“Barry,” Myrna said, accepting her sherry from Lars, “have you got a minute?”
“Of course.”
More laughter from the bay window, where Kitty and the Bishops were all on their second drink. Fitzpatrick too, was laughing his dried-leaves chuckle. He snatched off his pince-nez.
“Lars has had an idea. You know he has a place in Villefranche?”
“Yes.”
“He was wondering … Hello, Sue.”
Sue had appeared at Barry’s side.
“Don’t let me interrupt,” she said.
Lars picked up where Myrna had left off. “We know you two are getting married in July. Have you plans for a honeymoon?”
Sue shook her head.
“How would you like to have my place in Villefranche for a couple of weeks?”
Barry could see himself yesterday staring at a jet and thinking about whisking Sue off in one. “Sue?”
“It would be wonderful,” she frowned, “but, well, we are hoping to buy a house in April…”
“Broughshane’s very near Ballymena, where the natives are renowned for their frugality,” Barry said, taking Sue’s hand between both of his.
“Heavens. I wouldn’t charge you,” Lars said with a laugh. “It would be our wedding gift to you.”
“Our wedding gift.” A few days ago Fingal had mentioned to Barry how pleased he was that Lars was becoming so attached to Myrna. That “our” sounded like a deep mutual attachment indeed. “Having your place would be wonderful, Lars,” Barry said. “Thank you. I’ll have to talk to you about the actual arrangements, but—”
O’Reilly had moved to the head of the table and was banging a spoon on a glass.
At the same time Nonie appeared and whispered to Barry, “Normal confinement. Baby boy. Mother and child are doing well. Am I on time?”
“Right on time. Fingal’s about to speak.”
“Right,” said O’Reilly. “I’m not one for speechifying, and as everyone here knows, Number One has been under threat of demolition for eight weeks. But thanks to the hard work of a few, and the solidarity of the many, Kitty and I will be able to stay on here in the home we love with Kinky looking after us as she has always looked after me. Doctor Barry Laverty can have his quarters until he moves out to marry his beautiful schoolmistress Sue Nolan, and the latest addition to the O’Reilly family, Doctor Nonie Stevenson, who I am very happy to say is better now, will be fed and lodged here on her on-call nights.” He took a pull on his second whiskey as Bertie and Flo clapped.
“I’ve only a wee bit more to say, so hold your applause til I’ve done, but it’s us should be applauding Flo Bishop and Alice Moloney, who got the petition going. And cheering the thousands who signed, and Lord John MacNeill, Councillors Moloney, Bishop, Hare, Monaghan, Warnock, and Grahame, who voted in favour. Thank you. Thank you all.”
Everyone was clapping mightily now, and Barry looked around this now-familiar room, as familiar and as treasured as his own parents’ dining room, and the site of so many of Kinky’s wonderful meals. I hope, he thought, reaching for Sue’s hand again, that when I’ve been here as long as you, Fingal Flahertie O’Reilly, I have the love and respect of the whole village too.
Bertie Bishop said, “Doctor, sorry til interrupt, but can I ask a question?”
“Fire away.”
“Would you consider running for council? There might be a vacancy.” Bertie grinned. “I heard tell Hubert Doran could resign.”
“You what?”
“Aye, he’s ‘having second thoughts about his civic duty,’ according to my sources. If anybody’s been stewing in his own juice for the last couple of weeks, it’s that gob—”
“Bertie, remember your blood pressure,” said Flo.
“Thinking of resigning. I’ll be damned,” said O’Reilly. “Thank you, Bertie, for the offer. But you’ll have to look elsewhere if you need a successor. I’m no politician. Now, I’ve still some people to thank. Donal, thank you for running the bar. Have one yourself.”
“Thank you, sir.” Donal poured himself a half-un.
“And thank you, Kinky and Archie, for all the fine grub.”
Kinky smiled.
“A couple of last things,” O’Reilly said. “Kitty and I have agreed to disagree about new curtains, but,” he walked over to the window, “if, Bertie, you and Flo, will move out of the bay?”
“Right you are, Doctor. Come on, Flo. Shift your chassis, woman.”
