“I think we’re in luck, Barry,” O’Reilly said. “With all the snow…” He pointed out the window of the upstairs lounge to where the roof of the Presbyterian church opposite was a foot deep in the sparkling white stuff and one side of the steeple looked as if it had been sheathed in cotton wool, “I don’t think we’ll be having the promised visit from that woman from the ministry.” He rubbed his hands in delight and reached for another slice of hot buttered barmback. His third.
O’Reilly, I had learned, while being the soul of sweetness and light to widows, small children, and stray cats—he had after all taken in Lady Macbeth, who’d been left in a basket on his doorstep—had a deep abiding hatred for bureaucracy and form filling. I had learned it at firsthand last week when “that woman” had made her first appearance at Number One Main Street. I’d had the luck, or perhaps misfortune is a better word, to be present.
Kinky had stuck her head round the surgery door. Morning surgery had run late, was just over, and O’Reilly was hungry. “Excuse me, sir, but there does be a Miss Pilkington here. She says she’s come down from Stormont Castle in Belfast from the Ministry of Health, so. I have explained that it is your lunchtime but she does be most insistent she speak with you at once.” Kinky’s usually animated features remained firmly at rest. Her lips were compressed into a thin line.
“Oh Lord.” O’Reilly rolled his eyes to heaven. “I’d forgotten about her. She phoned last week. It’s to do with some blasted forms I’ve not filled in right.” He glanced at the window and for a moment I thought he was going to do a runner. He sighed, then said, “Show her in.”
Kinky opened the door wide and was jostled aside by a tall, angular, middle-aged woman.
O’Reilly rose from his swivel chair. I slipped from where I’d been sitting on the examining couch. Men stood when a lady entered.
Her stride was purposeful as her sensible low-heeled brogues carried her across the carpet. “O’Reilly?” she said in a harsh tenor. I noted she did not use his title.
She carried an attaché case. Her grey double-breasted raincoat had padded shoulders. I thought of how my mother had dressed in the late forties. She wore a tam-o’-shanter perched to one side of severely cropped iron-grey hair. She peered at O’Reilly with pale eyes from behind wire-rimmed spectacles perched on the bridge of an aquiline nose. She wore no makeup. Thin lips drooped at eight twenty.
“That’s me,” he said in a small voice. His smile was forced.
She thrust out her right hand, forcing him to do her the courtesy of shaking it—this, please remember, in a class-ridden society in which handshakes were only ever offered by a superior to a lesser mortal. Try to imagine Her Majesty being offered a hand by a coal miner. It doesn’t ring true, does it? “I am Miss Hermione Pilkington, B.A., principal officer in the Ministry of Health.”
No courtesy title for Doctor O’Reilly but she wanted her full dress formalities.
“Yes,” said O’Reilly. “And that’s Doctor Laverty.”
She ignored me.
“Will you have a seat?” O’Reilly asked.
“I prefer to stand.”
This meant, of course, that neither O’Reilly nor I could sit.
She opened her briefcase, took out a file, and thrust it at O’Reilly. “Open it.”
Apparently, “please” was not in her vocabulary.
O’Reilly did. I noticed that a certain paleness in the tip of his boxer’s bent nose, a sure sign that, if not yet coming to the boil, my senior colleague was beginning to simmer.
“These are the last series of Ministry Claim Form B-two-oh-six-slash-forty-one-A submitted by you, O’Reilly for the last two weeks…”
Two weeks of a murderous flu epidemic during which time O’Reilly and I had barely enough time to eat and sleep, never mind fill in some pettifogging pieces of paperwork.
She shook her head and for a moment I thought she was going to stamp her foot. “Every one of them, every single one, is incorrect.” She waved an admonitory finger. “How on earth do you expect us to keep our statistics up to date without the proper forms being filled in?”
“I can see that it might be difficult.” O’Reilly’s tone was placatory. His nose tip alabaster. I was quite sure that had Principal Officer Miss Hermione Pilkington B.A. been a man he’d now be on the receiving end of a tongue lashing if not a straight left, but O’Reilly was of the old school.
