An Irish Country Cookbook

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  Table of Contents

  About the Author

  Copyright Page

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  To Maureen and Joy

  Introduction

  Hello there. Great oaks from little acorns grow and to everything there must be a start. Bear with me and I’ll explain. My name is Barry Laverty; some of you may know me from reading Patrick Taylor’s Irish Country Doctor series of books. If you do, you’ll know a remarkable woman—Maureen “Kinky” Auchinleck, lately Kincaid, née O’Hanlon, housekeeper to the redoubtable Doctor Fingal Flahertie O’Reilly, physician and surgeon, and the font of all help to the folks who live in Ballybucklebo and the surrounding townland in County Down in Northern Ireland.

  One Thursday afternoon in January 1967, after making home visits on one of Ulster’s “let’s pretend it’s Monsoon season here” days, I barged through the back door into her kitchen at Number One Main Street, rain dripping from my coat as if it were running off a spaniel after a water retrieve.

  Kinky was sitting at her table writing something. She looked up. “Tut, Doctor Laverty,” she said, shaking her head, “if it wasn’t unfair to the animal in question I’d say you looked like a drowned rat, so. Did you swim home?”

  I shrugged out of my coat. “No,” I said, moving to stand in front of the range for a bit of warmth and rubbing my hands. “But there’s a fellah in the back garden collecting up gopher wood and animals two by two. He says he’s building an ark. Name’s Noah.”

  She laughed. “Run away on with you, sir. But it surely does be coming down in sheets. Will I make you a cup of tea?”

  “I think,” I said, “you’ll save a life. Mine.”

  She put what she was working on aside, rose, and set about tea making. “I wonder if I could ask you a favour, Doctor Laverty?”

  Life was returning and my trouser legs were steaming. “Fire away.”

  She put a filled kettle on the range top. “You mind a few years back, himself, Doctor O’Reilly, asked me to give your man Patrick Taylor some traditional Irish recipes?”

  “I do.”

  “And they were published in the back of all eleven of the Irish Country books? There’s a fair wheen of them.”

  “Yes.” I wondered where this was leading.

  “Himself got to wondering aloud should I not put all that I know together in a book of my own?”

  I had to grin. “I believe that would be a splendid idea, Kinky. But what could I do for you? Sue Nolan says I’d burn water trying to boil an egg.”

  “Your fiancée is a very sensible woman but I’m not asking you to cook. I’m of the opinion,” said Kinky, pouring boiling water into the teapot, “you could do me a very great service, so.”

  I frowned. “How?”

  She emptied the pot, spooned in tea leaves, added more boiling water, and said, “We’ll let that sit until it’s well infused, then we’ll both have a cup of tea and…” she went to a cupboard, “and a slice of my orange sponge cake, and I’ll tell you what I have in mind. Sit you down, sir.”

  I did as I was told, wondering what Kinky could be thinking of.

  In moments I was clutching a cuppa, munching on a slice of her exquisite orange sponge cake—Lord, but the woman could cook—and paying close attention to what she was saying.

  “I think Doctor O’Reilly’s right,” she said, sitting opposite. “I do think I’d like to write a cookbook of my own and I do have some notions how to go about it, but I’d like your advice.”

  “I’ll try,” I said.

  She indicated a fat folder on the tabletop. “There’s at least 150 recipes in here, mine and some from my friends and an old, God rest her now, cook who used to work for the marquis.” Kinky sat back and sipped her tea.

  “That sounds like a pretty good start,” I said.

  “But,” she said, “I’d like it to be more than just recipes. I’m already getting help from a Bangor woman called Dorothy Tinman. I met her when I took some art classes. She suggested I might like to include some signature recipes from a great Irish chef, and she’s going to help me with all the conversions to North American and these newfangled metric measures and oven temperatures so anyone can use the book.”

  “Not me,” I said, “but I do understand.”

  She glanced at my now-empty plate. “Another slice?”

  “I shouldn’t, but…” If, I thought, Kinky had been in charge of feeding up the fatted calf it would have been the size of a blue whale.

  “Eat up however little much is in it,” she said, putting a slice on my plate. “Now I do think that a lot of folks in America would like to see some pictures of Ireland. It is a very lovely country, so.”

  “I believe you’re right. Pictures would add a lot,” I said. The sponge just melted in my mouth.

  “And Dorothy, who has a great soft hand under a duck when it comes to the oils, is willing to let me put in some of her paintings too.”

