MOVING ON.....2024

A Note From The Author: Jacqueline E. Hughes

I am so happy to welcome in the new year, 2024!!! My Blog is changing-up a bit....mainly because I am evolving. Travel will always take precedence in my life and, my journeys will be shared with you. This 2024 version will offer a variety of new stories and personal ideas, as well. This is all about having fun and enjoying this Beautiful Journey called......Life!!!

Showing posts with label Guinness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Guinness. Show all posts

Friday, January 29, 2021

EDINBURGH IN THE MOONLIGHT

 

A series of essays....



HANGING OUT ON FREDERICK STREET—IN OUR PAJAMAS—
UNDER A CRESCENT MOON.
 

....as seen through my eyes!


By: Jacqueline E Hughes


The story takes me back to a wind blown store front somewhere along Frederick Street, New Town, Edinburgh, Scotland. The time was shortly after midnight. Even though it appeared that a slight drizzle might threaten us, a sliver of moon was visible between wispy clouds as several vehicles, their lights strobed across the store fronts, pulled up in front of the hotel. I remember as if it were just last week; the four of us huddled together on the front steps of the Eteaket Tea Room located across the street from our home for two nights, the Frederick House Hotel. 


We kept blinking in order to keep our eyes open and be able to take everything in. Wrapping our jackets tighter around our pajama-clad bodies, we speculated as to which area of the hotel might be burning. We hadn’t smelled any smoke on our recent journey down the open stairwell. Stretching our necks up towards the front windows of the top floor, we located our rooms still glowing from the lights, hastily turned on, and shining like two beacons over the Edinburgh nightscape .


“Man, I’d finally fallen asleep when the alarm started blaring.” Caught between jet lag and an adrenaline rush, Dan’s face said it all. Actually, all of our faces did. 


“Maybe we’re still dreaming,” Marsha contributed. “I would never wear this outfit out on a cold, late September night at home!” she grinned while looking around at our faces and flimsy clothing being continuously splashed blue in the bright wash of lights from the Scottish Fire And Rescue Service vehicles lined up across the street.


The large group of young, French students sharing the hotel with us massed together along the sidewalk in a football huddle formation attempting to keep warm. Other guests chose to stand curbside and take quick snaps of the procedures taken to secure the building and right what was wrong. And, finally, after nearly thirty, teeth-chattering minutes, our hotel manager stood before us with the news that all was clear. “This has happened before when a basement switch malfunctions and sends notice to emergency services of a potential problem. We apologize profusely and want you to know that you will be able to sleep comfortably and safely now. We are very, very sorry for this inconvenience.” Did an apology sound better in a Scottish accent?


As all of the weary guests, most of us clutching purses or satchels containing our passports and cash, made their way back across the street, the boys of the Scottish Fire And Rescue Service were wrapping things up and exchanging some final words with our hotel manager. 


We climbed the stairs with the hope that slinking back under the warm covers would make everything better.


Reflecting back on the arduous day we had just had beginning with the long, night flight out of Detroit and landing at Edinburgh Airport, mid-morning UK time, jet lag seemed to be our greatest concern. The bus driver taking us into the city passed a block away from our hotel but held on to his original destination along North Bridge Street and nearly three quarters of a mile from Frederick House Hotel. At least we got the ‘lay of the land’ perched above the crowd as we were. So, backtracking and pulling our numerous pieces of luggage along behind us, we rolled along Princess Street in the shadow of Edinburgh Castle and along the edge of Princess Street Gardens until we found Frederick Street, once again. 


Our pre-arranged accommodations were clean and cozy and the soft, comfortable bed with its crisp, white linen enticed our weary minds and bodies. Being up on the top floor of our hotel gave us the advantage of a glorious view of the city all the way across the bay to the north and out to the North Sea. Bonus!


Realizing that attending to our need for nourishment rose even higher in importance than our need for sleep, Michael, having gone back down to speak with the concierge, was told about the best place to look for a satisfying, local meal within walking distance. “She said to backtrack towards Princess Street and when we come to Rose Street, take either a right or left. There are plenty of shops and restaurants either way,” Michael explained.


We hung a right on Rose Street which turned out to be a quaint, pedestrian alley lined with small shops and enticing restaurants. With amazing aromas wafting all around, we decided to step inside a restaurant/pub filled with an abundance of laughter and bright, rosy faces. The establishment looked like a nice mix of tourists along with locals out for a pint and a bite before heading home. Some were already lifting cream-topped pints of Guinness while others waited for theirs to ‘settle’ nicely while resting on the two-tiered drain near the taps along the top of the bar. 