She stepped up to him, took one form, laid it on his desk, and said, “Pen.”
O’Reilly produced one and for the next five minutes (at least it seemed like five minutes), she instructed him in the minutiae of dealing with Form B-two-oh-six-slash-forty-one-A as a school mistress might instruct a dim five-year-old in his ABCs.
“I,” she said with the stress that President Charles de Gaulle reserved for his emphatic Moi, “am leaving the folder here. You will complete the forms correctly. I will return in one week to ensure that you have completed the task and any others that have accrued during the intervening period. Is that understood?”
“Yes,” said O’Reilly.
“Good.” She spun on her heel and, without as much as a by-your-leave, strode out.
I heard the front door slam.
O’Reilly shook his head. “I,” he said, “hate paper work, and detest that species Homo administratus. It’s a good thing that particular one didn’t live in Salem, Massachusetts, in sixteen ninety two. She’s a witch.” He managed a grin. “Still, worse things happen at sea. Come on, let’s get lunch. Kinky’s making pea and ham soup and buttermilk pancakes.”
And in the hurly-burly of the practice of the next week I’d forgotten about Miss Pilkington until the moment he’d said that the snow would prevent a visit from “that woman.”
Of course he was wrong.
Kinky came into the lounge. “I am sorry sir, but the lady from the ministry’s here.”
“What? She can’t be.”
“She can, bye, and I have put her in the surgery.”
“Bloody hell,” said O’Reilly. “Come on then, Barry.” He rose and I followed.
She was waiting, arms folded, lips pursed.
“Gracious, Miss Pilkington,” said O’Reilly. “Those forms must be important for you to risk coming here in this weather.”
“They are,” she said, “and I was fortunate. An army helicopter had come with a VIP officer from the barracks here to Stormont Castle. They kindly gave me a ride on their way home.”
“Decent of them,” said O’Reilly and took a long pause before adding, “I should have thought it would be bloody cold riding a broom in this weather.”
SIDE DISHES
Chutney
You can make chutney with virtually any fruit or vegetable that you have in abundance. If you are making chutney for long-term storage you must sterilize the canning jars. If you are planning to make a lot of jelly, jam, and chutney then it would be a good investment to buy a preserving pan sometimes called a jam pan. These are usually made of heavy-gauge aluminum and are large enough and heavy based so that you can bring the jam or chutney to a high temperature and, in the case of chutney making, to enable the vinegar to reduce and the chutney to thicken.
Smaller amounts of chutney for immediate use do not need to be stored in canning jars and may be kept in the fridge in plastic containers, or may be frozen. However, some chutney does improve with keeping and where that is the case I have indicated. These chutneys will need to be bottled in sterilised jars and stored in a cool, dark cupboard. It is not necessary to refrigerate them.
Apple Chutney
This simple apple version is quick, easy, and delicious with cold leftover lamb, ham, or pork and very good with a cheese board.
Makes 6 to 8 8 oz/227 g jars
2¼ lb/1 kg tart apples, peeled, cored, and chopped
18 oz/535 ml cider vinegar
1 lb/455 g onions, chopped
8 oz/227 g brown sugar
3½ oz/100 g raisins or sultanas
1 (2-in/5-cm) p
iece fresh ginger, grated
1 red or green chile, seeds reserved
2 garlic cloves, crushed
1 tsp salt
Combine all the ingredients in a large saucepan and bring slowly to a simmer, stirring until the sugar has dissolved. Now cook gently over a low heat for about 1 hour, stirring occasionally. Taste after about 30 minutes and add the seeds from the chile if you would like a hotter chutney. Continue cooking for a further 30 minutes, stirring more frequently as the mixture thickens. When the chutney has cooled down, place in sterilised jars and cover with lids. Store in a cool, dark place. If you can wait, this chutney will taste better in about a month’s time.