  “Sounds lovely,” I said, having seen and much admired the artist’s work in various art galleries in Belfast. “I’m sure recipes and illustrations would go down well. Now if seeking my advice was the favour, I hope I’ve done my duty. You go ahead, Kinky, and the best of luck.”

  “No, sir,” she said. “I haven’t quite finished.”

  I stopped a piece of cake halfway to my mouth. “What else could I possibly do?”

  “Other than me, Doctor Laverty, no one, and I think that still might include his wife, Kitty, knows himself’s practice and the people in it better than yourself.”

  I nodded.

  “I’d like it very much if you’d have a stagger at putting pen to paper yourself and giving me a clatter of yarns about your first year here as his assistant that might bring a smile.”

  “Well I…”

  “I know what it is you’re going to say, sir, that you’re no great shakes as a storyteller. You’ve always left that up to Patrick Taylor. I know for a fact he’s banging away at his keyboard doing another Country Doctor book. I doubt if he’d have the time.”

  “I’ve heard,” I said.

  “So I have a plan.”

  “Go on,” I said.

  “My Da was one of the greatest seanchies, storytellers, in all of County Cork, and he passed on the gift to me.”

  I knew. I’d heard her. She was great.

  “You just put them down through your own eyes, give them to me, and I’ll give them a wee tweak. That’s all it’ll take. And sure if they do bring smiles to the readers’ faces won’t I be giving them more than just recipes?”

  “Kinky,” I said, “I think the idea is a good one, but I’m not sure I can pull it off.”

  She tutted and grabbed my cup. “Your tea’s getting cold. I’ll pour you a fresh cup.” She trotted over to the
sink, emptied the tea, came back, and repoured. “There,” she said.

  “Thank you.”

  “Now you’ll give it a try, won’t you, sir?”

  And already I started to remember a famous occasion when O’Reilly had lost his temper with two eminent professors—to their chagrin, not his. A certain lawyer who came to grief at O’Reilly’s hands.

  “Kinky,” I said, “for you I’ll give it a go.”

  “Grand altogether,” she said, with a smile that would have chased the rain back to County Galway. “When can you give me the first?”

  And that, dear reader, is how Kinky’s cookbook got its start. It may not be a great oak like Isabella Beeton’s Book of Household Management, but the recipes are all for very tasty grub, the pictures are lovely, and, Kinky says, the craic in the stories is ninety. We all hope you enjoy the reading of it and find the recipes fun to make and delicious to eat.

  Beannacht De agat. God bless.

  Barry Laverty

  Dorothy Tinman

  Kinky Auchinleck, lately Kincaid, née O’Hanlon

  Explanation of Measurements

  This book uses U.S. and metric measurements. In any recipe please use the same units throughout. Do not mix U.S. and metric.

  All spoon measurements are level: a teaspoon is 5 ml and a tablespoon is 15 ml.

  I have not used cups to measure because a cup of one ingredient will not necessarily measure the same as a cup of something else. It also depends on how tightly the cup is packed. Measuring by weight is more accurate than measuring by volume.

  All eggs used are large.

  All butter used is either salted or unsalted, unless otherwise noted. Where it would make a difference the type to be used will be specified. A knob of butter will be about a teaspoon and is usually the amount that it takes to grease a casserole or baking pan.

  Individual vegetables, such as onions and potatoes, are assumed to be about 8 ounces or 227 grams.

  However, here is a table of equivalent dry measurements for some common ingredients used in the recipes.

  TABLE OF DRY MEASUREMENTS

  CUP

  OZ

  G

  BREAD CRUMBS, DRY

  1

  4

  113

  BREAD CRUMBS, FRESH

  1

  1½

  42.5

  BUTTER, 1 STICK

  ½

  4

  113

  CHEESE, GRATED, CHEDDAR

  1

  4

  113

  CHEESE, GRATED, PARMESAN

  1

  3½

  100

  FLOUR, ALL-PURPOSE

  1

  4½

  127

  FLOUR, SELF-RISING

  1

  4

  113

  FLOUR, WHOLE-WHEAT

  1

  4

  113

  OATS

  1

  3½

  100

  RICE, LONG-GRAIN, DRY

  1

  7

  200

  SUGAR, CONFECTIONERS’

  1

  4

  113

  SUGAR, DEMERARA

  1

  7¾

  220

  SUGAR, GRANULATED

  1

  7

  200

  LIQUID MEASUREMENTS

  U.S. FLUID OUNCES

  MILLILITERS

  2

  60

  5

  147

  10

  295

  15

  440

  20

  590

  Temperature Chart

  This chart shows the approximate temperatures between electric and gas ovens. You can see the conversions are really quite simple, as Celsius temperatures are approximately half of the Fahrenheit value. For fan-assisted and convection ovens, the temperature should be set a little lower and the cooking time reduced. Your manufacturer’s handbook will give guidance on this.

