Please forgive me for leaving you dangling with a dozen Gooseberry Jam Doughnuts for far too long.  I was hoping praying the jammy delights might be special enough to linger on while we ventured off-farm for a spell, so thanks for hanging in there. I’ve missed you!

After much ado, the farmers and I were finally able to hatch a plan to trek off on our annual whirlwind Stateside tour. We spent three weeks visiting family and friends, three farms + a sugar bush, two cherry orchards, a cidery, one fish boil, one drive-in cinema, a state fair, the sandy beach, a friendly film editor, and basically all things Americana. I managed to keep up with my weekly column for Irish Country Living, but wanted to wait until we were homebound to write a proper blog post.

We are now back at the farm and I am experiencing my “re-entry syndrome” which is basically what I like to call the stealth combination of massive jetlag + a heady cold/flu.  The bad news is that for whatever reason, it never fails to strike after spending a few hot summer weeks in the USA (despite coming home to mostly sunny Irish weather this time), but the bonus is that it always ends up also being a major detoxification which I like to think makes up for being a complete glutton a somewhat overindulgent holiday.

In between popping copious amounts of cold tablets, slamming Berocca by the litre, and sleeping for long stretches, I decided to read a book that I had been dying to dig into ever since my book proposal was “politely passed on” by Berkely, the publishing house who was already releasing Rurally Screwed, My Life Off the Grid with the Cowboy I Love, by Jessie Knadler. Rurally Screwed is a tale of a woman who left her journalism career in NYC to marry a cowboy that she meets on assignment in Montana. I devoured the book over the course of two days, and particularly enjoyed her frankness and honesty on adapting to a new life outside of the city, which now included rearing chickens, bible study, a wood-fired stove for heating, and Wa-Wa-Walmart. I chuckled at the irony in her visit to Brooklyn years later to find that so many cityfolk had morphed into hipster-style countryfolk . She didn’t realize that “farming” had become foxy. This is likely because when you really are farming, it’s anything but. It’s not a cookbook, but a memoir (she also has a preserving book), still, reading about deer (venison) neck tacos and her take on balancing the right amount lemony goo to pastry for lemon bars will surely make your mouth water.

That’s it for now, I will be back soon with a special new recipe that I’ve been dreaming up for some time…..it involves a different take on a classic Irish cake + some farm fresh homemade ice cream, so please stay tuned.

Slan Abhaile,

Imen

Photos by Imen McDonnell

Tags: American, farm, farmette, Farming, foodie, I Married An Irish Farmer, Imen McDonnell, Irish, Irish country living, irish food, Irish food photography, rurally screwed

“You can’t grow hairs on a duck egg,

Hairs only grow on an ape,

And it’s only the hairs on a goosegog,

That stop it from being a grape.”

~author unknown

As I patiently plucked goosegog after goosegog last weekend, I contemplated how deceptively ‘like grapes’ these little fruits appear to be. But, after popping one little globe into my mouth, while simultaneously hearing “Oh, you may not want to eat them raw” warned from behind me at precisely the same time, I realized in a bite, how absolutely ‘not like a grape’ and more like a lemon, they are…..{Cook’s Note: gooseberries are very sour and tart when eaten raw. There are some exceptions to this, but it is generally the rule.}

Yes, the glory of gooseberry season has arrived in the Irish countryside. I have been patiently waiting for harvest time since peeking in on the bushes last month to find that they were all beginning to produce berries. When there was finally a window of sunshine, Geoffrey and I quickly marched straight on over to the little farm orchard and harvested green and red gooseberries with Gran from six thriving bushes.

This is my third year being acquainted with gooseberries. We have become fast friends. Sure, we always have a little scuffle when I go to pick them from their thorny branches, but once made into jam, all is forgiven again. Last year, I made a simple gooseberry froyo and the year before I posted “Peggy’s Gooseberry Jam” my mother-in-law’s lovely recipe.