Beet Chutney
Makes 2 8 oz/227 g jars
1 Tbsp olive oil
1 red onion, finely chopped
1 garlic clove, crushed
1 (1-in/2.5-cm) piece fresh ginger, grated
1 tsp mustard seeds
12 oz/340 g beets, cooked and chopped
½ apple (Pink Lady is nice), peeled, cored, and finely shredded
2½ oz/75 ml cider vinegar
2 oz/56 g sugar
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Heat the oil in a large pan over a medium heat, add the onion, garlic, and ginger and cook until soft. Add the mustard seeds and cook until they pop. Add the beets, apple, vinegar, and sugar and cook for a few minutes until the chutney has thickened. Season with salt and pepper to taste and allow to cool before serving. Transfer to jars or a plastic lidded container such as Tupperware. This chutney may be kept, covered, for two or three weeks in the refrigerator. If you have more than you need for immediate use it can be stored in the freezer in freezer-proof containers.
Cranberry Chutney
Makes 2 8 oz/227 g jars
1 lb/455 g cranberries
8 oz/227 g brown sugar
4 oz/113 g raisins
4 oz/120 ml water
2½ oz/75 ml cider vinegar
1 (1-in/2.5-cm) piece fresh ginger, grated
2 tsp ground cinnamon
½ tsp ground cloves
1 onion, finely chopped
1 tart apple, peeled, cored, and finely chopped
Combine the cranberries, sugar, raisins, water, vinegar, ginger, cinnamon, and cloves in a large saucepan. Bring to a boil, then simmer over low heat until the cranberries start to pop, about 5 minutes. Add the onion and apple and continue to cook, stirring occasionally, until the mixture begins to thicken, 5 to 10 more minutes. Transfer to two 8-ounce/227-g jars and allow to cool slightly. Cover and refrigerate overnight before using. If you will not be able to use within about three weeks just freeze the surplus in a freezer-proof container.
Mint Chutney
Makes 1 serving
A large handful of young mint leaves
1 large apple (such as Granny Smith or Pink Lady), peeled and cored.
2 oz/56 g chopped red onion
Juice of ½ lemon or lime
A pinch of sugar
A pinch of salt
A pinch of cayenne pepper
Process all the ingredients in a blender until coarsely chopped. Season and store in an airtight container. This will keep for about five days in the fridge.
Plum Chutney
This chutney is particularly good with pork or ham dishes.
Makes 2 8 oz/227 g jars
1 lb/455 g red or yellow plums, pitted
6 oz/170 g sugar
3½ oz/105 ml cider or apple vinegar
1 (1-in/2.5-cm) piece fresh ginger, grated
1 garlic clove, crushed
1 tsp ground ginger
1 tsp ground cinnamon
Combine all the ingredients in a saucepan and bring to the boil, stirring until the sugar has dissolved. Continue to simmer gently for 20 to 30 minutes, until the chutney has thickened and the plums are tender. Transfer to sterilised jars. Allow to cool before using. This chutney will keep for up to three months in a cool, dark cupboard or may be frozen in freezer-proof containers.
Vegetable Side Dishes
Champ
Champ is very popular in Ireland as an accompaniment for other dishes. In fact I do believe it was invented by the Irish. It was cheap and nutritious and it might have been eaten as often as three times a week. I loved it when Ma would sometimes beat a raw egg into it just before serving but this had to be done very quickly because the champ cooled with the addition of the cold egg.
In Ireland we have a somewhat unkind expression, “Someone is as thick as champ,” meaning that he’s not very intelligent.
This makes a nice change from just having mashed potatoes as a topping on savoury dishes. It looks good too when dotted with butter or cheese and browned under a hot grill or broiler. If you have any left over, which is extremely unlikely, you can use it to make Irish Potato Bread (here).
Serves 4 to 6
2 lb/910 g potatoes, peeled and quartered
1 bunch scallions, chopped
8 oz/235 ml milk
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
2 oz/56 g butter
Boil the potatoes until soft, drain, and mash well. In a separate pan, cook the scallions with the milk and seasoning at a slow simmer until soft. This only takes a few minutes, but keep watching it to make sure that it does not boil over. Now add this together with the butter to the mashed potatoes and mix well. Serve.
