The Farm in the Bay

It’s easy to forget, when you live on the Sheep’s Head overlooking Dunmanus Bay, that there is a famous stretch of water just over the Goat’s Path.

Unlike its sometimes forgotten neighbour, Bantry Bay has seen invading armies, Irish patriots, maritime disasters and the discovery of a long-lost sunken French man-of-war. All this and it is one of the deepest natural harbours on the planet as well. But now Bantry Bay and many of the people who live and work along its 35km stretch are embroiled in a bitter fight to prevent the development of a salmon farming project just off-shore from the little village of Adrigole.

A salmon cage in Bantry Bay with Hungry Hill on the Beara Peninsula in the back ground (photo thanks to Niall Duffy)

Bantry Bay already has two other salmon farms in operation but the protestors, a gathering of local pot fishermen, recreational anglers, concerned residents and fish consumers, hospitality business owners and environmental groups say that the Bay, and indeed the livelihoods of many, will be damaged for generations to come if this salmon farm is granted a licence.

In these times of recession, the peninsulas and the surrounding region need jobs. More and more people are being forced to emigrate in an effort to find work. Surely new jobs in the area would generate much-needed income for the local businesses and retailers? The salmon farm company envisages 10 new jobs, eight during the construction phase and two permanent jobs when the farm is operational. The company will also commission a new vessel, which will be built locally and will service the up-and-running fish farm.

I get the chance to have a closer look at a salmon cage that is home to almost 40,000 salmon (photo: Niall Duffy)

On the other hand, local pot fishermen say that some of their traditional fishing grounds will be out-of-reach because of the salmon cages, while they fear that pollution created by the salmon farm (faeces and uneaten food pellets) will decimate the stocks of crab and lobster. Salmon anglers, who have seen a regeneration of the wild salmon stocks in the rivers that flow into Bantry Bay, warn that a salmon farm at the proposed location would all but destroy the numbers of wild salmon returning to spawn and force the fish already in the system to run a gauntlet of sea lice before they make it to their feeding grounds in the Atlantic. Tourism ventures that line the seashore along the Bay fear that their businesses will suffer and close because of the proposed salmon farm. Kayaking, sailing, windsurfing, swimming and even walking along the Sheep’s Head Way and the Beara Way will all be adversely affected by the placing of another salmon farm in the Bay. Meanwhile, environmentalists say that Bantry Bay, while deep, does not have the flow capacity to ‘flush’ all the contaminants they say salmon farming produces out of the Bay.

Beautiful Bantry Bay

The two sides are indeed split, as are many of the residents who live beside this wonderfully scenic part of southwest Ireland. It all boils down to this: will the creation of 10 new jobs through this venture actually end up causing more unemployment in an area struggling to hold on to the jobs it already has? Will this new salmon farm project damage the tourist industry, which is a lifeline for many local families and business owners? Will the location of the salmon farm spoil the scenic beauty and water quality of the area? Or are all these concerns to be dismissed because of the potential extra jobs that the salmon farm MAY create in the years to come? As one local man whose son had just emigrated to Canada said, ‘We have to consider the future, you can’t eat the scenery can you?’

A farmed salmon from Bantry Bay (photo: Niall Duffy)

So what do you think? Should the people of Bantry Bay put the economic future of the area first or should its environmental future take priority? Or are the two inseparable? Can both fish farming and tourism exist side-by-side?

Do any of these issues cross your mind when you eat farmed salmon?

Bush Wars

I have a question for you. Where can you get a good feed of bacon and cabbage at 11pm on a dark St. Patrick’s Weekend night?

Why in Kilcrohane on the Sheep’s Head Peninsula, that’s where. I kid you not; just when you might be thinking of calling it a night after a day ‘wetting the Shamrock’ (as I once overheard an American tourist say), there at the end of the bar in the Bay View Inn you will find steaming plates of Ireland’s national dish waiting free of charge.

But more about this later. First, let me tell you about one of the best restaurants in Ireland, a restaurant that serves only the freshest, seasonal, locally-sourced food this part of West Cork can provide, a restaurant that is guided by Carmel Somers, a woman possessed with a passion and skill few Michelin-starred chefs can outshine. All this and on the Sheep’s Head as well. Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Good Things Café.

Good Things Café, Durrus

West Cork Food Hero Carmel Somers gathering fresh herbs at Good Things Café

Now, before you think I am over-selling or gushing too much about what, in my humble view, is a restaurant with few equals on this Island, let me assure you that I am not doing the experience of eating at Good Things justice with what follows. I’ve eaten at three-starred Michelin restaurants in Paris and London but for me nothing compares with an evening spent at Good Things Café, sipping some wine, eating great food (try the Ahakista lobster) and watching the sun set over Dunmanus Bay.