This time around, Peggy gave us free reign over the berries as she still has a cupboard full of jam lingering from last season. Since we picked about 8 lbs (15 kgs), I decided to use the berries a few different ways. After a half a day of topping and tailing the berries, we gave them a good wash and they were prepped and ready for the world.

At the brilliant suggestion of my friend, Heidi, at Serious Jam, I combined gooseberry with roasted garlic for a gorgeous relish that will be lovely on crostini or with some sharp Irish cheddar. Then, I made a few pots of classic jam using my spanking new jam jars from Hen and Hammock. After that, we baked two gooseberry-elderflower tarts “grandma style” that were specially requested by my father-in-law.

BUT, best of all….we made:

Homemade donuts are no strangers in this house {cough}, but I had never attempted to make a jam donut up until now. I must admit, jam donuts were never a particular favourite of mine growing up. This is important to note, as I do consider myself somewhat of a donut addict aficionado. I have always relished Long Johns, Persians, Krullers, Kolaches, Fritters, or basically any type of raised unfilled donut slathered with vanilla, chocolate, or maple icing and toasted coconut, crushed peanuts, or various sprinkles gracing the tops. Then, there is also my affinity to the glazed, sugared, and cinnamon-sugared ring donuts and holes.  There was only one exception to my unfilled donut preference; I have always adored bismark donuts filled with custard and poofed all over with powdery confectioners sugar.

For whatever reason, the jelly-jam injection just did not strike my fancy.

Until now.

Originating in Germany around 1532, calling themselves “Berliner Buns” the jelly doughnut popularity spread across Europe swiftly. And, from what I can tell, jam doughnuts appear to be the doughnut-of-choice in Ireland.  They are mostly filled with a very sweet black currant or raspberry jam, and sprinkled liberally with sugar. Every bakery, grocery store, filling station and farmer’s market will have jam donuts ready and waiting for you.

At the little farmer’s urging, we decided to make the doughnuts on Saturday morning and fill them with our freshly potted gooseberry jam. For a little more novelty, we decided to mix up some lemonade and try to sell our donuts and lemonade at the farm gate.

We had one very good customer, and his name was Daddy.

Still, we had no problem finishing off our leftover stock……

Move over Long John, Jammy’s moving in.

Geoffrey’s Gooseberry Jam Doughnuts

Ingredients

2 (7 g each) packets of dried yeast granules

1/4 cup or 60ml warm water

1 cup or 250ml warm milk

1/4 cup or 60g caster/superfine sugar

60g or 3 tbsp butter, melted

2 eggs, lightly beaten

3 3/4  cups or 165g  plain flour

1/2 cup or 75g gooseberry jam (or any flavour), approximately {Peggy’s recipe is nice}

Oil for deep frying and icing/confectioner’s sugar for coating

Method

Combine yeast, water milk and sugar in small bowl.

Cover, stand in warm place about 10 minutes or until mixture is frothy.

Stir butter and eggs into yeast mixture.

Sift flour into large bowl, stir in yeast mixture, mix to a soft dough.

Cover, stand in warm place about 45 minutes or until dough has doubled in size.

Turn dough onto lightly floured surface, knead dough about 5 minutes or until smooth.

Roll dough until about 2cm (about 1 inch) thick, cut into 5cm (about 2.5 inch) rounds.

Loosely cover rounds with oiled plastic wrap, stand in warm place about 10 minutes, or until almost doubled in size.

Deep-fry doughnuts in batches in hot oil until well browned, turning once.

Drain on absorbent paper, toss doughnuts immediately in icing sugar

Let cool slightly and fill a pastry bag, fitted with a 1/2-inch round tip with jam.

Insert the tip into the end of each doughnut and pipe approximately 1 to 2 teaspoons into them and serve.

Slan Abhaile,

Imen

Photos and styling by Imen McDonnell 2012. Donut making and sales assistance by Geoffrey McDonnell.

