“An army marches on its stomach…”

Lest you get the misperception that all we’ve been doing is scrambling over Arctic tundra and lavafields…

…we thought we’d give you a behind-the-scenes view of what we’re really doing.

Hence, this is our food blog. (You can tell this by the Thanksgiving notice in McGann’s in Doolin on the coast of County Clare.)

To follow this blog, you’ll have to jump around from place to place…

…in no particular order.

And there will be close-readings required of all the salient texts.

In fact, to show how literarily hip we are, we’re giving away the ending right now.

Here we are typing this blog in this cool little flat we’ve found in West Kensington in London. We’re seated about a mile from where I was born – in St. Stephen’s Hospital on Fulham Road. I ran along that road before settling back down here to work.

Actually, it was a research-run. I was also scoping out bakeries and pubs in Chelsea along the way.

It’s been nothing but research all along the way.

For instance, we were so disappointed to have missed Moran’s Oyster Cottage outside Galway the night before…

…that we waited for it to open for lunch the next day…

…and walked along Galway Bay and struck up a conversation to bide our time awhile.

“What more does one need?” you might ask…

…with a good peat fire in the hearth beside you.

Now go through these next few photos really quickly. They work like one of those old flip-books if you do.
See?

And notice it’s the same single pint of Guinness.

In broad daylight yet.

Or one could take a more contemplative – even sacramental – approach.

After all, there’s no end to the work that must be done…

…and to the decisions that must be made.

Raw Galway Bay oysters? Or garlic-grilled?

Fortunately, perhaps not even Solomon could’ve made a better choice.

We’ll even review for you from time to time.

Like reminding you of the sausage, eggs, bacon, and grits Mary Ann Petway lovingly made for us for breakfast.

And that there was barbeque in Selma.

And arctic char in Nunavut.

And farmers’ markets we look for everywhere.

And memorable gatherings with our family. This is a British breakfast at the Liverpool home of Chris’ cousin Helen and her husband James and daughter Lucy…

…who’s a talented actor, but an inordinately enthusiastic fan of High School Musical.

Helen took us to Ty Crainc, the home on Anglesey in North Wales that James’ forebearers built and which has been in his family for a century.

But instead of dining in baronial style there…

…we repaired to the nearby White Eagle Pub.

That’s a steak and ale pudding and a smooth pint of Weetwood Ale from Cheshire on the table.

And a trio of desserts.

Chocolate tart with cointreau and orange ice cream.

Bara brith bread and butter pudding with cinnamon ice cream.

It is a custom at Ty Crainc for guests to leave the house a poem. On the counter, those are bound volumes of them from a century ago.

So I diligently do my part.

One of the joys of our travel has been the alternating rhythm of urban-scapes…

…and the countryside.

Here’s Dublin preparing for Christmas…

…as Dublin best knows how.

And this sequence is for my brothers.

Just to see…

…if they’re paying any attention at all.

Debi’s sweet-tooth has surprised me, though with a pie shop like this one in Toronto it’s easy to see why.

But perhaps her favorite fare is a straightforward bowl of porridge.

And top prize thus far is Sister Jean’s porridge at the House of Prayer on Iona.

Although one night we stumbled upon a homespun place in Dublin…

…which names itself as you see above.

We met new friends there, Dublin artists Liam O’Callaghan and Anna Rackard, who (among their other work) have created Fish, Stone, Water, a book about the holy wells of Ireland. Needless to say we had a lot to talk about…

But the other thing that caught Debi’s eye…

…was what “Gruel” was famous for in the morning.

So here we are – back in our West Kensington flat…

OK. We’ve stretched the truth. A little literary license. We’ve moved on to Kent. This is my cousin Peter preparing chicken with almonds and raisins…

…and Peter and his wife Margaret making a lunch that had so much leisure and finesse it would make Italians blush.

Oh, alright, we’ll come completely clean then. In the interim, we’ve actually just arrived in bell’Italia…

…just in time for the olive harvest at the monastery of San Vincenzo al Volturno, where we've been helping out...

…and talking with the crew…

…and, of course, photographing.

Mother Miriam (left) is the abbess at San Vincenzo. We've known this dear friend since the first year of our marriage, when we were living in Seattle and Mother Miriam was at Our Lady of the Rock in Puget Sound. And Mother Philip is becoming a good friend, too.

On the farm at San Vincenzo, Mother Miriam and her helpers grow, harvest, and prepare virtually all their food by hand.

Olive oil, bread, wine, vegetables, cheese, gelato…

But now that we’re in Italy, if we don’t stop this food blog right now, it will never end.

Comments

[Schweetiecakes]

I got a little drool on my space bar.

A thousand thank you's for sharing.

God that bara brith bread and butter with cinnamon ice cream and porridge till next Tuesday. Heaven.

All the lovely meals with your cute family and the nuns. Homemade bread on practically every table.

Oysters in Galway unbelieveable--.just to think of it. And the brown bread with Guinness ummmm. What a feast.

Oh, oh the olives.

[LLpeace08]

It is good to see you in the flesh sort to speak. Your photos are so vivid and beautiful. The text is clever and engaging. Boy, see what you can do without the tv! Blessings on you both and with gratitude to all who have shared with you along the way.