by Therese de Grace
In my early 20’s I was lucky enough to live in Ireland, it ended up being a fantastic career move but I won’t lie to you I chased a boy there and my quest landed me in a tiny half ass Hamlet of a town. Straffan was about an hour away from Dublin City and the surroundings consisted of two churches, two pubs and a gas station that doubled as a corner store that seemed to sell nothing but beer and cigarettes that could be purchase at either of the two pubs. After moving into a time warp that smelled like Guinness and stale cigarettes I was put into a state of what only could be described as North American Panic: the bank was two towns away and only open every second Thursday from 10-4. The only way to get to the bank was the local town bus that had no schedule so you waited in hopes that it could possibly arrive even though some days it just didn’t. No one accepted interac as a payment but it was acceptable to write cheques, which was awesome but cheques generally took three months to arrive if you could possibly get to the bank every second Thursday in the small amount of time the bank was open, if the bus came and you weren’t working and the bank manager was around as she was the only one who could process a request of that nature.

My neighbours thought I was a true American slut (I told them I was a Canadian slut but they wouldn’t listen) living in sin with my boyfriend and I could get nosey neighbours to scatter in an instant when I mentioned that my parents were divorced as it wasn’t legal there at the time.

After I got my head around the fact that the humidity would forever make my hair look like a Chia Pet, and that the locals would think of me as “fecked in the head” because I was a vegetarian I started to have the time of my life. As soon as I understood the game and ditched my boyfriend I became the mysterious foreigner and a hot commodity. You see, it was all about “keeping warm”, drinking loads (even at lunch , if you could work no one cared if you were hammered), chain smoking, eating the most delicious deep fried food and having a good time and since Irish people are some of the friendliest and nicest people I have ever met it was easy to make friends. learned swear words like “Gobb shite”, got arrested for drunken disorderly for the first and only time in my life and deflowered a lovely rosy cheeked bloak named Aidan.

Then there was the food. I worked at a Michelin Star hotel which served food that was the epitome of perfection but my fondest memories are of the toasties, pub grub and warm fresh bread made from real butter that was almost orange it was so filled with goodness. My favourite Ireland find was the Irish Soda Bread receipe below, it is like cake/bread/sex and simple perfection all rolled into one and it smells like heaven.

The Best Irish Soda Bread

You will require the following ingredients:

3 cups of all purpose flour (plus a bit extra for kneading)
1 and ½ cups of whole wheat flour
1 and 1/3 cups of oats
2 and ½ teaspoons of baking soda
1/3 of a cup of granulated sugar
6 tablespoons of cold unsalted butter cut into 1 x 1 cubes
2 and ¼ cups of buttermilk

Method:

Preheat your oven to 375 degrees. Combine all dry ingredients together using your hands until the mixture resembles coarse meal. Pour your milk into your dry mixture and mix lightly, turn mixture onto a floured surface, knead the dough for 2 minutes, divide dough into two balls and score the top of each loaf with a knife. Bake for 45 minutes to 1 hour or until a skewer comes out of each loaf without any residual dough.

Allow to cool for at least 20 minutes before cutting.

Chef’s tip: This bread is wonderful for up to three days, you can also add cranberries and walnuts to turn this bread into a breakfast loaf.