“I don’t know about everyone else, but I would like, no—I need a Guinness and an order of fish-n-chips!” I cheerfully exclaimed, after the bartender seated us in a cozy booth adjacent to the bar with the promise to return, shortly. Our first meal in Edinburgh was not disappointing and set the stage for many delightful meals to come during our week long exploration of Scotland. (I still dream about the risotto I thoroughly enjoyed in a small restaurant outside of Stirling Castle.)







Walking back up Rose Street and getting closer to our ill-fated destiny and midnight rendezvous on the front stoop of a tea room, shivering and wondering where the hotel fire might be, we decided to forgo further exploration and get the much needed sleep we required. “Good night, good night, good night, John Boy,” we recited from our respective doorways. “See you downstairs for breakfast around eight?” we inquired. With that, a good night’s sleep was all we asked for. After all, climbing up to Edinburgh Castle and trekking along High Street and the Royal Mile the next day would take stamina and clear minds.


It was a good plan until the fire alarm interrupted the entire building with its shrill, staccato screams meant to awaken every soul in the building. Success!


Now that the dust had settled from our bone chilling experience outside, we realized that we’d be talking about this unsettling ordeal for years to come; hopefully, in a much more jovial and lighthearted way. Finally, we snuggled back into bed to sleep the remainder of the night away; visions of sugar plums and old castles drifting in and out of our dreams.


In a more perfect world, this would be the case. However, our introduction to Edinburgh, Scotland had a completely different plan in mind for four weary travelers from Michigan, USA! As if still in the fog-like snare of loud alarms and multitudes of feet tramping down open stairwells, it was difficult to shake dream state from reality when sirens assaulted us for the second time!! Checking the time, just after three o’clock, we found ourselves in a true ‘Groundhog Day’ scenario a few hours later.


“Okay, we can do this. We can put on more clothes than last time because we know the drill,” I, almost too casually, said to my husband who was swiftly slipping on jeans, socks, and a warm sweater. I truly admired him right at that moment. “This is crazy, I know, but what can we do?” Dan said. “Let’s make sure Michael and Marsha are ready to go back out into the street for round #2.”




ROUND NUMBER TWO ~ 
SCOTTISH FIRE BRIGADE


I was feeling extremely sorry for anyone who might have taken sleep enhancing medication before going to bed that night. What a daunting experience this would have been for them. Then again, taking some form of drugs seemed very appropriate this time around. Same scenario; same place of refuge; same throbbing blue lights, same duty shift for the boys of the Scottish Fire And Rescue Service; same malfunctioning switch in the basement; same (similar) amount of time out in the frigid, early morning temps; and same shame-faced manager fearing that everyone would ask for monetary compensation after all was said and done. We didn’t go there.


The same moon (only shifted a bit in the night sky) stared down at us as though the Cheshire Cat was mischievously flashing his huge grin. What a welcome we had been given by mysterious Scotland during our first night there. Did we pass your test given to first-timers? Actually, that’s all the four of us ever really wanted to know.



Stay safe. Stay strong. Wear your mask and we’ll get through this.



Copyright © 2021 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

Photos Copyright © 2021 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved 







Friday, October 12, 2018

A TALE OF LIFE, GUINNESS, AND DIRTY LAUNDRY



A series of essays....



WHETHER IT'S A PINT OR A HALF PINT OF GUINNESS,
IT ALWAYS TASTES SO MUCH BETTER IN IRELAND!!!

....as seen through my eyes!





By: Jacqueline E. Hughes

Stealing a few moments down in my daughter’s comfy basement, I am sitting on their bright red sectional, resting my bone-weary legs and listening to the soothing sounds of both washer and dryer creating their magic as our traveling clothes tumble and roll inside. Hopefully, our machines will be hooked-up and operable by the end of this week. The plumber is at our little yellow cottage working on that right now. In the meantime, this basement solitude suits me just fine!


MICHAEL, MARSHA, DAN, AND ME!

Dan and I returned from our trip to Scotland, Wales, and Ireland on Monday having shared amazing experiences with our traveling companions and good friends, Marsha and Michael. Unlocking the front door at eleven o’clock at night prompted us to forget about everything else but sleep after a long day of travel. It always amazes me that you can wake-up in, let’s say, Quin, Ireland, and be in your own bed later that same day (night)! 