Over the years, August was the traditional time for our Good Things pilgrimage. Travelling from the city for the annual Ahakista Regatta, I have to admit that I am always more interested in what’s on the menu at Good Things than watching the boats race in Dunmanus Bay. My first trip to the Peninsula, all those years ago, shocked me. It was an unusually hot August, the Sheep’s Head in all its glory looked like a green slice of the Mediterranean, the temperature was in the high twenties (that’s the high seventies for our friends in the USA – a heatwave by Irish standards), the sky was cloudless and the water in the Bay was crystal clear and so calm that it looked like someone had placed a huge mirror between the peninsulas. Sun, warm sea, birds singing and Good Things Café. This is what my then girlfriend introduced me to when she said ‘Come and meet my family in Durrus’. One look at the place and I decided to marry her. It took me a couple of more years to break down her defences but finally, and if you will forgive the angling reference, I landed my West Cork flower. So you see, Good Things has a very special place in my heart. For me, the restaurant encapsulates everything that this part of Ireland is all about, scenery, fresh local food and good company.

Our latest edible adventure at Good Things saw us dining on nettle soup, fresh prawns and scallops landed earlier that morning from Dunmanus Bay, wonderful salad leaves from Gubbeen Farm just down the road in Schull and brown sugar meringues with rhubarb. An excellent way to spend Mother’s Day.

Fresh Dunmanus Bay prawns at Good Things

Scallops from Dunmanus Bay

Brown sugar meringues with West Cork rhubarb

Meanwhile, back in Kilcrohane preparations for St. Patrick’s Day were well underway. As if a switch had been clicked somewhere, Kilcrohane began to emerge from its winter slumber. The sun was shining and the village was alive with children and holiday home owners returned to their little piece of heaven after an absence of many months.

As you know, this is my first time living in ‘rural Ireland’ and my experience of St. Patrick’s Day normally involves a few drinks and a day off work. However, in Kilcrohane there seems to be a deeply-engrained competitive streak in preparing for our national day. This competition isn’t centred around the number of pints you can drink before passing out or the number of rebel songs you can sing before your voice gives up; no, in Kilcrohane it is all about shamrock and the amount of this green foliage you can wear. Some people looked as if they were on manoeuvres with the army.

Shamrock to the fore, ladies

Indeed, as the day progressed my wife asked one of the ladies how her bush was holding up, I haven’t felt comfortable leaving the house since.

So, after a day celebrating the fact that a Welshman came to Ireland, banished the snakes, found a use for an innocuous weed, upset the druids and climbed a mountain, if you’re lucky enough to find yourself in Kilcrohane, you can get a free plate of bacon and cabbage from Mary in the Bay View Inn at 11pm. After that you will be ready for the rest of the night when the singing and dancing get underway. Just be sure to leave your bush, sorry, shamrock outside.

Bacon and cabbage, a meal for shamrock champions

Call my bluff

 

Like any ‘real’ man, I like nothing better than an evening sitting on my favourite comfy sofa, feet-up, drink in hand, watching TV.

But if you think that my evenings of tele-visual feasting involve watching men chasing a ball around and then kissing/hugging/slapping one another’s asses when they put said ball in a net, you would be wrong.

Not for me the tribal joys of sport. I care not for the endless analysing and statistical gathering of games won and loss. ‘We were robbed,’ I heard one sports fan moan to another in a pub once. ‘Robbed of what?’ I wondered. His team lost a game of some ball-based sport and he looked like he and all his family had just been diagnosed with some hideous disease that was sure to kill them all before the day was out. I just don’t get it.

No, when I get excited about something it has to be real and taste good. That’s why my evenings in front of the telly-box are never wasted. It’s all about the real beautiful game and sometimes even includes it: food, baby, glorious food.

Let me set the scene. The night is dark and wet, the wind is whipping down the Peninsula and the waves are forming in Dunmanus Bay. The fire is crackling nicely and as you press the channel-select button on the remote control, you know you are in for a treat because there, in your lovely, warm room on a wet and windy night, is Raymond Blanc cooking with fresh fish in Provence, or Rachel Allen, or Catherine Fulvio, or Martin Shanahan all cooking with home-grown ingredients and producing something real, something that offers more than just being part of a fleeting triumph or wallowing in the communal despair of a lost game.

However, like many a sports fan, I uttered those immortal words ‘I could do better than that myself’ just once too often. And unlike a football fan telling his friends in the pub that he could play better than some of the players on the TV, secure in the knowledge that he will never get the chance to be proved wrong, I, on the other hand, had my challenge taken up and last week found myself facing an audience of 50 hungry schoolgirls eager to test my culinary skills.

It all began when my darling daughter told her teacher that I wrote a cookbook. While it’s true I took part in producing a cookbook for people suffering from kidney disease, it was a joint effort between a courageous transplant recipient, some of the best chefs in Ireland and myself. My daughter left her teacher thinking that I had created all the recipes myself and that I was in fact a chef.

So, as part of the school’s ‘healthy eating’ week, they decided to invite a ‘chef’ to give a cookery demo to first-year students. They asked me to cook a meal for the girls; it was time to step up or shut up. I thought, ‘how hard could it be?’

I arrived at my daughter’s school in Dublin at 8a.m. in the morning. Armed with the ingredients of a well-loved family dinner – chorizo chicken – I met with the home economics teacher who led me to the classroom so I could set up. At this point, I was still very confident that I could pull it off a lá Neven Maguire or Clodagh McKenna; that was until I saw the poster hanging on the school’s notice board. ‘Chef Brian Moore will give a cooking demonstration this morning for first-year students’.