Tags: American, donut, doughnut, elderflower gooseberry tart, farm, farmer, Farming, foodies, gooseberry jam, Hen and Hammock, I Married An Irish Farmer, Imen McDonnell, ireland, Irish, Irish country living, irish farmer, Irish food photography, jam donut, jelly doughnut, Married an Irish Farmer, married an irishman, serious jam

We are busy picking gooseberries and clipping elderflowers at the farm

for some fun {upcoming} blogposts, so in the meantime

I wanted to share a few bits & bobs that may be of interest to you….

Our friends at Irish Fireside have launched

a terrific new app called Ireland Travel Kit, have a peek!

Sylvia Thompson & Liberties Press have just released a new book

The Art of Crafting in Ireland which is just gorgeous,

+ also features a few of my farmhouse butter + cheese photographs.

And finally,

The summer edition of the new Irish Country Magazine

is available in news agents throughout Ireland now!

Here are few good reasons to run out and pick up a copy:

The lovely Catherine Fulvio is on the cover with a magnificent interview inside

featuring her family, farm, and Ballyknocken Cookery School.

In the McNean Experience, you will find some really tasty recipes by Neven McGuire.

The beautiful spread on Irish Farmhouse Cheeses,

styled by my friend, Sharon Hearne-Smith,

will no doubt have you scurrying to Sheridan’s Cheesemongers.

I spotted a beautiful shrug designed by Eilis Boyle in the Lazy Days of Summer editorial.

Mairead Lavery writes about a spectacular secret garden in County Laois.

Fiona Dillon hatches a plan in her “rear your own” poultry column .

and for a giggle…

I’m sharing “tickling tweets” on page 8!

At all good shops in Ireland

and available for subscription online.

Slan Abhaile,

Imen

Cover photograph by Carol Dunne

Tags: American, Catherine Fulvio, country life, farm, farmer, Farming, foodies, hunterslodge living, I Married An Irish Farmer, Imen McDonnell, Ireland Travel Kit, Irish country living, Irish country magazine, irish farmer, irish fireside, Irish food photography, liberties press, Married an Irish Farmer, marrying an irish man, neven maguire, sharon hearne smith, sheridans cheesemongers

Breathtaking.

I’m back at the farm after an incredible 10 days of touring Ireland,

meeting passionate artisan food producers,

and local food enthusiasts.

Sharing products,

skills,

traditions,

memories,

and hopes for the future,

in front of our Food Island camera.

Now, it’s time to spend some time

having a look at all the beautiful + inspiring footage

and choose & deliver selects

to an amazing editor and friend

who will work her storytelling magic.

Oh, and since it’s haymaking season,

we’ve decided to treat ourselves to fresh hay ice cream while we work!

{blogpost soon}

Slan Abhaile,

Imen

Photo by Imen McDonnell, taken at Ben Bulben, County Sligo

Tags: American, farm, Farming, food island, I Married An Irish Farmer, Imen McDonnell, Irish country living, irish farmer, irish foodies

Nettles.

They sting.

Yeah, me and nettles haven’t exactly been fast friends over the past few years, but that is changing. If you will allow me to get a bit metaphorical, I will explain.

When I first moved to Ireland, I didn’t know what to expect. I was head over heels in love and braying-like-a-donkey-excited to embark on this new chapter of my life. As anyone who knows me personally will attest, my most profound challenge after relocating to Ireland was obviously not “marrying a farmer.”  It’s pretty easy to be married to my husband, no matter how rough things have gotten, we’ve managed to stay in love (no small feat). No, the hardest part was something I naively never anticipated: losing the stubborn identity that went along with a career that, for better or worse, defined me.

It’s not like I had a six-figure job, nor was I the president or CEO of a Fortune 500 company. When I moved to Ireland, I was working in the wacky world of advertising, producing television commercials that shlepped global beauty, fashion and food brands. The work often involved collaborating with talented directors and took me around the world. Before that, I was at the Rosie O’Donnell Show in NYC. But, don’t get too excited; I was very young and merely a serf who spent a whole lotta time buying Christmas pressies on behalf of Ms. O’Donnell. Memories of maniacally running around the west village in search of rare redcoat army figures for Tom Hanks, or toy shopping for Cruise-Kidman clan will forever more be imprinting on my brain.