Within life’s consistent identification of ‘first times’ and ‘last times,’ spanning the few, short years between birth and old age, we spend precious little time reconnecting with what makes us happy, comfortable, and rich with emotion and memories. I find that returning to a place where all of the elements involved make you feel hopeful and alive works wonders for my weary soul and peace of mind. Returning to Ireland is a prime example.

Some world travelers add-up on their ‘travel size’ abacus how many places they’ve visited; how many countries they’ve stepped foot upon. And, I see nothing wrong with this from an aesthetic point of view. I have chosen to be less concerned with compiling numbers and more excited about remembering meaningful experiences. Returning to a place I enjoyed so much the first time brings me back home to the land, places, memories, and (most importantly) the people I’ve come to call my friends! With each return visit, new friends are made, as well, and are neatly tucked into our hearts as we promise to keep in touch via the Internet in one way or another; assuring each other that our door would always be open for possible future visits.

I began my Blogging experience five years ago and entitled it ‘Moving On: 2013’ for many good reasons. I was moving on with my life’s journey and I wanted to share my adventures with others. I called myself ‘The Traveling Keyboard’ because my i-Pad was (is) my friend and faithful companion. Having solidified the fifth year of publishing my stories this past September, I am celebrating the occasion by reminiscing about the gentleman and his lady who were the subjects of my maiden essay. I am proud of the 235 posted stories I’ve composed since then!

Dan and I met Adrian and Bev in Doolin, County Clare, in September of 2006. And then, dropped by to speak with Adrian again in the autumn of 2013 before flying home from Shannon Airport.


CRAGGY ISLAND B&B


Well, my story goes something like this....

“Hello there. I’m Adrian. My wife, Bev, should be around shortly,” said the man with the engaging smile and an Irish lilt that bespoke of his rich Irish ancestry. “Come in. Come in and I’ll show you around the house before taking you up to your room to settle in.”

It was the final two nights of this particular Ireland visit as we followed along the Wild Atlantic Way in constant pursuit of lively pubs and Traditional Irish Music. We soon discovered that both were to be found in this colorful, little village that hugged the Atlantic Ocean. Doolin is embraced by the popular Cliffs of Moher to the south and the quaint Aran Islands further out to the west that dreamily drift near the horizon and stand guard to the entrance of Galway Bay.


THE CLIFFS OF MOHER RESIDE IN
THE BACKGROUND

After being warmly introduced to Bev and told that she would be making us a traditional Irish breakfast in the morning, Adrian preceded us up to the second floor to our comfortable room. Adrian and Bev were the proud owners of Craggy Island Bed & Breakfast, a peaceful place in a  scenic location with sea views and close to Ballyvaughan, Lisdoonvarna  (Matchmaker Festival), The Burren, and home to Traditional Irish Music. My research showed that Adrian held deep roots within the Trad Music scene and often played his guitar in local jam sessions at Gus O’Connors Pub in the village. Gus O’Connors is a Traditional tavern that originally opened in 1832 and offers delicious Irish food and nightly live music. Definitely a place after my own heart!




I’d read that Adrian O’Connor, our host, had released one CD, Often I Think About Doolin, and soon learned that he had arranged each song himself and was considered a local hero of sorts because of his talent and major contribution to the Doolin Trad Music lifestyle. Both he and Bev were certainly enthusiastic enough and very generous with their time and we were offered a private guitar session in their parlor at Craggy Island by Adrian himself. Explaining each song with his generous heart, we were overwhelmed by his personal sharing of history and music and candid talks about his family’s involvement concerning the Irish War Of Independence. 

Saying good-bye was very difficult for me. It was as though we’d been taken in by an Irish family who had allowed us into their inner circle with open arms and I found that relinquishing that new found joy, even after only two days, required much effort on my part.


THE CHEERFUL PARLOR AT
CRAGGY ISLAND B&B

“You’ll be back once again,” their kind voices chimed in agreement. Their words floated around us like the myriad of local musical instruments that collected and vibrated our very beings for the last two evenings: the bodhran (drum), fiddle, flutes, tin whistle, banjo, spoons, uilleann pipes, mandolin, guitar, and button accordion, to name a few. Our lower thighs were sore from the constant tapping on them in order to keep up with the exotic rhythms surrounding us for hours on end. “Yes, we will be back...soon,” was all we could reply. I waited to be seated in the car before the tears welled up in my eyes  obscuring my vision for miles.