Ingredients ready, it's game on

Chef Brian Moore began to wonder what he had gotten himself into. I quickly told the teacher that I was in fact a journalist and not a chef. ‘I just like to cook’, I said. ‘ Right’, the teacher said, ‘em, what about the cookbook?’

I quickly explained. ‘Ah, you’ll be fine. The girls are all looking forward to your demo and I am sure they will enjoy whatever you make,’ she said as she left me looking at the rows of empty seats in the classroom. As I set about getting ready, a sense of mild panic began to grow in the pit of my stomach.

Then the girls began to file into the classroom. First in ones and twos, then in much larger groups until I had fifty faces all staring at me. The panic was now in my chest.

Time for a prayer before we get down to the cooking?

My daughter started taking photos, which didn’t help with the nerves but I got underway and soon I had the room filled with the delicious smells of onion, garlic and chorizo. Then the questions started. ‘Are you from Cork?’ one young lady asked. ‘Yes, indeed I am’, I said wondering if I needed help from my daughter translating the Cork lilt into Foxrock-ese.

Yes, I'm from Cork and proud of it!

Soon it was time to transfer the chorizo chicken into the oven and I got to say those time-honoured words every TV chef has uttered since Mrs Bridges on Upstairs Downstairs: ‘Here’s one I prepared earlier.’

Chorizo chicken with a green salad

I plated up a serving of chicken to the sound of oohs and aahs from my audience and with that my outing as a would-be TV chef came to an end. Now I had to somehow ensure that all fifty girls got to taste my creation. We passed around a little and I mean a ‘little’ taste to everybody with promises of more to come when the portion now in the oven would be ready.

Dishing up for 50, it was tough but everybody got a 'taste'

My thanks to the teachers and the girls from Loreto Foxrock for inviting me to cook at their school. I hope they weren’t too disappointed at my lack of cooking credentials. While I enjoyed the demonstration, I think I’ll stick to watching the TV chefs in the future.

So, be careful what you say because you never know who’s about to call your bluff. Not only did I have to prove that I could cook, I had to do it in front of fifty hungry teenagers. However, I did get photographic evidence that my daughter can do the washing up. It was worth it for that alone.

Proof at last, Ellie can wash-up.

Here is my recipe for chorizo chicken. Why not try it and tell me what you think?

 

CHORIZO CHICKEN

Serves 4

Ingredients

4 chicken breasts (skin on)

1 chorizo sausage (fresh if possible but dried will also work)

1 medium onion (chopped)

2 gloves of garlic (chopped)

1 courgette (sliced)

400g can of chopped tomatoes

2 teaspoons of sugar

400g can of butter beans (drained)

Olive oil

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

A handful of fresh basil

METHOD

First, pre-heat the oven to 190˚C.

Season the chicken breasts with some salt and pepper.

Using an oven/hob-proof casserole dish or large frying pan, add a tablespoon of olive oil and gently brown the seasoned chicken breasts on a high heat, two at a time, remembering to place the breasts in the pan skin-side down to begin with.

When the chicken has browned a little (to seal in the juices) remove from the heat, set aside and repeat the procedure with the next two seasoned chicken breasts.

Next, using the same pan or dish that the chicken was fried in, add the onions and garlic and reduce the heat to medium.

Slowly, soften the onions and garlic until they are translucent but not browned. Next, add the chopped or sliced chorizo sausage. Continue on a medium heat and watch the spices from the sausage slowly colour the onions and garlic.

Now add the chopped courgette and continue to cook on a medium heat until the courgette has softened and coloured too.

Add the tin of tomatoes, season with salt and pepper, and then add two teaspoons of sugar. The sugar will enhance the flavour of the tomatoes. Stir and increase the heat to bring to a gentle simmer.

When the mixture begins to simmer, add the drained butter beans and stir. Next, add the fresh basil and stir again. Remember, never chop basil; always tear it with your hands as this releases more of the wonderful oils in the herb.

Now, return the browned chicken breasts to the pan or casserole and place the dish into your pre-heated oven, uncovered, for 40 to 45 minutes. When ready, the chicken should be soft and easy to cut and the sauce should have thickened.

Serve with a green salad and lots of crusty bread.

Four seasons

England’s leading art critic of the Victorian era, John Ruskin, once said: ‘There is no such thing as bad weather, just different forms of good weather’.

Well, if that’s the case, on the Sheep’s Head Peninsula we experience some really good weather. In fact, perhaps even, dare I say it, some of the best weather Mother Nature has to offer.

To start with it rains. Not just a trickle, or a dash, but a torrent, followed by sheets of the stuff, with just a little of the driving sort thrown in for good measure.

That clever fellow Ruskin described rain as ‘refreshing’.

Indeed. Well, maybe we all here in Kilcrohane would be feeling very refreshed if the rain was not accompanied by gale force winds, which roar in from the south-west down the length of Dunmanus Bay with a ferocity that makes me fear that the roof will be plucked off the house.

Gale force winds and torrential rain are, according to Ruskin, ‘refreshing and bracing’.