O’Reilly motioned Kitty to stay, bent and, with a flourish, undid the curtains’ lashings, the signal for Barry to carry out his task. As he left, he heard, “Will you do the honours, Mrs. O’Reilly?” and two perfect teal-blue velvet curtains swished into place to another round of applause.
Barry hastened back with his burden only partially hidden behind his back and slipped it to O’Reilly as the curtains were reopened to let the stars smile down through the window onto the celebrants.
“Finally,” said O’Reilly, “unbeknownst to any of you, for some time in this household my dear wife and I have been having our own minor war of the roses. Kitty had her way in the waiting room and has changed the wallpaper, all but for Donal’s magnificent rose mural—”
Loud laughter.
“And tonight, to help her celebrate her curtain victory, I have a gift that comes with all my love.” He solemnly presented her with a large vase containing two dozen red roses.
“Oh, Fingal, they’re exquisite. Thank you.” Kitty accepted her gift and sniffed the flowers’ perfume.
“Let me set it on the sideboard,” O’Reilly said. He did, turning the vase through 180 degrees to reveal, painted in bright colours against the jade enamel, one massive tea rose. “And,” he said, “when the last rose of summer has faded, the vase will stay.”
Barry Laverty, Doctor Barry Laverty, looked from O’Reilly to Kitty, their love for each other so clear. It was a love that had lasted long after the last rose of summer had faded. And this house, this village, these friends helped sustain that love. I’ll never leave here, Barry suddenly vowed. I love you dearly, Sue Nolan, I love Number One Main Street, I love Ballybucklebo, I love Ulster, and, damn it all, I love you, you great untidy, crusty bear of a man with a heart of corn, Fingal Flahertie, the Wily O’Reilly.
AFTERWORD
by
Mrs. Maureen Auchinleck
Here I am again, sitting at home with Archie. He’s reading the Belfast Telegraph and I’m sat at my kitchen table, pen in fist, writing out more recipes for your man Patrick Taylor to put at the end of another yarn about the doings of the folks of Ballybucklebo. I’ve six for you this time: mussel and seafood chowder, pork in mustard sauce, beef Wellington, ginger biscuits, buttermilk scones, and hard fudge.
And, bye, I’ve some exciting news. With a bit of help from Doctor Laverty, Patrick Taylor, and Dorothy Tinman, I’m getting my very own Irish Country Cookbook published next February. Do keep an eye out for it, so.
And here are this book’s recipes.
MUSSEL AND SEAFOOD CHOWDER
450 g / 1 lb. shellfish such as mussels, scallops, and shrimp
225 mL / 8 oz. dry white wine
700 g / 1½ lbs. white fish such as cod, haddock, or snapper
425 mL / 15 oz. milk
1 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves
1 bay leaf
113 g / 4 oz. smoked streaky bacon
1 tablespoon olive or sunflower oil
28 g / 1 oz. butter
1 leek
1 shallot
1 small carrot
700 g / 1½ lbs. potatoes, peeled and finely diced
112 mL / 4 oz. cream
1 tablespoon fish sauce (optional)
A handful of chopped parsley
First, clean the mussels and, using a sharp knife, remove the beard. That’s the little tufty bit on the shell. Bring the wine to a boil in a saucepan, add the mussels, cover with a lid, and cook for about 4 minutes. Discard any that did not open and remove most of the rest
from their shells, leaving just a few for decoration. Set aside the cooking liquid.
Simmer the white fish in the milk with the thyme and bay leaf for just a few minutes until cooked but still firm. Remove the fish and set to one side. Discard the bay leaf and season the cooking liquid well with salt and freshly ground black pepper.
Now chop the bacon and sauté in the oil and butter for about 1 minute till crisp. Add the finely sliced leek, shallot, carrot, and diced potatoes. Cover and cook gently for a few minutes, without browning. Add the cooking liquid from the mussels and the white fish and simmer all together until the potatoes are soft and breaking up. Then add the scallops and shrimp. They will only need a very little time to cook so watch that you do not overcook them or they will be rubbery.
Now add the fish and the cooked mussels together with the cream and fish sauce. Season to taste and add chopped parsley. If the chowder is too thick just add some more milk or water, and adjust the seasoning if necessary.
Serve with my wheaten bread and butter and this will be a substantial meal on its own.
