Irish Pub

Last night, Kate, Steven, and I went to the pub around the corner for a pint of Guinness. And when I say around the corner, I mean walking through the fields 20 minutes on back roads (though really we drove there and walked back).

I had my first pint of Guinness ever in a Irish bar, where older men congregated to talk about their days with the graying man behind the bar. Steven (Kate's new boarder), Kate, and I sat in the corner to drink the dark bitter beer (with a aftertaste similar to that of coffee) that Kate bought. (Pictures will follow as Kate was insistent that my first Guinness be documented)

I was outmatched when it came to drinking beer, as both Kate and Steven soon downed one pint and started on their seconds. But the memorable point of the evening was not having Kate tease me about being a lightweight, but rather the lively debate on philosophy and religion that was tossed back and forth between a man who was skeptical of evolution and a woman who doesn't trust organized religions (I do admit that at certain point I was afraid that one or the other might reach the tipping point to anger; fortunately, this did not occur).

In the end, it was a notable Irish experience, and I'm glad I waited to have my first pint of Guinness in here.
Sláinte! (To your health!) 

A thought

There is this moment where you reflexively reach for the camera. But something stops you--a heaviness in the chest, a tightening at the back of the throat, a tickle behind the eye--and you realise that any picture resulting from this moment could not hope to capture the elusive quality that makes it so... unique. A pixelated representation would only detract from the originality; would dull the memory that you would be seeking to remember.

So you breathe deeply, each breath deeper then the last, thinking that somehow if you only breathe deeply enough you might breathe in the moment--the view, the taste, the smell, the perfection that lives only in that moment.

And then, as quickly as it dawned upon you, it leaves you. The light leaves, the smells mute, you are pulled back to a reality where the sweatshirt on your back leaves you just a tad bit too warm.

And you can never go back.

No medium could ever capture what it was, so you are left with regret. And a calming bath of contentment comes from knowing that if you had tried to duplicate it you would have ruined it completely.

In the Kitchen

Good news for those of you who waited with bated breath to find out how my apple pie was... it was a success. I even got to participate in Irish hospitality when two neighbors dropped by and were invited to partake of tea and and pie, which they polished off pretty quickly, if I may say so myself.


A little tip for those Americans who are looking for another way to eat their pie without ice cream: here one of the ways to eat pie is with a dollop of Greek yogurt. Kate put a dollop of 10% Greek yogurt on a piece of pie, which I have actually found I enjoy more than the ice cream. It complements the apple pie without being too sweet.

I have been spending a lot of time in the kitchen as Kate's been busy at work (her other job in the city). Below are two of the recipes that I've been fooling around with. Warning, these are not professional recipes, so be cautious if you do attempt to try them out.

Variation on Fiona's Simple Lentil Shepard's Pie (Vegetarian)

Note: Fiona is one of the moms who visited Kate this past weekend, and I really liked her version of a vegetarian Shepard's pie. I tried to remake it and this is what I created.
(Serves 6)

1 cup lentils
1/2 can plum tomatoes in tomato juice (can is 15 oz.)
1 medium onion
1 cup vegetable stock (or one cube of vegetable stock dissolved in 1 cup boiling water)
8 medium potatoes
1/2 cup cream
tablespoon of butter
mild cheddar cheese (optional)

Preheat oven to 375 degrees F (190 degrees C).
Rinse lentils. Bring about 2 cups of water to boil and add lentils. Simmer for 20 minutes.
Add plum tomatoes, tomato juice, onion, and vegetable stock. Simmer until lentils and onions are tender and mixture is not too runny. Salt and pepper to taste. Spoon heated mixture into casserole dish.
Make mashed potatoes with potatoes, cream, and butter (Boil potatoes until tender. Mash with a little bit of water, cream, and butter.  Salt to taste.) Smooth mashed potatoes over lentil mixture.
Add grated cheese to cover mashed potatoes. Bake for 15-25 minutes or until cheese is melted (or if you made it without cheese, until potatoes start to brown).

Simple Zucchini Tomato Cream Curry with Vegetable Rice and Feta Cheese

Note: This was really good made with fresh zucchini (called courgettes here in Ireland) which Kate and I got from the garden. The dairy here is also produced locally (there is a Wexford brand that boasts that you are never farther than 10km from the farm where your milk originated), so the cream was especially nice as well.
(Serves 1-2)

1 medium Zucchini
1/2 can of plum tomatoes in tomato juice (can is 15 oz.)
1/2 cup cream
mild curry spices/powder
1 cup brown rice
1 cup vegetable stock (or one cube of vegetable stock dissolved in 1 cup boiling water)
feta cheese

This is the garden where I got the zucchini.

Saute brown rice in olive oil for 1-2 minutes. Add 3 cups water and 1 cup vegetable stock. Bring to boil then simmer until rice is tender (add water until then, but be careful because you don't want to end up with runny rice).
Saute sliced zucchini in olive oil. Add tomatoes and tomato juice. Simmer until zucchini are tender. Add cream and curry spices to taste.
Serve rice, covered with curry, topped with feta cheese.

Fresh Apple Pie

It's fall in Ireland. And that means that the leaves that were green when I arrived two and a half weeks ago are either a bright yellow or a dirt brown and they are starting to fall on the ground. The days are also getting damper, the morning dew lasts till about 9 am, when it becomes a drizzle. On a good day we get a  couple of hours of sunshine in the early afternoon. They are saying that we might get some snow as soon as October.
But I don't mind this weather. Compared to the bleak winters of Ohio, this is a piece of pie.

