I first visited Ireland with a college girlfriend and we hitchhiked and wild-camped our way around the coast from Waterford to Galway one damp midsummer, while I tried and failed to control her newly-revealed kleptomania on our daily shopping expeditions for campfire food.
Years later, it was dumb luck (literally) that first got Sabrina to Ireland. We’d booked airline tickets to meet up with friends for some late season, high altitude skiing in the Sierra Madre. At check-in we discovered to our horror that the Spanish government had just changed the visa rules for Australian Passport holders and Sabrina couldn’t board the plane!
Where else could we go at no notice, which had sufficiently cold weather for the clothes we’d packed? Ireland suggested our travel agent and quickly re-booked us to Dublin before we could demur. Storing our skis at the airport we took the flight to a frigid, rain-soaked Dublin where the locals sniggered at our garishly bright ski anoraks, which we quickly shed for something dun-coloured to blend in.
We were staying at the wrong Georgian pile on St Stephen’s Green, but did partake of the legendary and ferociously expensive afternoon tea, at The Shelbourne hotel. Heading west the following day towards Galway the downpour abruptly stopped and the clouds miraculously parted as we approached Clifden in Connemara.
Meandering our way northwards into County Sligo, we crossed the Slieve Ox mountains and spent the next few days staying in stately but incredibly friendly family-run Georgian country house hotels by night and sheltering in quaint little pubs and bars by day. We spent an unforgettable lunchtime at the tiny thatched Beach Bar in Templeboy. Sheltering under the lee of its thatch at the back of the pub, we ate huge bowls of warming clam chowder and enjoyed the best Guinness of the trip, as we watched our daughter play on the sands while the Atlantic breakers rolled in.
What a gloriously serendipitous week it was, proving if there was ever any doubt that some of the best travel experiences can unfold from distinctly unpromising turns of events.
One parallel I can draw with our aborted ski trip, where the very mountain air always seems to create huge carb-heavy cravings, is that we ate copiously and without restraint. A side dish we often encountered that wouldn’t look out of place at a high altitude ski refuge was Colcannon, that gloriously rich Irish mash of potatoes, cabbage and loads of Irish butter or cream- the perfect chilly weather antidote.
Grilled Lamb Chops with Colcannon: Serves Three
This dish reminds me a lot of Aligot, from the mountainous Auvergne region, which Marco and I explored on a French road trip a while back. It’s perfect for when you’re in the mood for something really filling, so I like to add cheese to it to make it even richer.
1 rack of lamb, cut into 4
1 & 1/2 lbs potatoes, peeled and cut into quarters
1/2 head Savoy cabbage, cored and thickly shredded across the grain
8 oz Gouda, shredded
1 medium onion, halved and sliced
Boil the potatoes in lots of salted water. Meanwhile heat a skillet with 2 tablespoons of oil, add the onions, cook until translucent, add the cabbage, cook until the cabbage is done; season with salt and freshly ground pepper, set aside. When the potatoes are done, drain and mash. Add 1 tablespoon of butter and enough milk to make it light and fluffy. Add the cheese and stir vigorously until the cheese has melted. Add the cabbage mixture, stir to combine, taste to see if you need to adjust the seasoning. Heat an ovenproof fry pan, add 1 tablespoon of oil, add the chops and brown on both sides, put in a preheated 400ºf oven for 10-12 minutes or to the “doneness” of your choice. Remove from the oven and rest for a few minutes while you reheat the Colcannon.
Sounds like a great trip. Nothing like a carved pint of Guinness and as for the Colcannon, just sublime. Haven't had it for years so cooked it last night and it still is. Thanks for the memories.
Wow, never tried colcannon. Sounds delicious. Inspired to try it now!