It was far from refreshed or braced I was the other morning when the rain stopped. Next, the sky darkened and the booming sound of thunder echoed across Kilcrohane.

Then, it started to snow.

First, the white flakes fell softly and quickly melted away, but before long, as the clouds grew darker, a blanket of snow began to cover the hills surrounding the village and my thoughts returned to Ruskin who described snow as ‘exhilarating’.

So, let’s recap; in Kilcrohane, in just one morning, we were thoroughly refreshed, braced and exhilarated, and all this before midday.

Gradually, as quickly as it started, the snow stopped falling.

Imagine this, if you will: you open the door to a dark room, feel for the light switch, then click, and the room is flooded in brilliant light. Well, that’s what happened next.

Someone, somewhere, clicked the switch and there in the blue sky was the sun – big, bright and warm. As I watched, the snow evaporated, the wind stopped howling leaving only a light breeze and the sky was a lovely deep blue with the odd wispy cloud here and there. Spring it seemed had sprung. Oh, and in case you’re wondering how Ruskin would now describe this scene of sunshine and blue skies? One word: ‘delicious’.

Ruskin, however, does not mention hail, which then began falling steadily and noisily. I think perhaps we have found a weather front that Ruskin couldn’t say anything good about; after all, what can one say about hail?  ‘Hail hurts’?

Braced, exhilarated and now deliciously refreshed (with a little bit of hurt thrown in?), I wondered could this day get any better for the good people of Kilcrohane? I don’t think so; apart from a severe frost, we’ve covered all the bases … although it was still early and the clouds were beginning to gather in the west. It’s like living in a time-lapse film around here.

I don’t think I can take any more excitement today.

Lobster killer, qu’est-ce que c’est?

Can you feed nine people with one lobster?

I was faced with this first-world problem recently and I don’t mind telling you that after a lot of work and a fair bit of doubt the answer is yes, yes you can.

Lobster for nine

But more about that later.

And I have a rather momentous announcement to make, but you will have to wait for that too.

As I write this latest update from the Sheep’s Head Peninsula, I am sitting here looking out on the not-so-calm waters of Dunmanus Bay, the rain is pouring down, the wind is howling and to quote one local fisherman ‘the Bay is angry today’.

I tell you this because over the last few weeks we have had very un-January-like weather with sunny days and temperatures reminiscent of springtime. In fact, we have daffodils flowering in many fields. (Kilcrohane used to be famous for its early daffodils but that’s another story).

Just before Christmas, I decided that I would love to cook lobster as a treat for the festive season and with some of the best shellfish available anywhere just a few steps from my door I ordered one medium-sized fresh Dunmanus Bay Homarus gammarus or European lobster.

I collected the crustacean along with five litres of seawater from the Bay to cook it in and returned home to a house full of visitors who had arrived to ring in the New Year. (We seem to be getting a lot of visitors and friends calling since we moved to West Cork. I didn’t know we were so popular).

Prepared with seawater from Dunmanus Bay

Before you think that I am a terrible host and should have ordered more lobsters, let me explain; I didn’t know we were going to have nine people staying when I ordered my lobster and I actually got the very last one that our ‘shellfish guy’ had. And there is something of a recession going on, you know, even in West Cork.

Help in the kitchen preparing the lobster

Following a quick scan of the cookery bookshelf, I decided on lobster salad (thank you Rick Stein) and after a quick boil (alive), I removed the meat from the body and the claws and then set it aside. Next, I mixed spring onion, avocado, red pepper, olive oil and lemon juice together in a bowl and added the lobster when it had cooled down. After serving it all up on a bed of lettuce, I found that I had fed nine people with just one lobster. Very proud of myself, I sat back and awaited the oohs and aahs of amazement from all those gathered around the table.

Wonderful lobster salad

I’m still waiting.

The reaction to the miracle of the ‘feeding of the nine’ ranged from ‘this is interesting’ to ‘I’m not quite sure about this lobster’ and ‘Yeah, it was alright’ to my favourite ‘is it supposed to be tough?’

Not put off by the lack of enthusiasm from my guests, I waited until they had left, went out for a drive and arrived back with crabs. (Not an infestation, Brown Crabs – shellfish that is) Again, these lads were straight out of the Bay and very much alive.

Now, my confidence in cooking and dealing with these live beauties has been spurred on by that wonderful lobster salad (yes, wonderful) I had prepared for the now departed guests.

The lobster, however, when it was still very much alive was, unlike the crabs, a lot more resigned to its faith and went meekly to the pot. The crabs fought every inch of the way.

One of the two mad crabs

When I arrived to collect my two crustaceans, I could see that they were ready for a fight. As I approached their holding pot, I noticed through the bars that the inmates were restless. When the pot was opened, two sets of massive claws reached skywards snapping wildly in all directions. ‘At least the lobster had its claws secured with rubber bands; these lads look like they could do some serious damage if they got a hold of you,’ I thought as the angry shellfish were expertly removed from their prison and placed into a waiting box with some seaweed.

I put the box in the trunk of the car and headed for Harro and Gisi’s house as I had decided to give one crab to them as a thank you for all their help with the pheasants.