Still, I was passionate about my work because I got to be creative and work with people who inspired me on a daily basis. The work was very social and there was always something new on the horizon. Of course, this was before the recession when clients still had bottomless pockets of money to be spent on hefty advertising budgets (yes, somewhat Mad Men-esque despite being the noughties).  I lived, breathed, ate, and drank work. I was so consumed by it that there was room for little else in my life (ahem, like farmers). Sure, at times, I would become keenly aware that I needed more balance. And, those days became more frequent as Richard and I became serious about our relationship.

When we decided it would be best for me to be the one to move, I genuinely assumed I would still be able to work as a producer. If not for the agency I had been with for 5 years, then in a freelance capacity in Ireland. I was excited to experience new opportunities.

Suffice to say, those options didn’t really pan out. I became a mommy. CEO and chief nappy changer of the house. When Geoffrey was still a baby, I designed a line of infant one-pieces that fell through when I discovered my BABY EIRE branding was not acceptable in Ireland (There are still 300 of them sitting in the attic, if you want one). I worked on one television series, and also some small food-related production projects on a gratis basis. I help out on the farm. I am paid a small salary to write a country living column in a national newspaper. I am trying to restore a period thatched farm, whose potential is not seen as clearly to others than to I. I have done a handful of cookery demonstrations at events around the country. I started this blog, which has evolved into so much more than I anticipated…but, as much as I am committed, a blog alone is not a career.

Which brings me to why I’ll never forget my first nettle sting. I was working in the garden. My first garden ever, I might add. Somehow summer Sundays had always been for shopping at Sephora or sitting by a pool, not gardening. Anyway, I accidentally brushed up against a nettle. What the hell was a nettle anyway? The sting was painful, but didn’t warrant my reaction. I swore at that blasted nettle. I damned it.

Then, oddly, I began to cry.
One of those horrendous heaving cries.
I cried about the hurt of the damn nettle sting.
I cried for my father.
I cried about the bloody Irish weather.
I cried that Geoffrey would never play Little League.
I even cried about not getting Rosie her tuna fish on poppyseed bagel anymore.
I cried the kind of cry that keeps your cheeks a slappy shade of red for the rest of the day.
Then, I rang Richard and screamed at him for the nettle abuse.
Nettles were just one more reason why we should move to America in my mind.
America, my imaginary land of opportunity, where I could have fulfilling work again. Where I could be me.
It was ridiculous.

Yes, life had a bit of a sting to it at the time.

This is why me and nettles haven’t been on the greatest terms. But, this is changing. Over the past few weeks, I’ve been bravely experimenting with nettles. We’ve had a few good natters, the two of us. We’ve made a deal: if I wear gloves and blanch them in hot water, they won’t make me cry. In fact, I discovered that if you put them in hot water for long enough, you will create a most flavourful and completing cup of tea, especially with a tiny drip of honey. Perfect for the wintery weather we can’t seem to shake here.

I’m now embarking on a special new film project, Food Island. I get to take everything I’ve come to learn here on my food-and-farming-filled Irish adventure, and combine it with those good old production skills. For me, this feels like a match made in heaven. Next week, two wonderful friends will arrive from America; one a producer and one a cinematographer. We will be journeying around the country as I direct a short film about Ireland’s exciting new food culture. Not quite a new career, but definitely a good start.

That sting is history.

Slan Abhaile,

Imen

Photos by Imen McDonnell 2012

Tags: American, farm, farmer, Farming, food, foodie, foodies, I Married An Irish Farmer, Imen McDonnell, Irish country living, Irish food photography, love, Marrying an Irishman, mint, nettles, Rosemary, stinging nettles, tea

It’s official. I’ve lost the plot.  Or, as one might say in Ireland: I’ve gone mad as a brush, a bit doolally, cracked as a cricket, bonkers, a bit touched…. and, in all likelihood--away with the fairies.