Speaking of pie, I made one this afternoon. Ask anyone who has ever picked apples from apple trees knows, apples are harvested in the fall. And while there are many uses for these apples (cider, crisps, alcohol, etc.) my favorite still remains apple pie. I harvested the apples from Kate's trees a couple of days ago, and today I took a couple of hours to peel, cut, and sugar some apples for the pie. It was an interesting experiece as for the first time in my life I made an apple pie without a specific recipe. This is because not only is Kate's recipe book collection lacking, but she doesn't seem to have any measuring utensils.

This morning I pulled on a pair of Wellies over my socks to keep my toes dry on my walk with Chica. And tonight, when I get back from an afternoon walk to Tintern Abbey with her, I expect to enjoy a slice of apple pie and ice cream. Hope the weather is fine wherever you are, and if it's not, then I hope that your taking proper advantage of the weather to bake something nice.

Shaking up the Routine

It is weird to think that I've been in Ireland for over two weeks. Even through when I got here I never thought that it would become routine, I've found that my days on the farm has fallen in to a facsimile of a routine. It is time to shake up the routine, and find a new one.

This trip wasn't about finding routine, it was almost about avoiding it (at least in the form of a 9 to 5 job). I wasn't ready for routine, instead I wanted adventure. And though I'm a bit nervous about my new hosts in Ireland, I recognize that every time I change hosts I'm bound to be nervous (and as far as being wary of strangers when I stay in their houses, nervousness is good).

Tomorrow, I start packing my newly laundered clothes up in my backpack, adding the bits of things that I've picked up from my time in Co. Wexford.

Sigh

...of relief? ...at the silence?

All I know is that the kids are gone, my feet are propped up, and I have a cold beer in my hand... and a jar of Nutella that I am eating with my fingers.

Life, right now, is good.

Chica's Birthday Weekend

Up until a couple of months ago I hadn't babysat since I was 18. The last summer before college I spent babysitting a young boy in the neighborhood. But I stopped working that job before the summer was over because the stress of working, packing for college, seeing my mother move to Omaha, and saying good-bye to all my friends was a bit to much for my emotional health (this was also the summer that the vague "anxiety disorder" made itself known).

And although many of my friends in college took babysitting jobs to make a little extra money to fund late night hang outs (read: beer runs), I decided that I would rather work part-time for the school (in the Alumni office and in the school cafeteria, as well as notetaking with the Diabilities office for awhile).

To make a couple of extra bucks towards this trip over the summer, I worked as a nanny. For 4 weeks I worked 8:30 to 4:30 with two young boys, aged 18 months and 3 years. And for 2 and half weeks after that I worked part-time for 3 kids, ages 6, 11, and 15.

Let me tell you working with kids is no picnic (not that you parents out there aren't aware of this already) . It also makes me think about how far I've come from being a kid. Though I would hesitate to label myself "grown-up" (I still sneak cookies, refuse to clean my room, and wonder what I'm going to be when I "grow-up"), I would also like to think that I'm no longer a kid. And it is not just because I no longer have a bedtime (though it gets harder and harder to stay up pass midnight when I have to be up and outside working at 8).

And you might be saying to yourself, Interesting, but what does this have to do with Ireland or your trip, Elaine? (Well, maybe you aren't saying Interesting, but my train of thought started with the summer before college, so you'll just have to bear with me.)

For the past three days I have spent most of my time around Irish kids aged 3 to about 16. There were 17 of them over at Kate's house this weekend to celebrate Chica's brithday, because although Kate doesn't have children of her own, she is aunt or honorary aunt to countless kids. These kids ranged from the family of a young boy and twin girls who biked down the lane from the house across the fields for the afternoon yesterday to the 4 year old triplet boys who drove down from beyond Dublin (about 3 hours away) late Friday night and who are still here as I write this.

There are times when they drive me crazy, with their noise and crying and messes. And then there are other times when we build block towers as tall as they are, and I can't help but laugh as they knock them down. I alternate between thinking that kids are the best playmates in the world to wondering why anyone would ever have kids in the first place (though, Mom and Dad, I am eternally grateful that you decided to!).

The minor difference between the kids here and the kids at home are questions like "Are you from America? I've heard people talk like you on TV" and  "Do you live close to the White House? Have you met the President?"

I think the major difference between the kids here this weekend and the kid I was is not their lilting accents (which might actually make them cuter then any kids I've met before), but their view on the world. I don't remember when I realized that there was a world beyond my little universe, but I think it came later in life. The kids here are exposed to American and Australian TV. And they are taught the histories of other countries in school (not the history of the UK, but that is a whole other blog post). And they go to Europe for school breaks. And some of their parents aren't Irish. And it is sort of understood that when they finish school they will look for a job in Australia, or England, or the States, because there aren't very many jobs here.
They know from a very early age that the world is much bigger than Ireland.

I first went out of the United States when I was 11. And then my view of the world expanded that much more. But these kids are not even 10, and their worlds are only slightly smaller than mine. At one point this weekend, I was called on by a child named Sara (age 11) to show her where Ethiopia was on a map. and I noticed a nine year old girl was reading a book on Frida Kahlo de Rivera. I'm ashamed to admit that I didn't even care where Ethiopia was until I was in 8th grade, and was required by Human Geography to memorize the countries in Africa on a map. And I don't remember recognizing Frida until a library trip that same year.

So, Elaine, what is your conclusion and what does it have to do with Ireland and your trip?

My conclusion is that people in Ireland, not just kids, are aware of the world in a way that I only recently started to develop. And part of this trip is figuring out just what my perspective of the world is and my place in it. So maybe, with its broad perspectives on the world, Ireland was a good place to start.