When I arrived at the house, I opened the trunk to find one of the crabs had climbed out of the box and was waiting in ambush. After a lot of coaxing, cursing and finally covering the mad crab with my coat, I managed to get it back into the box only to find its mate about to leap from the back of the car.

When I eventually got the crabs inside the house, Gisi lifted one out of the box and put it in a bowl so expertly and without any hesitation that I decided not to tell her how I had been standing outside her home for the last ten minutes fighting with the crabs and trying to get them back in the box without losing a finger or any other appendage.

Returning to Kilcrohane and after another struggle to get it in the pot I cooked the crab, removed the meat and now I need your help. What would you do with this lovely, flaky, sweet meat? I was thinking about a crab quiche but as one of my former editors used to say: ‘real men don’t eat quiche’.

Look at all that meat

Then, just when I thought I had gotten over my shellfish moment there was a knock on the door.

I opened it to find the ‘man with the gun’ without his gun but with a big smile on his face. ‘Wait until you see what I have for you, and get your camera ready’, he said as I hoped and prayed that it wasn’t another pheasant or duck or woodcock or brace of snipe or anything covered in feathers that needed to be gutted.

While I stood there (very pale and frightened) with my camera, he produced a bucket. ‘Have a look’, he said, still smiling as a strange scraping sound emanated from inside the big black plastic pail . ‘Oh, God, it’s not enough that I will have to clean out whatever’s in the bucket, now he wants me to kill it as well’, I thought as I peered over the lip of the container.

Staring back at me, with one giant claw open and pointed directly at my nose, was the biggest lobster I have ever seen. I was relieved, amazed and immediately hungry all at the same time. Now the only question was, did I have a pot big enough to hold this monster?

The lobster and his one massive claw

I finally found a casserole pot just big enough to take ‘Long-John Lobster’ (as I had decided to call him because of his single monster claw).

Long-John lobster ready to be thermidored

As Long John boiled away on the stove top, I learned another valuable lesson. Never, and I mean never, mention a longing for a certain food on the Peninsula. Let me give you an example; as we, ‘the man with the gun’ and I, watched the lobster bubble away in the pot, I casually mentioned that I would love some scallops.

Later that day, as I prepared Long John for a lobster thermidor dinner, there was another knock on the door.

Lobster thermidor

While I have no doubt that you know what’s coming next, let me tell you that I have never seen scallops so big or so fresh. There stood ‘the man with the gun’ armed with another bucket, this time containing 12 huge scallops.

Be careful what you wish for - scallops fresh from the Bay

In our freezer, at this very moment, we have crabmeat, a pheasant and 12 scallops. Sounds like a dinner party in the making, if you ask me; all local food from the Sheep’s Head. Now all I need is some Durrus cheese and local honey and I can send out the invitations.

Oh, as for the momentous news, you will all be delighted to know that I have caught my first fish of 2012. I hope there will be many more.

First fish of 2012 - a nice pollock off the rocks in Dunmanus Bay

The Donkey in the fog

There are times when I know that no matter how much I try I will not be able to describe or do justice to an event I have been lucky enough to witness.

This is one of those times and I am fighting to find the right words to give you just a sense of what I experienced this morning.

However, if you bear with me, I will try to share exactly what happened.

One of the first things I noticed when we moved to Kilcrohane was just what an important part the weather plays in everyday life here. While we have yet to have frost or snow, we did have storm-force winds and some very hard rain over the last few weeks.

This morning all that was just a distant memory as I awoke to blue skies, calm water in Dunmanus Bay and a light breeze. The birds were singing, the sheep stood sunning themselves in the fields and it was turning out to be one of those days when you find yourself in the right place at the right time.

I set off out into this picturesque scene armed with my camera and a mission to scout out good fishing locations for later on in the season.

For fresh fish, follow the sign

A short distance from the house is Dooneen Pier and the section of the Sheep’s Head Way called the ‘Fisherman’s path’. This, I decided, would be an excellent place to start my quest for my own piece of angling heaven.

As I made my way along the path, which ran along a cliff’s edge, I could see gannets diving into the sea far below. Always a good sign for any would-be fisherman.

I made my way to the edge of the cliff. Far below, in fact out of sight, I could hear the waves crashing on the rocks. High on the cliff, as close as I could go to the edge, I found a flat rock and sat there taking in the glorious scene before me.

Blue skies over Dunmanus Bay

In the distance I could see the mouth of Dunmanus Bay with the Mizen and Sheep’s Head peninsulas facing the Atlantic Ocean like two pillars of a gate leading into a vast turquoise field. Everything was calm; I could feel the warm sun on my face as I sat like a lizard warming myself on my rock. The only sounds were the occasional wave breaking on the jagged rocks, the cry of a lone gull, and the splash of the gannets diving into the deep water far below.

Every now and again there was a sound like a bass drum echoing from depths as the water gushed into one of the many caves at the base of the cliff.

I found my attention drawn back to the mouth of the Bay. As I watched, it looked like someone had switched on a smoke machine. There, just like a slow set at an eighties disco, was a cloud of what looked like white smoke making its way between the two peninsulas.