You see, the cake pictured above is not your average-ordinary cake. It is NOT a gorgeous vanilla sponge slathered with tangy Meyer lemon icing, nor is it a secret red velvet covered in velvety cream cheese frosting. No, no, no. It is a cake made out of four layers of homemade bread, filled with savoury, creamy goodness and spackled with chilled mayonnaise. Oh, and by savoury, creamy goodness, I mean stick to the ribs, wholesome, rich, Irish-style sandwich fillings. {Ahem, mad as a bag of cats}

I’ve had a notion for quite some time that I needed to share a post about the beauty of Irish Sandwichery with you. I suppose I am taking a bit of liberty with the term Irish Sandwichery, but I believe it serves it well. The art of the Irish sandwich or “roll” is a craft to be reckoned with.

However, it did take me a bit of time to adjust to sandwiches in Ireland. I say this because sandwiches were kind of my ‘thang’ for a long time. I felt intimately close with sandwiches as they comforted me on days when I worked through lunch (more often than not) crunching production numbers or screening through buckets of directors.

I treasured my weekly stiletto sprints to the deli to choose my special sandwich, grab a bag of chips (crisps) and a spritzy lemonade before heading back to my office. I had a bit of a system in place, whereby I would alternate rare roast beef with cheddar on a braided roll with corned beef and Swiss on Kaiser. The odd day I would splash out for chicken salad with grapes and almonds on croissant.  If it was cold out, perhaps a gooey tuna melt and some soup too. Chicken and stuffing had not yet entered my universe.

It is possible that my sandwich affinity started when I was a small girl. I remember my mother making up platters of tuna sandwiches or fluffer-nutters for us when I was still young enough to run around topless on a hot summer sprinkler kind of day. We would eat sandwich after sandwich washed down with tumblers of Country Time lemonade. The picture of health.

So, when I saw my first sandwich board at a popular Irish café, I was stumped. Egg mayonnaise? Ham and salad? Cheese and Onion? Chicken and Stuffing? Tuna and Sweetcorn? Ploughman’s? Bacon and Boiled Egg? Not one turkey pastrami on rye. Wha? Despite the obvious carbtasticness of Chicken and Stuffing, I went for it. And, umm, never looked back.

I have tried each and every one of these traditional Irish sandwich fillings and they are all some kind of wonderful. We often have just sandwiches for evening tea on the farm. Now, these are not the only choices you will find in Ireland, but without a doubt, you will find most of these options in every deli, grocery store, filling station, pubs and casual cafes around this fair country. (*Oh, and for early morning sandwich lovers, try the famous Irish breakfast roll: sausage, rasher, egg, hash brown, puddings, onion, butter and sauce on baguette)

For this post, I really wanted to celebrate Irish sandwich fillings and was trying to think of how to go about it when I was struck by a tasty memory of eating a cake made out of sandwiches years ago. Growing up in the Midwestern part of the USA, you will find plenty of Scandinavian influence in cooking and baking. I distinctly remember a friend’s Scandi mother making these massive sandwich cakes from time to time, and online research tells me that they were likely called Smörgåstårta.

And, so it was decided: I would make a sandwich cake layered with Irish-style fillings. Serendipity!

First, using Rachel Allen’s recipe, I baked my bread layers in springform baking tins, just like you would a sweet layer cake.

Then, I made up the fillings; I chose to do three fillings, which makes it a gorgeous tower of a cake, but to be honest, a bit too much trouble to cut into. If you decide to make this, I would go with two thick layers for the ease of it. I went with tuna + sweetcorn, cheese + onion, and chicken + stuffing (with a bit of rocket). I “iced” the cake with chilled mayonnaise and adorned the top with wild garlic flowers and sorrel leaves.

And, for the big reveal…..sloppy, creamy, oozy, bready, messy, scrumptious savoury cake heaven.

Really lovely treat to bring to an afternoon lunch, garden party or pot luck. Choose your own favourite flavours and decorative toppers. You can also do this using bread rounds from the bakery or store.

