Irish adven­tures come to an end

We ven­tured a tiny ways afield, to Jer­point Abbey near Thomas­town, and it is worth a vis­it. Mas­sive Goth­ic church and the ruins of a refec­to­ry, shin­ing in the sun­light. So odd to have huge lor­ries rum­bling by and shout­ing work­men com­mis­er­at­ing over their lunch­es near­by, with the incred­i­ble still­ness of the stone ruins all around us. Every once in awhile we came upon a small carved detail that brought to mind the real peo­ple who slaved over the con­struc­tion, and the real monks who walked around the lawns with their hands tucked in their sleeves, think­ing unworld­ly thoughts. And there was a kit­ten! Avery and I com­plete­ly lost our heads, trot­ting after it with out­stretched hands until it slith­ered under an off-lim­its door­way and was gone. An abbey kit­ten. We came away with Mon­u­ments in the Past: Pho­tographs 1860–1936, and pored over the images of Vic­to­ri­an ladies pick­ing their dain­ty way over cas­tle ruins, hold­ing up their skirts, as we had a love­ly lunch in the Water­gar­den Cafe in Thomas­town, a lit­tle tea­room ded­i­cat­ed to help­ing men­tal­ly and phys­i­cal­ly hand­i­capped peo­ple in the near­by towns. Drop in when you’ve vis­it­ed the abbey and have their salmon dip, or the toma­to and six bean hum­mous. Deli­cious and inexpensive.

Avery paid for her front-seat priv­i­leges by hav­ing to open and close the gates for us every time we left the Cas­tle! And look at this amaz­ing grave­stone we dis­cov­ered in a near­by ceme­tery: why do you sup­pose some­one from OUR cas­tle was buried across the road and quite a dis­tance away from his own grounds? I had an idea that the Irish Land­mark Trust made a mis­take, and that the real Clo­man­tagh Cas­tle was the struc­ture under scaf­fold­ing that loomed over the ceme­tery, not the one we were stay­ing in. Could that be true? Or is the Clo­man­to buried in the oth­er ceme­tery a rogue cousin? A mys­tery to solve.

Final­ly it was our last day, one more cosy warm din­ner around the Stan­ley stove, a few more games of Soli­taire (a very clever way to help your Form VI daugh­ter prac­tice her maths with­out real­is­ing it) and we packed up. How do the books we bring with us seem to mul­ti­ply as we trav­el? And mounds of filthy clothes, spat­tered about the ankles with mud, sleeves cov­ered in horsey spit from our strolls in the coun­try­side and grass from where Avery rolled around at the abbey, and mine with cook­ing spills from a kitchen with no apron. And we were off to catch the fer­ry back home, leav­ing the Cas­tle behind in the pre-dawn mist. Thanks, Ire­land, for a fab­u­lous adventure.

Have you ever lain awake won­der­ing what to do with your left­over cream of mush­room soup? I did­n’t think so, but as it hap­pens, I have, and here is my best effort. It all start­ed with the mush­room soup I had in Thomas­town, which was deli­cious but made me want to make my own, with a dash of white wine, so I did. Only… no hand blender, which is just about the only kitchen tool I own that breaks the Lau­rie Col­win rule, “one must not have any imple­ment in the kitchen that can do only one thing.” I thought I could not live with­out my hand blender, but it turns out that with a lit­tle assid­u­ous chop­ping, I could. The soup was love­ly, but the chick­en dish that fol­lowed was tru­ly sub­lime, and won the John and Avery “Best Din­ner of the Hol­i­day” award, and you know how tough the com­pe­ti­tion can be for THAT.

Cream of Mush­room Soup
(serves two, plus leftovers)

1 pound but­ton mush­rooms (or baby porta­bel­lo), fine­ly chopped
2 tbsps butter
3 cloves gar­lic, minced
1 small white onion, minced
1/2 cup white wine
1 1/2 cups beef stock (from a cube worked fine)
1/2 cup cream
pinch dried thyme leaves
salt and pep­per to taste

Melt but­ter in a heavy stock­pot and add mush­rooms, gar­lic and onion, saute till all are soft. Pour over wine and stock and sim­mer until mush­rooms are very soft, then add cream and sea­son­ings and sim­mer until reduced to a nice soup tex­ture. Serve with toast soldiers.

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Creamy Mush­room Chick­en Breasts
(serves four)

4 chick­en breast fil­lets, well-trimmed
2 tbsps butter
2 cloves gar­lic, sliced thin
6 large mush­rooms, sliced thick
left­over mush­room soup
1/2 cup cream

Saute the gar­lic and mush­rooms in the but­ter in a heavy skil­let until slight­ly caramelised and push to the sides of the skil­let. Lay chick­en breasts in skil­let and cook on each side until slight­ly browned, then pour left­over mush­room soup over, and cov­er the skil­let. Cook over low heat, turn­ing occa­sion­al­ly and bast­ing with the soup. When chick­en is cooked, removed breasts to a warm plat­ter, turn up the heat (or on a Stan­ley, lift the burn­er lid and use the hot burn­er!) and add cream. Stir sauce until it’s reduced to the con­sis­ten­cy you want, put the chick­en back in to warm, and serve with mashed pota­toes and sauteed mixed red pep­pers, aspara­gus and sug­ar snap peas. Lovely!