BEV, ADRIAN, AND MYSELF IN
GUS O'CONNORS PUB


We tried to make reservations at Craggy Island seven years later. I was informed that it was no longer a Bed & Breakfast and that the owners had given up the business of welcoming strangers and long lost friends into their home due to family illness. 

Exactly how I found out eludes me at the moment. However, where there is a will...there is a way and I discovered that Adrian had been diagnosed with cancer not too long after we had left seven years earlier and had spent quite some time in treatment. With all of this going on in their lives, they decided to close up shop and concentrate on Adrian’s health.

Falling in love with Doolin, County Clare, and Adrian and Bev was the easiest thing we would ever do. Craggy Island drew us back again after seven, long years and we found ourselves navigating the hillsides of Doolin searching for the past we missed and desired so much. Memory led us back to the labyrinth of small, country lanes where the beautiful white, two-story house stood guard at the top of a hill.


ADRIAN PLAYING THE
PIPES EXPRESSLY FOR US...

Slowly driving by in order to soak in the feeling of coming home, we noticed a slight looking figure sitting on the wall at the side of the house and decided to pull in and inquire, just on the off chance, if either Adrian or Bev were at home. 

Suddenly, we found ourselves face to face with Adrian himself looking frail and quite surprised by our presence. Reintroducing ourselves while apologizing profusely for interrupting him, we could see in his eyes that he remembered our faces and gradually felt more comfortable with us. Being Adrian and the lovely man that once told us we’d be back to Doolin once again, he offered us a cuppa, which we kindly refused. Forever the gracious host! 


HAPPINESS!

As if looking directly into my soul, he told me to stand there and don’t move and that he’d be right back. Moments later Adrian returned with his small bagpipes in hand and gingerly reseated himself on the stone wall and asked, “I told you last time that I’d play the bagpipes for you, didn’t I?” “Yes, yes you did,” I, briskly, replied. 

Even the sharp, autumn wind could not wipe the smile off of our faces as Dan and I were treated to three Irish songs accompanied by bagpipes, pure enthusiasm, and the keen musical talent of Adrian O’Connor!


STANDING ALONG DOOLIN PIER,
THE SPUME BLOWING INTO OUR FACES

It is now early evening as I stand, reflectively, at Doolin Pier braving the sturdy wind and admiring the sun peeking through the steely clouds. The spume (foam) created by the agitation of the mighty Atlantic seawater slaps at my face reminding me of silly games played as a child. Holding my smartphone as tightly as possible, I attempt to capture the beauty and power that I am privileged to witness at this exact moment. I understand how fortunate I am to be alive!

We just left Gus O’Connors Pub not far up the narrow road to Doolin. Seeking the beauty of the mighty Cliffs of Moher and the distant formations of the protective Aran Islands out at sea, one last time, Doolin Pier is the place to be. My shots look good and I’m happy to be taking them back home with me.


LOCAL MUSICIANS HONORING JOHN JOE


DANCING A TRADITIONAL
SOLO IRISH DANCE WITH
JOHN JOE IN THE BACKGROUND


A few moments ago, the four of us helped to celebrate the birthday of John Joe, a local gentleman, at O’Connors Pub along with his friends, fellow Doolin residents, and musicians who honored him with music and song. A young lady danced a traditional solo Irish dance in his honor while another older gentleman told us humorous stories (craic) about John Joe’s  interesting personal experiences. We all raised our pints of Guinness and laughed and cheered for several hours.


RELATING HUMOROUS STORIES ABOUT
THEIR MUTUAL FRIEND, JOHN JOE


MY FACE SAYS IT ALL.....



CATCHING UP ON THE PAST SEVERAL YEARS


Oh, did I happen to mention that two very special birthday guests, and our friends, Adrian and Bev O’Connor, met us at the Pub early in the afternoon? Yes, seated at two of the small, round pub tables and tucked-in a corner opposite the long bar, we all cheered on John Joe, caught up with the last five years of our lives in the short amount of time we had, and raised a glass (or two!) to one another in celebration of simply being together once again. Life is very, very good!


WHO COULD RESIST
THIS BEAUTIFUL SMILE?


Now, back to my laundry. It’s nice to know that no matter what life throws your way, you will always have dirty laundry to ground you and keep it all real.