Slan Abhaile

Imen x

Photos & Styling by Imen McDonnell 2012. Wild Garlic & Sorrel foraged by Geoffrey McDonnell. With thanks to the Irish Twitter squad for helping me with the mad Irish expressions.

Tags: American, cake, Cheese and Onion, Chicken and Stuffing, farm, farmer, Farming, food, foodie, I Married An Irish Farmer, Imen McDonnell, ireland, irish food, Irish food photography, love, love in Ireland, Marrying an Irishman, Midwest, Sandwich, smörgåstårta, Sorrel, Tuna and Sweetcorn, wild garlic

Spring has sprung on the craggy isle and riding along with it the familiar niggling notion that we’d better get sowing and hoeing.  Bit by bit, we’ve put together a garden plan which sounds really clever and grown-up, but basically involves two adult children sitting at a kitchen table scratching heads, scribbling notes, drawing makeshift pictures with crayons, vehemently disagreeing, and then once again concluding that Richard {i.e. stick person with wellies} will plant his potatoes and onions and I {i.e. stick person with a skirt} will carry on with the rest which will undoubtedly be far too many varieties in his “humble opinion”.

We are trying to be sensible and learn from previous years; what’s working {luckily, almost everything especially potatoes}, what to plant where, what didn’t grow {asparagus}, what grew too much for us to eat or store {squash, radishes} and the everlasting conundrum: how to keep the dogs, birds and insects from damaging the beautiful seeds of our labour.

This year, I think I have procured my best selection of seeds yet: among others-salsify, yellow strawberries, boston lettuce, white beets, mustard greens and most exciting for me: artichoke. Plucking the petals of a steamed artichoke and plunging them into a cup of creamy lemon mayonnaise or scooping up zesty dollops of artichoke ramekin using crusty chunks of baguette are two of my favourite summertime sports. Needless to say, I will be over the moon if the artichokes are a success as they are impossible to source in Irish markets.

We have also been trying to decide on adding raised beds or sticking with our tried and true, good old-fashioned ground beds. Lately the running pun is “to raise or not to raise”….which is nobler?

We moved into our own home on the farm in 2007 and planted our first kitchen garden two years later after completing a brilliant organic growing course booked through the Organic Centre and hosted by Jim Cronin at his farm in County Clare. Of course, Richard had some experience with growing his own vegetables when he was younger, but I certainly didn’t, and since the course was based on organic growing I figured it would be a great learning experience for us both.

Jim Cronin is a gentle, salt-of-the-earth farmer who believes in using basic principals for growing, even employing horsepower in lieu of fuel-powered machinery. He has been growing vegetables for over twenty years and his farm is certified to organic standards. He is a fountain of knowledge and a real congenial fella who taught us a lot and sent us home inspired.

The thing is, I distinctly remember Jim advising the class not to bother with raised beds; explaining that they were more cosmetic than anything and that they could potentially attract more pests to the garden, and by pests he meant SLUGS. It is altogether possible that I have recalled this very fact because he mentioned it during the lunch break, specifically when I was shoveling a forkful of his wife’s amazing shredded carrot salad into my mouth. Richard finished my plate.

Still, each time I see or read about a garden with raised beds, I can’t shake the idea that they would be easier to organise and maintain since we are not growing on acres of crops {I promise, we’re not!}. It would also be hard to deny that they might look a bit more attractive than our ground plot.  I decided to ask around for opinions, both professional and personal, to see who exactly was using raised beds, and why or why not?

Generally speaking, nearly everyone I spoke to was in favour of raised beds. Many reasons were given, most commonly: they are easier to weed, they provide better drainage, weeding can be kinder on the back muscles, not having access to good ground soil, living in the city so no other option for urban gardeners, and yes, {cough} because they look nice.

So, all things considered, we’ve decided to go ahead with the raised beds this year. And, since they look relatively easy to construct, I’m thinking I may just roll up my sleeves and do them myself.

