I have many fond memories of the trip I took to Ireland two years ago. First of all, there were the rolling green hills cut into puzzle pieces by carefully placed stonewalls. I learned that landowners on the isle of Inis Oírr created their own stacking patterns to mark their property. I was also taken by the livestock that appeared unaware of their own good fortune as they roamed the beautiful, lush landscape.
And while all of those images are quite clear in my mind the one thing that I still can't get over is the bread I ate there. You see I am truly a carbohydrate-loving lass. The breads and, holy crap- the butter, were beyond compare on the Emerald Isle. Even so there is one bread that remains a fond memory - it is a particular slice (okay 5 slices) of brown bread I had one morning in the harbor town of Dingle.
When I asked Siobhan, the bread maker extraordinaire, how she made the bread she sort of shrugged her shoulders and smiled. "I don't really follow a recipe. I just throw a few things together, pop it in the oven and there it is."
Yea, sure you do.
This time last year I googled up a few different recipes and tried, unsuccessfully, to make my own. This year I'm at it again and hoping round two will be better. I even splurged for the really good butter.