irked me. One of those irky irks that you can’t let go. It was ridiculous of me, but I couldn’t even hold back from mentioning it one night when we were eating at Ristorante Max in Positano, one of the most charming and romantic places in the world. At the time, eating with your fork and knife, i.e. pushing food onto the back of your fork just seemed despicable to me. If you did that at our house growing up, you’d have been dismissed from the table. Alright, we weren’t worldy. If we were we’d probably be eating “Continental Style”, but we weren’t and we ate mainly with our fork only and with one hand in our lap, “American Style”. I was convinced that it must be the way everyone eats on Irish farms. Talk about ignorant. One day, after our romantic trip to Italy, I was back in the States having lunch with my gorgeous Aussie friend Vanessa, when I realized she was “dredging” as well. I asked her about it and she said everyone in Australia eats that way. Whew, it wasn’t just Irish farmers after all!  It was just me being……persnickety! (you can insert any number of expletives there, I’ve chosen to be kind to myself about it).

Now, I’d love to say that I gave it a rest after that, but it still bothered me to see Richard eating this way and for a couple of years I earnestly tried to train him off it because I really wanted Geoffrey to eat “American Style”. We’ve now struck a balance: He dredges, but onto the front of the fork. And I have begun to push food onto my fork with my knife. So now we SHREDGE and we’re even.

Do you shovel or do you dredge? I’d love to know, leave a comment below!

Mind Yourself,

Imen

P.S. As you can see, I’ve made some changes to the blog and made it into a full fledged .com site. I would like to start sharing some more of my favorite Irish tidbits with you which you will begin to find on the new pages listed on the right side. I hope you like the new look!

Tags: American, Australia, Continental, dredge, eat, farmer, foodie, fork, Irish, Italy, Positano, shovel

1. See #9.

2. Yes, it gets smelly! How could it not? From the air outside to the scent of our mud room (cleverly designed to be out of sight/smell). Farm animals create odors and that’s just a fact. Some days are better than others depending on what season it is. Somehow I’ve acclimated to this and that “fresh country air” does not affect me at all anymore. The upside? I suppose it is an improvement on polluted city air.

3. Farmers can be stylish. Richard looks just as handsome in a pair of wellies and a fleece as he does in his beautiful Burberry suit.  It’s nice to have variety in a relationship (smile).

4. Indeed, male farmers tend to be “mommas boys”. Is that so bad? I rather like it especially now that I am a mother myself.  In my experience here, all the men I’ve met who grew up on a farm consistently put their mothers/sisters/wives on a pedestal to be respected and admired through thick and thin (literally and metaphorically)

5. Of course, seclusion plays a role in living on a farm. We are miles away from the city and neighbors are a drive so things can get lonely if you’re not staying busy. On the other hand, being alone can boil you down to your very essence and drive your consciousness to another level.  It also forces us to be more creative in the parenting department which can’t be all bad.

6. Daddy farmers are the best. Despite the long hours, if you live on a farm then dad is always right there even when he’s at work. Geoffrey frequently gets to go with daddy on the tractors and to feed the animals which, in his world, is absolutely the cat’s pajamas.

7. Today, most farmers are college educated. Richard has a B.A. in philosophy and is planning to go back for an MBA. Education is absolutely necessary to be successful in farming these days. No longer are the profitable days of dairy, cattle and poultry alone; farming is a business and diversification is key.

8. Farming is extremely dangerous. This is something I hadn’t thought about before marrying a farmer. I just waxed poetically, “oh farming… how lovely….a beautiful, slow-paced, organic life…with horses to ride and a  beautiful garden” Things can get really hectic on the farm and farming accidents occur no matter how cautious a family may be. Much to my surprise, injuries and even death are a part of the work considerations for all farmers.

9. You only marry an Irish farmer for the sake of true love.

Slainte,

Imen

Tags: Burberry, daddy, farmer, horses, Irish

“Neddy McBride will be calling over tonight from up the country, [insert in hushed voice]Please God.” Please God is a common ending to many phrases here in Ireland and so I’ve been told, it has been for many, many generations. Ad infinitum. It basically just means with the help of God or for those like me who don’t fancy using such colloquialisms then “hopefully” fits the bill nicely as well.

Hopefully is a good word to describe how you get from A to B on Irish roads; namely the country roads.  Terrifyingly, nervously, horrifyingly, absolutely alertedly, shockingly, anything that sounds scary and ends in the letters “ly” as a matter of fact. First of all, as we know, these roads were not built for automobiles–and certainly not for two vehicles at all. They were roads built for carriages, rickshaws, tractors and legs. Now, of course, many new roads have been created over the years (many in the last 5 years alone), but I’d venture to guess that the stereotypical narrow country road is still what covers the most ground here in Ireland. Extremely charming, yes. The breathtaking, winding Ring of Kerry..the Lombard Street-y road down to the Dingle Peninsula (don’t do whilst in first trimester), venturing though the Wicklow mountains…in which the scenery is so gorgeous that it is essential to just meander and lose yourself in the magic of it all.

Still, day to day driving on these roads is definitely dangerous to your health. First of all, everyone drives a million miles an hour when you’d think that it might be safer to go slow because you never know when you will encounter another car and then inevitably have to stop and pull over into the hedge and let them pass or vice versa because two cars literally do not fit on the road together. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve nearly blacked-out in fear that I would be hit by a huge lorry (truck) because they generally will not stop to let you by. I also cannot tell you how many times I have just closed my eyes tight and stopped on the side of the road and when I reopened them the lorry had miraculously passed by and I was still alive, but completely shell-shocked.  On countless other occasions, I have somehow serendipitously squeezed by due to the unforeseen leeway of a driveway or a slightly wider shoulder and just barely made it though (yes, I suppose I have thought about the grace of God or some such entity having something to do with this…) I know this probably sounds really dramatic, but it is the truth.  To make matters worse, Richard has an odd habit of driving on the wrong side of the road at times (tell me again, why didn’t he move to the USA instead?) which I can’t understand and scares the living daylights out of me. It’s like a death wish as far as I am concerned. He thinks I overreact about it. Particularly when I start wailing and flailing like a baby that needs milk until he switches lanes. It doesn’t help that Geoffrey is giggling hysterically and having a blast in the back seat through it all.

I know I am a farmer’s wife, but tractors are such a nuisance on the roads. I do realize that they need to get from A to B too (and, ahem, home on time for supper with their families) but geeez do they have to get there whilst driving in front of me? The same goes for all the gigs that are out and about. It’s nearly impossible to overtake (pass) a tractor and the thought of spooking a horse pulling a cart on these roads is terrifying so you’re just stuck. For anywhere from 1-20 kilometers..or 1-30 minutes approximately. And that’s about when the crooning of John Denver comes into my head…..it never fails.

Take me home country roads…

Slainte,

Imen

Tags: Dingle Peninsula, farmer, God, ireland, Irish roads, John Denver, Lombard Street, Ring of Kerry, Wicklow