Slainte....! Good health to all!




Copyright © 2018 by Jacqueline E. Hughes
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2018 by Jacqueline E. Hughes
All photo rights reserved












Thursday, March 17, 2016

COFFEEHOUSE CHATTER ~ RAY AND PETER


A series of essays.....







.....as seen through my eyes!





By: Jacqueline E. Hughes


From time to time, our neighborhood friends meet at the corner coffeehouse to relax, sip their favorite brew or concoction, and warm-up their hands and hearts...together!

Some might think of their meeting as a 'cleansing' or 'purification of the soul.' Even though they may share similar backgrounds and values, their ideas and opinions are as diverse and variable as the weather outside of the little shop.

Let's grab a cup of our own, take a comfortable seat, sit back and listen to what today's chapter of 'Coffeehouse Chatter' has to offer....



IRELAND ~ ATLANTIC COAST



RAY AND PETER.....



RAY: Will you take a look at those three over there in the far corner.....just chatting away non-stop forever now!

PETER: I know. I see those gals here often and they never seem to lack the ability to communicate, that's for sure. I think it's kind of cute, though.

RAY: Cute? Can we guys say 'cute' and get away with it? (Huge smile on his face.)

PETER: Yep! Times are definitely changing, Ray, and we have to change along with them or be left behind. Even if it's calling something 'cute' in public. I mean, just look at us. We're sitting here in a coffeehouse on St. Patrick's Day sipping, well.....coffee!

RAY: Point taken. Years ago we'd be in the local Irish Pub by this time of the day, sipping another pint O'Guinness and not thinking about much else. But, that was long ago now and I'm not saying that didn't mess me up a bit, anyway. I always figured if my folk back in the homeland didn't think twice about it, I could get away with it, too!

PETER: Not so much. At least, not if you wanted to stay happy by keeping family and friends around you and not alienate their affections like someone else we know about. I still have a difficult time thinking about Sean these days. (Look of deep sadness on his face.) It just isn't worth it.

RAY: When was the last time you heard from Sean? I heard that after he lost his job everything hit the fan full force.

PETER: It did! Guess his Irish temper set in and there really wasn't much anyone could do for him after that. Well, that coupled with the drink. Afterwards, Margie said he was only bringing pain into her life, as well as for their three kids...and, he left the house. Last I heard he was in a small apartment and cleaning offices at night. That was over six months ago, already.

RAY: It's our stubborn pride you know!

PETER: Our pride?

RAY: You. Me. Guys in general. We're brought up to be so macho that when the first thing doesn't go our way.....we sort of run to our 'crutch' of choice. Look where it got Sean and it would have taken me, too, if you hadn't verbally cuffed me in the head a few times. I have always appreciated your intervention, Man.

PETER: Yeah. I think your Mary and the kids are much happier now that you've 'seen the light,' so to speak, you old goat! Don't think I don't know what a struggle it was for you, too. I was just glad to be there when you needed a major reality check, my friend.

RAY: Like I said, that was a long time ago.... (Reflectively staring into space.)

PETER: I wish someone could have been there for Sean....

(Both men sit quietly for a minute or so.)

RAY: And life has been darn good for some time now. By the way, you're still coming over to the house after work for dinner, right? You know Mary has this habit of making sure our bachelor friends are fed well....especially on major holidays. You have to be the first to admit her Shepherd's Pie is award winning.

PETER: It's her bread pudding with bourbon sauce that tops everything off for me. She's making it for tonight, isn't she?

RAY: (Head nodding affirmatively.)

PETER: Of course I'll be there. Wouldn't miss it for the world. Are Jan and Michael going to be there, too?

RAY: With all of their kids. You know my Mary......if she can't feed a minimum of ten or twelve people at a time, she just isn't happy! Always told her she should have opened her own restaurant or catering place. She loves cooking so much.

PETER: But then the world would have been deprived of a talented writer. No, I like it better this way. It's like having the best of both worlds.

RAY: Look...one of our 'ladies of the corner table' is getting up for refills. She's enjoying her early morning with a cute hop to her step, I think. Another half a mugful? What do you say, Peter?

PETER: I say that the times are certainly changing for the better today! A fabulous meal with good friends to look forward to, more delicious coffee, and......you just said the word 'cute' and never flinched one bit! Happy St. Patrick's Day, Ray!!!

RAY: (Smiles) Happy St. Patrick's Day, Peter.....