Now the ‘smoke’ was not making its way along the headlands or spreading out over the land. It was confined to the bay and was steadily making its way toward me like a scene from that horror movie ‘The Fog’.

Here comes the fog

From my vantage point, I could see the fog moving slowly down the Bay; I could also still see both peninsula heads. The fog bank was about 12 meters (40 feet) high and getting closer all the time. It was like watching grains of sand filling one end of an egg timer.

I also noticed that it was very quiet; very, very quiet. Even the waves seemed to have stopped. The gulls and the gannets were gone. As I looked behind me, wondering if I should leave as well, I saw the sheep, that had been happily munching the grass and enjoying the warm sun when I arrived, were now all heading towards the far end of the field. Some of the sheep were walking but more had decided to run. ‘Time to go’, I thought.

As I stood up to make my way back, the temperature suddenly dropped. High above, I watched as the fog reached the edge of the cliff and seemed to just float there above the now no longer visible water. Then it began to climb up the cliff wall.

Time to leave?

I made my way back to the car, chased by this wall of white fog. I began to imagine giving directions to the rescue services trying to find me as I lay freezing to death surrounded by fog. ‘Yeah, I’m over by the big rock, just past the two sheep on the cliff. Don’t go too far left, there’s a bit of a drop there’.

Then, as I made my way out of the gloom, I was confronted by a few donkeys who unlike the sheep were not going to let a bit of fog upset their morning. They looked at me. I looked at them and then the fog arrived and we all headed towards what I hoped was the quickest way to my car. I don’t know where the donkeys were going but they seemed to be heading towards the cliff edge. I didn’t hear any splashes so I can only assume they’re ok.

Foggy donkey

Back at the car, I watched as the fog bank made its way deeper into Dunmanus Bay towards Durrus. Then, almost as soon as it had arrived, it was gone and there I was, blue sky above me, sun on my face and the sound of the waves on the rocks once more in the distance.

I decided that I didn’t need the rescue services after all. Although it was touch and go there for a while, for both the donkeys and I.

Before the fog

 

 

The fog arrives

Duck and cover

The man with the gun came calling again.

At first I thought he was just wishing us all a Merry Christmas but then he produced a freshly-shot duck and I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up in pure terror.

He obviously doesn’t read my blog.

As he handed me the duck (still warm by the way), I was transported back to the greenhouse and I swear I could smell (and taste) the pheasants as we got them ready for the pot only a few weeks ago. When I say we, most of you will know that I should say ‘the women’ as they did most (all) of the dirty work.

I was once again faced with the prospect of plucking and cleaning out a game bird. It’s amazing how quickly you can react when faced with an unpleasant task. ‘Wow’, I said trying not to throw up. ‘I love duck, thank you so much. Come in and have some tea’. All the time my mind was racing. ‘Oh God, I can’t go through all that again. Where am I going to put it?’, I thought as I filled the kettle.

‘Shot him a couple of minutes ago just down by Farranamanagh Lake,’ our friendly gunman said as he took a seat at the kitchen table. ‘Boil him up for a while before you roast him because he’s been feeding in salt water and there may be a “fishy” taste off him’, he warned.

Farranamanagh Lake where our duck was shot

‘I don’t care how “fishy” he tastes’, I thought, ‘at the moment I don’t think I’m going to make it as far as cooking the bloody duck never mind tasting it. Maybe I could just get rid of it when no one is looking? But no I can’t do that; if you shoot game you must eat it, that’s my philosophy.’

I decided to man-up and do what I should have done all those weeks ago with the pheasants. After all, am I not a real man now that I live on a Peninsula in West Cork? Taking a deep breath, I took the duck in both hands and… I blamed my daughter and in-laws for the fact that I would be unable to deal with the duck at that moment.

‘My daughter is a very picky eater and we have my mother- and father-in-law staying with us and I wouldn’t like to put them off their food. You see, I have nowhere that I can pluck and clean out the duck without them being aware of it, and my back is playing up a bit, and I think I’m coming down with flu, and our freezer is full too, so if you would like to keep the duck, and a lovely specimen he is, please do and I hope you enjoy it. You’re very good to think of me, maybe next time when everybody is out and my back is a bit better…?’, I pleaded as my gunman gave me a knowing smile.

‘I’ll clean him out for you no problem’, he said as he poured himself some more tea. ‘Have him back to you later today and you can cook him tomorrow’, he continued as I felt the dizziness subsiding.

Farranamanagh Lake from the little stone jetty

So later that day, I was presented with an oven-ready duck and I am not ashamed to say that I felt no less a ‘real man’ when I dropped it in the pot with celery, garlic, onion and bay leaves. I decided to boil the bird for at least ten minutes before finishing it off in the oven. Now, the first thing to note is that a wild duck is a lot smaller than your typical farmyard fowl. There was, I reckoned, just enough meat on our duck to feed one person. While boiling the duck, I noticed a strange smell; it was a sweet cloying odour somewhere between a seashore when the tide has gone out and burning plastic or rubber.

