The article in the in-flight magazine made “The Gathering” sound like a cross between a cultish ritual and a shameless money-making scheme. (Although that pre-supposes that there’s generally a difference between the two.) In fact, I was informed by the Irish friends I was visiting in Dublin over Easter, the gathering is a series of events celebrating Irish culture and traditions, designed to welcome those with Irish ancestry (and those without) to the country to – well – gather. It’s not, as the pictures of forests with red-haired outdoorsy-looking women suggested, an Irish Wicca convention. Although the money-making part might not be far from the truth – the article I read went as far as to say “we’re hoping for lots of rich American tourists!” or words to that effect. (I guess I did my bit then – I brought one. Well, he’s American – I’m not sure he counts as rich.)
So we did as we were told and gathered in Ireland: one red-haired English woman (I’m frequently mistaken for Irish, though) and one American with Irish ancestry went in search of their inner Irish. And of course, food was on the itinerary…
Our first stop was for brunch on our way to Wicklow national park. We needed Urbun’s sustenance to prepare us for a hike up one of Wicklow’s more sugarloaf-y mountains. Appropriately, it came in the form of banana loaf, toasted and served with berry butter (which is teatime joy, believe me) and cream. The others had scrambled eggs, too, while I ate my eggs boiled with local smoked trout. It was all organically splendid.
Evening took us to Dublin proper, where we checked out the area to the west of Grafton Street that seemed to be thronged with bars and restaurants. Dinner was at Pichet, co-owned by Nick Munier who is (as I understand) one half of the Masterchef Ireland duo, the other half of which is Dylan McGrath, who enters the story later. Pichet was warm, sophisticated but not pretentious, and full of genuinely decent food. My starter of rabbit rillettes with pickled vegetables and carrot puree was nothing short of perfection. In comparison, my main course was a little disappointing: the black pudding “crust” on my cod came out as a soft square, leaving the dish without the bite it needed. But not to worry – I skipped dessert in favour of a cocktail, simply because it had about three of my favourite liquid ingredients in it: Lillet Blanc, St Germain and lemon juice. Not only that but it came in my favourite kind of glass, and I am weirdly particular about glasses…
After dinner, we found ourselves on a bit of a bar crawl (with local joints the Globe and the Stag’s Head scoring highly) before popping into McGrath’s popular Fade Street Social for a nightcap. We’d actually tried to book a table there earlier, but it was full – the menu sang foodie opera to me, however, so next time I’m in Dublin I’ll be making a point to book FSS early.
The only downer on the trip was my first experience of “Dublin coddle” in a pub just off the main drag. Despite having about the cutest name in cooking, this coddle looked like what would happen if babies puked up tinned sausages. And then sneezed on them. I won’t go on in case you have a hangover. I’ve subsequently googled the dish, however, and other versions look considerably more appetizing, so I think I just had a bad experience. That’ll teach me for not doing my research…
The rest of the day went by in something of a whiskey-Guinness haze after a trip to the Jameson distillery and a couple of drinks on Temple Bar while listening to some live folk music. You couldn’t get much more cliché than that, could you?
Our weekend of “gathering” over, I looked back and wondered if we’d fulfilled the higher purpose of the Irish tourist board. Sure, we’d spent a bit of money, but we hadn’t exactly been spreading the word. So I thought I’d write this blog post instead: next time you have a free weekend, hop over to Ireland, try some of the local fare, and enjoy the craic.