Here is a recipe for one of my absolute favourite artichoke indulgences. It is the closest thing to the legendary Loring Cafe Artichoke Ramekin that I have tested.  It is creamy, zesty, garlic-y, artichoke-y heaven. I have many, many fond memories of sitting on the Loring patio sipping glasses of chilled Muscadet and devouring ramekins of this baked artichoke dip on sunny Saturday afternoons with a lively table of friends. Sadly, the original Loring is no longer there, but the Artichoke Ramekin will still live on here on the farm, so long as our artichokes are a success! {note: you can use jarred artichokes for this recipe and some think it’s even better than fresh}

Slan Abhaile,

Imen xx

Photo by Imen McDonnell 2012

Tags: American, artichoke, artichoke ramekin, farm, Farming, foodies, GIY, growing, I Married An Irish Farmer, Imen McDonnell, ireland, Irish, Irish country living, Irish food photography, irish foodies, Minneapolis, Muscadet, raised beds, the Loring

Yip, I’ll admit it.  I was once a bona fide corned beef-n-cabbage, green beer sipping girl. Each St. Patrick’s Day, without fail, me and a posse of friends would head out to at least one Irish pub each year on the 17^th of March, and happily belly up to a hot paper plate of corned beef and watery cabbage with a side order of green tainted lager…or two {hic}.

It was a ritual, never gave much thought as to why we would do such a thing, we just did….and ohhh, was it fun. Fast forward to life in Ireland where the closest thing to corned beef is that chunk of spiced beef found in the supermarkets at Christmas time or another option resembling something very close to SPAM. My first truly Irish St. Patrick’s Day celebration at the farm probably confirmed my father in law’s suspicions that I was mad when I asked if he had ever eaten corned beef on St. Paddy’s Day. And, while I have come to grips with no longer enjoying corned beef served out of a Nesco on the Day, I have yet to work through the 5 stages of grieving my beloved corned beef and swiss on rye for lunch.

Nowadays, Paddy’s parties are a bit more civilized for myself and our family. We tend to go to the local afternoon parade and then come home and have our “tea” (tea = supper on the farm); a picnic of whatever cold cuts, cheeses, spreads, vegetables I’ve picked up from the farmer’s market along with a quick baked loaf of brown soda bread and a little dessert. I’ve written a piece for the Dean & Deluca Gourmet Food Blog about that first St. Patrick’s Day experience and also what delicious Irish eats we’ll have this year, have a look and see.

This weekend we also celebrate another holiday in Ireland: Mother’s Day! Yes, Mother’s Day is in March, not May on the craggy green isle. Therefore, I am entitled to two special days, in theory. Not so much on paper or in real life, but the option is there if ever a certain farmer would like to be generous {cough cough}.

One of the best parts about Spring in Ireland has to be fresh rhubarb. Rhubarb compote, rhubarb ice cream, rhubarb clafoutis, rhubarb cake, rhubarb muffins, rhubarb crumble and a personal favourite, my very special rhubarb pudding. This recipe for rhubarb pudding came about by happenstance a few years back when I realized I didn’t have oatmeal for my spring rhubarb-berry crumble to bring to the farm for Easter dinner. I had made the oaty version for Mother’s Day the first year I was here and everyone really loved it, especially Grandma whose compliments were ever so heartwarming. I was asked to bring it again for Easter that year, but that morning I suddenly realized we didn’t have the oats to make the crumbly part so I sub’d flour and came out with a cakey, cobbly, crispy on top, cray cray good rhubarb…umm, pudding.  I brought it to dinner and we ate it for dessert with dollops of vanilla yogurt and everyone said it was even better than the crumble. {yippee!}

I submitted my recipe which I named “Farmhouse Spring Pudding” to Sweet Paul magazine’s “Happy Dish” competition last month and he chose it for his Spring 2012 issue, which is online now! I am still pinching myself. I love, love, love reading Sweet Paul; his motto is “ chasing the sweet things in life” and the magazine always lives up to that….beautifully designed and filled with easy + elegant recipes, fun + stylish crafts, entertaining ideas, shopping tips and more.  Pour yourself a cup of tea and give it a good browse when you have some time. Here is a link to the recipe (mag photo and styling by Sweet Paul) and another link to the NY Times Diner’s Journal who also enjoyed reading about my “rhubarb cake”! Give it a go when your rhubarb roosts and let me know how you like it =)

Have a Happy St. Patrick’s & Mother’s Day!