  Cooking times may vary according to the particular oven and are an approximate guide only.

  FAHRENHEIT

  CELSIUS

  GAS MARK

  DESCRIPTION

  225

  110

  ¼

  extremely cool

  250

  130

  ½

  very cool

  275

  140

  1

  cool

  300

  150

  2

  cool

  325

  170

  3

  very moderate

  350

  180

  4

  moderate

  375

  190

  5

  moderately hot

  400

  200

  6

  moderately hot

  425

  220

  7

  hot

  450

  230

  8

  hot

  475

  240

  9

  extremely hot

  STARTERS

  Soups

  In the wintertime when Doctor O’Reilly was going duck shooting down to Strangford Lough, he liked to take a flask of soup with him, usually some hard-boiled or Scotch eggs, and a good chunk of bread and some cheddar cheese. He said that being out on a cold, frosty morning waiting for the dawn and the ducks of course gave him a great appetite. Sure isn’t it grand but I never found his appetite to be anything but insatiable.

  Real chicken stock is something that a reasonably good cook is likely to have at hand or in the freezer. If you boil a chicken to cook it then what you have left is real chicken stock. People also cook chicken carcasses to make stock.

  However, stock cubes or powder are as good a substitute and make for a quick tasty soup.

  This is one of his favourites:

  Creamy Chicken Soup

  Serves 4

  1 Tbsp butter

  1 Tbsp oil

  1 medium, boneless chicken breast, diced, skin removed

  1 large onion, chopped

  1 large potato, peeled and chopped

  20 oz/590 ml chicken stock (you can use stock cubes)

  10 oz/295 ml milk

  Salt and freshly ground black pepper

  Heavy cream

  Finely chopped fresh parsley

  Melt the butter with the oil in a large saucepan and sauté the pieces of chicken, turning frequently to lightly brown them on all sides. Remove the chicken from the pan and set aside. Now add the onion and potato to the pan and stir gently over a very low heat to prevent sticking. Cover with a piece of parchment paper and the pan lid. Continue to sweat gently for about 10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the onion is translucent and the potato has softened. Discard the parchment.

  Return the chicken to the pan, add the stock, and bring back to the boil. Continue to simmer gently for about 30 minutes. Allow to cool slightly, add the milk, and season with salt and pepper. Liquidise the soup using an immersion blender or food processor. Serve with a little swirl of cream and some parsley.

  Kinky’s Note:

  Covering the vegetables with parchment paper and cooking very gently creates steam and is called “sweating.” This enables the maximum amount of moisture and flavour to be extracted.

  Pea and Ham Soup

  Serves 4 to 6

  1 lb 2 oz/500 g dried peas

  1 large onion, peeled

  10 whole cloves

  1 ham bone, plus 6 oz/170 g diced cooked ham

  48 oz/1.4 L ham stock or vegetable stock cubes

  2 or 3 bay leaves

  Salt and freshly ground black pepper

  Chopped fresh parsley

  Heavy cream

  Soak the peas overnight in cold water. The next day drain them and place them in a large saucepan. Stud the onion with the cloves
and add it to the pan, along with the ham bone, stock, and bay leaves. Bring to the boil. As the peas come to the boil, a scum will come to the surface so just skim and discard this. Leave to boil for about an hour, by which time the peas should be soft.

  Remove the bone, onion, and bay leaves and liquidise the remainder with a blender or food processor. Taste before seasoning with salt, as the ham stock may be quite salty. Add the freshly ground black pepper, diced ham, parsley, and a generous swirl of cream to the soup before serving.

  Jerusalem Artichoke Soup

  with Croutons

  Jerusalem artichokes, also called sunchokes, are a much-neglected winter vegetable. They are very easy to grow, so easy in fact that if you are planning to try, just remember that they are also a very invasive plant. The tubers grow like potatoes underground and if you don’t manage to dig them all up they will multiply and come back again with a vengeance the following season. They were introduced to Europe in the seventeenth century by the French explorer Samuel de Champlain, who discovered them growing in Cape Cod.

  Jerusalem artichokes are a member of the sunflower family and, like their flower relations, also grow very tall. The name is thought to have been a corruption of the word girasol which means “sunflower” in Italian. They look like knobbly potatoes and are not easy to peel. However, if they are fresh and firm without too many knobs and bumps, you may only need to give them a good brushing in cold water to clean them.