I continued with my plan to boil and roast the bird; when I removed it from the oven the smell seemed to have gotten stronger. I decided to put all this to one side; after all, I love duck and as there wasn’t very much to go around I thought I would make some duck burritos using floury tortillas filled with lettuce and tomatoes. However, as I cut into the breast of the duck the odour of salty stones and seaweed got stronger. I tasted a piece.

Bacon, in floury tortillas filled with lettuce and tomatoes and a dollop of mayo is probably the tastiest suppertime treat you can have with a nice strong cup of tea … and all the windows open letting in lots of fresh West Cork air on a cold December night.

As for the duck, let’s just say that Leo our cat didn’t seem to like it either.

After a stormy night over Dunmanus bay

The Jam Lady

Jealousy, we’re told, is one of the seven deadly sins. Now, if that’s the case, and you believe in sins, be they deadly or just a bit uncomfortable, I stand guilty as charged m’Lord.

In fact, I am so green with envy that the wicked Witch of the West looks positively healthy in comparison. What, you may ask, has brought about this sorry state of affairs? Well, this week I went to talk to Maureen, Kylyra and Dave from Caher Kitchens out west along the Peninsula (as we locals say) and I came away feeling very inadequate.

Maureen Hill and her partner Dave Burden moved to the Sheep’s Head back in 1991. They completely rebuilt, (brick by brick, just the two of them) an old school house and began planting fruits and vegetables on the land surrounding their beautiful home. ‘When we left Poole in Dorset, it felt like we were guided here to the Peninsula. After working for 14 months to get the house ready to live in [the couple lived in a small caravan on the site while they worked on their home] we started planting the fruit and veg and it has just grown and grown from there, if you pardon the pun,’ Maureen told me in her cosy kitchen as we watched another hail shower blow in from the bay.

Maureen and Dave in their polytunnel

‘With the excess fruit we produced, I started making jams which I sold at the local pub. I soon became known as the ‘Jam Lady’,’ Maureen said. Dave constructed their first polytunnel and they continued to produce blackberries, strawberries, tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers and lots of other fresh fruits and veg, which they turned into jams, preserves and pickles.

Then, in 2009, another person joined forces with Maureen and Dave to form Caher Kitchens. Kylyra Ameringer arrived on the Sheep’s Head 12 years ago. ‘When the Kilcrohane Producers Market began last summer, I decided to try and sell some of my products and it was here that I teamed up with Maureen and Dave,’ Kylyra said.

Kylyra bakes wonderful pies and cookies, which are produced without gluten making them perfect for those with a wheat intolerance or Coeliac disease. ‘We decided to join forces and now we produce healthy, tasty food that is produced from our own raw materials grown here on the Peninsula,’ Kylyra continued.

Kylyra getting another batch of jam ready as night falls over Dunmanus bay

By the way, as if all the work at Caher Kitchens wasn’t enough, Kylyra also writes music and poetry and she has produced two CDs of her work.

Maureen decided that she wanted to have their produce available all the time and not just once a week at the Kilcrohane Producers Market. ‘I always wanted to set up a stall at the end of our road, an ‘Honesty Stand’ where people could come and get our jams, cookies, cakes and preserves, so that’s what we did and it has been a great success,’ Maureen enthused.

Dave, an ex-engineer, was called on to build the honesty stand that is now situated at Caher Cross, a lovely spot on the road with views out over Dunmanus Bay.

The fruit press designed and built by Dave

The range of wonderful food from Caher Kitchens continues to grow with Kylyra experimenting with some of the remains left-over when Maureen makes her jams. ‘With the left-over pulps, like blackberry or tayberry, we began infusing these with vinegars and now we found that this makes a fantastic addition for salad dressing,’ Kylyra said.

Maureen and Dave took me on tour of their garden, which is also home to four newly-arrived geese.

Not 'oven ready' but still...yum yum!

Every available space is used to grow wonderful fresh produce. Along with the polytunnel, Dave constructed greenhouses, an irrigation system and, of course, his workshop, which contains all the tools he needs. ‘We haven’t bought vegetables in over ten years and we get our meat from the farmer next door, so in terms of food we are almost self-sufficient,’ Dave told me, as the geese began to honk and hiss when I attempted to take their photo.

These 'pets' are not for eating

With my trial-by-pheasant still fresh in my memory, I asked if one of the geese might be on the menu for Christmas Day? ‘No way,’ Maureen quickly said. ‘They’re just pets, that’s all, there will be nobody having one of our lovelies for Christmas dinner,’ Maureen concluded as I left their white-washed cottage armed with the heaviest cabbage I have ever held and a selection of pickles from the honesty stand. Maureen also gave me a recipe for her famous Tomato Chutney, which is listed below. One really can’t help these jealous feelings. This is indeed the ‘Good Life’.

Browsing the honesty stand for some winter goodies

To order directly, email caherkitchens@gmail.com.

Maureen’s Tomato Chutney

• 3lbs tomatoes (skinned, however this is optional)
• 6ozs apples
• 6ozs onions
• 6ozs sultanas
• 6ozs demerara sugar
• 1oz mustard seeds
• ½ oz salt
• ½ level teaspoon pepper
• ½ level teaspoon mixed spice
• ¾ pint malt vinegar
• 3 cloves of garlic

Firstly, chop the tomatoes, apples, onions and garlic.

