This soup is sort of from this recipe:
I used over a dozen fresh shitake mushrooms, four cups of chicken broth, a large bag of Bok Choy (leaves, stems and all), and no tofu in my version.
This soup is sort of from this recipe:
I used over a dozen fresh shitake mushrooms, four cups of chicken broth, a large bag of Bok Choy (leaves, stems and all), and no tofu in my version.
I’d never heard of borek before the Italian restaurant we stumbled into in Temple Bar on our last night. I was actually looking for a more Irish eatery, to try colcannon, but gave up in despair and hunger.
Michael and I both had the borek for an appetizer. I had a lovely (if, again, a bit over dressed) spinach salad.
Then we headed down the street to Botticelli’s . . . for icecream.
I don’t know why an Italian restaurant serves borek, which seems to be more eastern block and middle eastern . . . but I was having dinner in an Italian restaurant in the heart of Dublin . . . so I’m not really one to talk.
At one pub, the Copper Penny, our table sported a collection of condiment packets.
We determined “Brown Sauce” is roughly Worcestershire sauce. I just like that you can have malt vinegar for your chips (French fries).
I had the traditional Irish stew, but I forgot to take the picture before I ate most of it . . . so you’ll have to imagine a few chunks of beef, potato, and carrot in this stew.
In their Synod Hall, Christ Church Cathedral has a Dublin-in-Viking-times exhibit that we didn’t initially realize was quite interactive.
Can I say, for the record, how much I adore Jonathan Swift?
I sat in his seat (or, at least, the one labeled “Dean” — don’t know if it was there when he was) on Sunday for services at St. Patrick’s.
The Dean gets the seat in front of the Chancellor.
There are so many places in Dublin where you start around a way, only to find that there are walls and locked gates around the other side of the building, that it became pathetically funny everytime Michael chose a route that wasn’t the way we came in. Around the side of St. Patrick’s, however, this course of action serendipitously brought us around to a bird market.
We ended up doubling back to get to the cathedral, but the bird market was a very cool, serendipitous find.
I recently read Joel Fuhrman’s Eat to Live, and intend to give his six week plan (leafy green vegan) a try over the course of Lent. We’ve been moving in that direction, and tried to stay largely on course while we were traveling.
Europe is not known for its salad consumption . . . and salads in February most anywhere are hard to come by.
This one was delicious, but, as you can see in the picture, the Irish are not big on having a lot of greens in their salads.
In the back, to the right, you can see Michael’s couscous.
A few months back, Michael was going to have a meeting in Paris, and we were going to tag along. The meeting got canceled, and we didn’t end up in Paris, but while it was still on, Farmerteen and I were plotting out what we might like to do, and her number one idea was to “be French” for the day and do non-touristy stuff as if we lived in Paris. So we decided to give it a try in Dublin, which was a little easier (since we more or less speak the language), and a little harder (since we were new to the city, and had less of an idea what was available, or where the good places to be non-touristy were. It worked out right in the middle of town, as it turned out, because we got lost, and had to do some wandering.
And — oh, the horror —
Farmerteen got her hair cut at a salon. (Hooray for the internet, which allowed them to look up the actress whose hair she likes so much!).
We ate sandwiches while walking down the street.
We rode the bus. (Okay, we did that as tourists anyway, since our hotel was outside of town, to the south).
We went to more bookstores.
We returned to the hotel and had tea while we waited for Michael to get out of his meetings.
We walked around our neighborhood on the south end of town, and found a lovely Indian restaurant for dinner.
Because of a technical error, I have no pictures of James Joyce’s tower by the sea, the Dublin bay, or any of the pretty tropical plants from the beginning of our bus tour. (Also, a really funny sign about picking up after one’s dog . . . still hadn’t figured out that there was a problem).
Anyway, we signed up for a costal/mountain tour down into Co. Wicklow to Glendalough (“glen-da-lock”), which means Valley (glen) of the two (da) lakes (lough), which also has St. Kevin’s. Dublin itself had snow this year (uncommon), and it still lay pretty thick around Glendalough.
Do you know there’s palm trees growing in Dublin? I didn’t.
Seriously. Palm trees. Outside. Like you’re in Hollywood or Orlando.
It’s almost freakish.
The Emerald Isle is moist and temperate and hosts all kinds of non-native species that are thriving . . . among them, giant redwoods (140 years old, about 45 m tall), magnolia, and palm trees. The tropicals are mostly from New Zealand.
These are the grounds of our first hotel, the Radisson St. Helen’s. Look:
These pictures were taken in early February. The deciduous trees know it’s still winter. The grass has no idea.