PORK IN MUSTARD SAUCE
700 g / 1½ lbs. apples, peeled and thinly sliced
4 slices of pork loin or pork chops trimmed of fat
15 g / ½ oz. butter
60 mL / 2 oz. dry white wine
75 mL / 5 tablespoons Dijon mustard
227 mL / 8 oz. thick cream
salt and pepper
Set the oven to 400ºF, 200ºC, or gas mark 6. Butter a casserole dish big enough to spread the pork slices side by side. Cover the base with the thinly sliced apples and bake for 15 minutes in the oven.
While the apples are cooking, place the salted chops with the remaining butter in a pan over a medium heat and cook until they are nicely browned on each side. This should take about 15 minutes.
Now remove the apples from the oven and place the pork on top of the apples in the casserole dish. Place the pan back on the heat, add the wine, and deglaze the pan until the wine has reduced by half. Pour this over the pork in the casserole.
In a bowl, mix the mustard into the cream, tasting as you go, add some salt and pepper, and pour the mixture over the pork. Return the dish to the oven and bake for a further 25 minutes or so.
This is delicious served with champ and just about any other vegetable that you like.
BEEF WELLINGTON
1 kg / 2 lbs. 4 oz. fillet of beef, trimmed
Small bunch of thyme leaves
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 tablespoon olive oil
2 tablespoons strong English mustard or prepared horseradish
500 g / 1 packet frozen puff pastry
1 egg (to glaze)
Duxelles
Splash of truffle oil
3 shallots, finely chopped
1 clove of garlic
450 g / 1 lb. Crimini/chestnut mushrooms
1 tablespoon finely chopped parsley
First make the duxelles. This is the layer between the beef and the pastry.
To a little truffle (or olive) oil in a medium-hot pan add the chopped shallots and the crushed garlic, then add the mushrooms and cook until all the moisture from the mushrooms has evaporated. Now add the chopped parsley.
Now dry the fillet of beef with kitchen paper and sprinkle on plenty of salt, the thyme leaves, and freshly ground black pepper. In a frying pan heat a tablespoon of olive oil and, keeping the pan at a hot temperature, sear the beef on all sides and each end. Now spread either the mustard or horseradish over the entire fillet and leave to rest, wrapped in clingfilm, to chill in a refrigerator. This may be done up to 24 hours ahead.
When you are ready to cook the beef, set the oven to 220ºC /450ºF.
Roll out the puff pastry to a size that will completely wrap around the beef, plus an extra inch or two for sealing. Spread the duxelles over the pastry. Lay the beef on top, then fold the pastry round it and moisten and seal the pastry edges. Brush the pastry with the beaten egg and decorate with a sharp knife to make a crisscross pattern. Sprinkle the pastry with some coarse sea salt to help it to crispen.
Now bake for about 30 to 35 minutes, then remove from the oven and allow to rest for 10 to 12 minutes. Then, with a really sharp knife, cut into slices and serve.
Kinky’s Note:
When I made this for the marquis I added another step to the recipe, but it really makes the dish much richer and is probably more suited to a very grand occasion, so.
What you need is a portion of pâté de fois gras, a tablespoon of brandy, and some very thin cooked pancakes or crêpes. Then you put a layer of pâté, softened with the brandy, onto the pancakes and place this, pâté side up, between the pastry and the duxelles.
GINGER BISCUITS
85 g. / 3 oz. plain flour
½ teaspoon bicarbonate of soda
1 teaspoon ground ginger
60 g / 2½ oz. sugar
85 g / 3 oz. rolled oats
Ginger root, about 2 inches, peeled and chopped or grated finely
100 g / 4 oz. butter
1 tablespoon syrup (golden or maple)
1 tablespoon milk
Preheat the oven to 150ºC /300ºF. Line 2 large baking tins with baking parchment. Put all the dry ingredients and the fresh ginger into a large bowl and mix together. Melt butter, syrup, and milk in a saucepan over a low heat and mix into the dry ingredients. Pop it into the fridge for about 5 minutes until it has firmed up and cooled.
Now put heaped teaspoons on the baking sheets, very well spaced apart, as they spread while cooking. Flatten the top of each biscuit with the back of a spoon and bake until lightly browned.