In a pan, bring the sugar, vinegar and sultanas to the boil for two minutes; then, simply add the remainder of the ingredients.

Simmer very slowly until the chutney has reduced in quantity and thickened.

Finally, pour into warm jars (washed jam jars or any container with an airtight lid will do).

Red pepper relish, cranberry and orange sauce and cucumber pickle

Fishy story

Now that we live on a peninsula you might think that seafood is set to play a very important part in our diet. You would be right, that is the plan, but it’s not that simple.

After the disaster with the seaweed pudding, (I can still taste it) I have decided to concentrate on fish and shellfish when planning to cook with the ‘fruits of the sea’. However, this plan is proving even more difficult to put in place because of my woeful angling skills.

Fishing, yes; catching, no.

We have a very good fishmongers in Bantry, which is just under thirty kilometres away, but I want to catch my own supper at least once before we head into town and take the easy way out.

Indeed, we don’t even have to go as far as Bantry. We have the best lobster, freshest crab and mouth-watering scallops available and all only a phone call away, freshly caught in Dunmanus Bay and landed on the pier in Ahakista, which is just down the road. It really is that easy to enjoy good fish around here but I have decided that I must catch and cook a fish from the Bay before I pick up the phone and make that call.

Lobster and scallop boats at Ahakista Pier

I did set out on such a mission recently but I won’t bore you with the details. Let’s just say it was a good job we had eggs at home.

Last week, I decided to redouble my efforts after I got the chance to interview one of my food heros for a feature commissioned by my former newspaper The Avondhu.

Award-winning chef and owner of the fabulous Fishy Fishy restaurant in Kinsale, Martin Shanahan is no ordinary celebrity cook. This chef is on mission. Another blow-in to West Cork, Martin is working hard to take what he calls ‘the fear out of fish.’

Chef Martin Shanahan is 'Mad about Fish'

“When I was growing up in Fermoy [North Cork, about fifty kilometres from the sea], we always had fish on Fridays, just like most of the country did. The fish was always boiled and served with a white sauce, which is grand but it soon became monotonous and I think a lot of people, well most people really, grew to seriously dislike fish,” Martin told me.

Martin has been working hard to promote fish and wants to see more Irish seafood being served in Irish homes. “Ireland is surrounded by the best fish-producing seas on the planet and we export over ninety percent of our catch. It’s mad. What I want to do is to encourage people to eat more fish, try different species and, above all, support the Irish fishing industry,” Martin said.

However, I wanted to know how a boy from a small town surrounded by some of the best land in Ireland found his way to cooking seafood?

“For me there is something very appealing about cooking with fish. Unlike a red piece of meat, fish is beautiful even in its raw state. After I finished training and working at the Butler Arms Hotel in Waterville for a while, then I moved to San Francisco where I learned more and new ways to cook fish. Looking back on it now, I always seem to have worked by the sea. I get a bit jumpy if I go too far inland,” Martin continued.

Asked what species of fish was his favourite to eat, Martin was quick to name fresh haddock as the fish he couldn’t live without. “There is nothing like fresh fish simply cooked and for me haddock is my favourite,” Martin said.

Fresh haddock ready for sale at the Bantry Farmers' Market.

I left Martin eager to get back to Kilcrohane and my rod; I wondered if he had any advice for a hopeless angler?

“It’s great to catch your own fish but if I were you I’d leave it to the professionals, that way you can concentrate on the cooking,” Martin laughed.

Well, I can’t argue with that. I think it’s time to make that call.

In the meantime, here is one of Martin Shanahan’s best-loved recipes for haddock, which can be found in his Fishy Fishy Cook Book.

Thanks Martin for allowing me to use this recipe on my blog.

Spiced Haddock with couscous and courgettes

Serves 4

4 large fillets of haddock, skinned and boned

4 tablespoons taco seasoning

4 tablespoons plain flour

Salt and pepper

250g couscous

4 tablespoons olive oil

500ml vegetable stock

Pinch of saffron

1 small onion

1 courgette

Crème fraiche

Bunch of coriander

Place the couscous in bowl and add a tablespoon of olive oil.

Toss with a fork to coat the grains with the oil.

Heat the stock with a good pinch of saffron.

Turn the heat down and leave to infuse until the stock takes on the yellow colour of the saffron (10-15 minutes).

Finely dice the onion.

Cut the courgette in four, length-ways, and then slice into 5mm-thick wedges.

Put a pan on the heat and add 2 tablespoons of olive oil.

Add the onion until it is just beginning to soften, and then add the courgette.

Season quite generously with salt and pepper.

Cook until the courgette is just soft.

Add the vegetable mixture to the bowl of couscous.

Bring the stock back to the boil and pour over the couscous mixture.

Leave for 15 minutes for the grains to swell.

Mix the taco seasoning with the flour, and season.

To cook the fish: coat the haddock in the taco mix, pat to shake off the excess.

Heat a pan and coat the base with vegetable oil. Cook the fish on a high heat for 4 minutes, turn and cook for a further 4 minutes on the other side.

Serve with crème fraiche and chopped coriander.