Colcannon
From the Irish cál ceannann meaning “white-headed cabbage.” In some parts of Scotland it is called rumbledethumps.
Serves 4 to 6
1¾ lb/800 g floury potatoes, peeled and quartered
4 oz/113 g curly kale or spring cabbage
1 bunch scallions
4 oz/113 g butter
2 slices bacon, cooked and chopped (optional)
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Chopped fresh parsley and chives
Boil the potatoes for about 15 minutes until just soft. Drain them and dry over the residual heat on the stovetop. Blanch the kale for 1 minute. Drain, then dry in a clean tea towel or on paper towels and roughly chop with the scallion (or pulse the kale and scallions in a blender for about 10 seconds).
Mash the potatoes with a potato masher (not the food processor) and add most of the butter. Stir in the kale, scallions, and bacon (if using) and season with salt and pepper to taste. Make a well in the centre and drop in the remaining butter. Sprinkle chopped parsley and chives on top and serve.
Crispy Flourless Potato Cake
This works very well with an Ulster Fry (here) instead of Irish Potato Bread (here), or as an accompaniment to many savory dishes.
Serves 4
1 lb/455 g russet potatoes, unpeeled
½ onion, grated
Salt
1 oz/28 g butter
Boil the potatoes and allow to cool, then peel and coarsely grate them. Combine with the onion and season with salt. Heat half the butter in a nonstick frying pan over a medium heat, pile in the potato and onion mixture, and flatten this down. Cook for about 10 minutes until you see the edges starting to brown. Now slide the potato cake onto a plate, then place the pan upside down over the plate and transfer the cake, cooked-side up, into the pan. You may want to add the rest of the butter round the edges now. Cook for another 10 minutes until the underside is crisp. Cut into wedges and serve hot.
Bacon and Leek Pudding
This is a nice accompaniment for a roast beef dish or a simple weekday sausage meal.
Serves 4
1 lb 2 oz/500 g leeks
4 oz/113 g bacon, chopped
3 oz/85 g butter
1 Tbsp fresh thyme leaves
2 Tbsp dry white wine
7 oz/210 ml heavy cream
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
4 oz/113 g brioche, broken into ½-in/12-mm chunks
3 oz/85 g Parmesan cheese, grated
Preheat the oven to 400°F/200°C. Grease a 8 by 6-inch/20 cm by 15-cm baking dish.
Slice
the leeks and wash very carefully in several changes of salted water. Fry the bacon until crisp and set aside. Heat half of the butter in the frying pan and gently cook the leeks and thyme until soft. Add the wine and cook until reduced by half. Add the cream, season with salt and pepper, and reduce again. Pour into the baking dish and mix in the chopped bacon.
Melt the rest of the butter in another frying pan, add the brioche chunks, and fry until golden. Sprinkle the bread over the top of the casserole, top with the cheese, and bake for 20 to 30 minutes. Serve.
Himmel und Urde
This is a traditional German dish often served with pork. It was also popular in Ireland, as the two main ingredients were so often grown together and the free-roaming pigs in the farm yard would snaffle about in the orchards eating the windfalls. The meaning of the name is quite lovely too: Heaven and Earth. The Irish probably just called it mashed potatoes with apple. I like to use almost equal quantities of potato and Bramley apples but you can adjust this as you like.
Serves 4 to 6
2 lb/910 g potatoes, peeled and quartered
1½ lb/680 g tart apples, peeled, cored, and cut into chunks
2 oz/56 g butter
A good splash of whipping cream
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Place the potatoes and apples in a large saucepan, cover with water, bring to the boil, and cook until just soft. Drain off the water and place over a low heat to dry. Add most of the butter and the cream and mash all together. Season with salt and pepper to taste, then place in a serving dish and dot with the remaining butter. Keep warm in the oven ’til ready to serve.
Kinky’s Note:
For a change, mix crispy chopped bacon through the mash.
Marinated Mushrooms