This can take between 10 and 20 minutes, depending on your oven. Now you need to let them cool on the trays, otherwise they would disintegrate. When they are cool enough to move, transfer to a cooling rack and store, when cold, in an air-tight box.
Kinky’s Note:
Ginger keeps very well in the freezer and is easy to grate whilst frozen.
ULSTER BUTTERMILK SCONES
225 g / 8 oz. plain flour
2½ teaspoons baking powder
Pinch of salt
½ teaspoon bicarbonate of soda
56 g / 2 oz. sugar
85 g / 3 oz. butter, at room temperature
1 egg, beaten
4 to 5 tablespoons buttermilk
Preheat the oven to 200ºC/400ºF and line a large baking sheet with greased baking parchment.
In a bowl, sift the flour with the baking powder, salt, and bicarbonate of soda and add the sugar. Cut the butter into the flour mixture and rub in with your fingers. Then stir in the egg and a tablespoon of buttermilk. Gradually work in the rest of the buttermilk to make a dough. Different brands of flour may use more or less buttermilk, so do this slowly, as you may have too much or may need to add more. When it all comes together in a soft dough it is ready to be kneaded and rolled out on a floured work surface. It should be about 1 inch or more thick. Now take a cutter or a small upturned glass tumbler and cut out rounds about 1½ inches in diameter. You should end up with about 12.
Arrange the scones on the baking sheet and brush with a little egg yolk mixed with a little milk to give the scones a golden top, or you could simply dust them with flour.
Bake for about 10 minutes and cool on a wire rack.
This is the recipe that I gave to Maggie MacCorkell.
FUDGE
115 g / 4 oz. butter
397 g / 14 oz. condensed milk
150 m / 4 oz. milk
1 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons vanilla essence (optional)
455 g / 16 oz. demerara sugar
Line a 30 x 20 cm baking tin with parchment.
Melt the butter in the condensed milk and the ordinary milk over a low heat in the biggest, heaviest-bottomed pan you can find. Add the salt, vanilla (if using), and gradually add the sugar. Stir until the sugar has dissolved. Then turn the heat up high and watch that the mixture does not boil over. Continue to bo
il for about 10 to 15 minutes, stirring often and making sure that the bottom of the mixture is not burning. The colour will change from a creamy white to a shade of light brown and the temperature will register about 240ºF /116ºC. A drop of the mixture dropped into icy-cold water will form a soft ball of fudge.
Beat with an electric mixer for about 5 minutes and pour into a baking pan about 30 cm × 20 cm or 12" x 7". Leave to cool and when almost but not quite set, mark into squares with a sharp knife. When cold, cut up into squares.
GLOSSARY
I have in all the previous Irish Country novels provided a glossary to help the reader who is unfamiliar with the vagaries of the Queen’s English as it may be spoken by the majority of people in Ulster. This is a regional dialect akin to English as spoken in Yorkshire or on Tyneside. It is not Ulster-Scots, which is claimed to be a distinct language in its own right. I confess I am not a speaker.
Today in Ulster (but not in 1967 when this book is set) official signs are written in English, Irish, and Ulster-Scots. The washroom sign would read Toilets, Leithris (Irish), and Cludgies (Ulster-Scots). I hope what follows here will enhance your enjoyment of the work, although I am afraid it will not improve your command of Ulster-Scots.
acting the lig/maggot: Behaving like an idiot.
aluminium: Aluminum.
amadán: Irish. Pronounced “omadawn.” Idiot.
and all: Addition to a sentence for emphasis.
anyroad: Anyway.
arse: Backside. (Impolite.)
at himself/not at himself: He’s feeling well/not feeling well.
away off (and feel your head/and chase yourself): Don’t be stupid.
aye certainly: Of course, or naturally.
back to porridge: Returning from something extraordinary to the humdrum daily round.
bang your drum about: Go on at length about a pet subject.
banjaxed: Ruined or smashed.
banshee: Irish: beán (woman) sidhe (fairy). Female spirit whose moaning foretells a death.
barging: Telling off verbally or physically shoving.
barmbrack: Speckled bread. (See Mrs. Kinkaid’s recipe in An Irish Country Doctor.)
An Irish Country Love Story Page 38