Slan Abhaile,

Imen xx

Photos and styling by Imen McDonnell 2012

Tags: American, Dean and DeLuca, farm, farmer, food, foodie, foodies, I Married An Irish Farmer, ireland, Irish, Irish food photography, married a farmer, Mother's Day, Spring Farmhouse Pudding, St. Patrick's Day, St. Patrick's Day recipes, Sweet Paul magazine

Pan, soda, cobb, bloomer, brown, batch, granary, rolled, basket, milk……all names of beautiful breads that you will find in any Irish market or bakery on any given day, and all names of breads that totally eluded me upon moving to Ireland.

Milk bread in particular sounded appealing to me. I stumbled upon a loaf a couple years back and gave it a try, loved it, asked some friends if they knew what it was (no), then somehow forgot all about it. This dairy-based bread came up in conversation at the farm the other day when I was discussing an email that I received from an American blog reader who had spent considerable time in Ireland.  She wondered if I had a recipe for “plain old sliced white pan” which I will post very soon (promise!), but in the meantime, I had discovered the farm recipe for old-fashioned milk bread and couldn’t wait to give it a try.

After getting a jug of fresh morning milk from the dairy, I made a cup of coffee and measured all of my ingredients. I made the recipe two ways: First using plain (all-purpose) flour and secondly, using strong (bread) flour. The plain flour will make a softer/cakey almost tea bread and strong flour creates an airier, sandwich-style texture. The milk creates a very rich flavour and texture, and both versions are wonderful.

After combining the flour with butter then adding the salt, sugar and yeast, I added the fresh warm milk. Once it was all mixed, I began to knead the dough which became incredibly velvety and smooth.

Ten minutes later I rolled the dough into an oblong shape and popped it into the loaf pan to rise for about 25 minutes (or until it’s just peeping over the top of the pan) Finally, I slid the pan into a hot oven and 30-40 minutes later out came a gorgeous loaf of bread. Just perfect served warm with fresh honey butter and a colourful salad.

Slan Abhaile,

Imen

Photos & Styling by Imen McDonnell 2012 (photos are of the plain/cream flour version)

Tags: American, dairy, farm, Farming, flour, food, foodie, foodies, I Married An Irish Farmer, Imen McDonnell, ireland, Irish, Irish baking, Irish country living, Irish food photography, milk bread

So, we went off-farming for a week.

A much needed dalliance;

a celebration of sorts.

With the team at home looking after the cows, chickens and renewables,

they graciously sent us on a journey down to the Costa Del Sol, Spain…

Where there was an endless blue sky

brimming with sun every day.

We feasted on food fresh from the sea

And shared tiny, creamy, gooey, exotic cakes for two each afternoon

And then,  early one morning…

We crossed the Strait of Gilbraltor

over to North Africa

Landing worlds away

in extraordinary Morocco

filled with sights, sounds and colours

that linger on in our senses…….

And,

still make us smile.

We have come home to a busy farm

Spring calving has begun

And, there is a bucket of catching up to do.

Promise a farm fresh post next week, but until then…

The winner(s) of The Slugs and Snails tights are:

Bec Hem and Evin O’Keefe

Thanks to everyone who submitted a lovely comment.

Slan Abhaile,

Imen

Photos by Imen McDonnell 2012

Tags: American, Costa Del Sol, farm, farmette, Farming, foodie, I Married An Irish Farmer, Imen McDonnell, ireland, Irish, Irish country living, Irish food photography, Morocco, Slugs and Snails, Spain