Happy St. Patrick's Day To All.........


Copyright © 2016 by Jacqueline E. Hughes
All rights reserved

Thursday, June 5, 2014

MY COLLECTIONS, PART III

Kitchen Essentials

A series of short stories.......



Divi Divi Tree, Picture Courtesy of Wikimedia


........as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes


Life proceeds to tumble down its often rocky and bumpy path, as occasional smooth stretches dot its progress, delight us for their duration and keep us motivated to continue on.......

Sadly, circumstances over this past weekend claimed the life of one of my high school classmates.  Greg Straka was a 'gentle giant' with a heart of gold and we shared space together in Mr. Dallariva's typing class.  We never gave one thought about how important learning the 'keyboard' would be with reference to the emerging computer world before us.  Greg's wry sense of humor would punctuate the click-clacking sounds of the machines every time and even Coach Dallariva was prone to cracking a smile more often than not, asserting gentle discipline as required. 

This world will miss you deeply, old friend.  Thank you for the laughter.......

                                

                                        *********************************

Yesterday was spent depleting kitchen cabinets of their fifteen-year-old build-up of what were once deemed the 'essentials' of modern culinary life.  Defined in the dictionary as, "A thing that is absolutely necessary....," the word (essential) loses its luster when an expiration date exceeds the age of our oldest grandchild or, upon releasing an item from the back corner of a cupboard, I have to question when it was last used or, better still, when did I even acquire it!?!

Kitchens can be spooky places if left all alone in the wild!  Especially when one is not used to entrapping, adding to and generally ignoring their contents for an extended period of time.  I have never lived in any given space this many years, consecutively.  How was I to know?  I would almost label myself a hoarder after yesterday's excursion if it weren't for the fact that everything was in its place, if not often coated with a layer of fine dust, and neatly living behind cute wooden doors.



Honeymoon Mementos Tin
Don't even get me started on the inexcusable 'dead zone' located in the corner where most builders would assume a corner cabinet or a lazy Susan might alleviate 'hoarding anxiety.'  Susan, even though Wikipedia proclaims that it's likely that the explanation of who you were has been lost to history, I would happily welcome you into my jammed and dark kitchen corner any old time. 

Now, don't misunderstand me.....our kitchen renovation is fairly straightforward and something we deem entirely necessary with regards to breaking into the new millennium!  And, it's made me as happy as a child on Easter morning hunting for colorful eggs filled with candy and coins every time I rediscover a useful cooking utensil or a cookbook that hasn't been perused in ages.  This is exactly why I turned this amusing experience into an adventure yesterday after the third cupboard was excavated in order to find its buried remains (contents!).

It all began in the 'dead zone' when a rectangular tin was carefully extracted from the darkness, dusted-off and then placed on the only existing counter top.  Not having seen the 'light of day' for years, opening it up made me a bit squeamish even though, deep down, I knew what I would discover inside.  Long, long ago but not too far away from our current location in Florida, my husband and I honeymooned on the island of Aruba, not far off the coast of Venezuela.  Yes, before the deep sadness accompanying the death of Natalee Holloway, we genuinely experienced the quaintness of this small, arid island along with the hospitality and warmth of the local people.  Originally a Dutch island, Aruba's people worked hard to gain independence and in January 1986 it seceded from the Netherlands Antilles to officially become a country within the Kingdom of the Netherlands.


French Daube Cooking Pot

Amid the divi divi trees that grow at a forty-five degree angle because of the wind that blows constantly and the groups of wild donkeys that roam the dry, sandy landscape of Aruba, we gambled in the local casinos, dined on five-star meals and poured room-temperature goat's milk on our cereal in the morning (Well, Dan did, anyway).  That's when I began my first major 'travel collection' and brought home small mementos of our time on the island.  As a child, I would always bring home stones or small rocks from the places my family vacationed at hoping to capture a tiny piece of the area.  To this day, I continue to do this everywhere I travel.  That was the first item I saw upon lifting the tin lid......a small gray, jagged rock picked-up on the wild northern side of the island, along with a small glass jar filled with sand from the beach, a golf tee Dan used to play one of the most 'primitive' rounds of golf in his life and a champagne cork......this item is wonderfully self-explanatory! Delightful memories of a special time.

Okay, so that wasn't so bad after all.  Kind of fun....truth be told.  Finding that tin box again had me thinking about other kitchen items I have in plain sight or tucked away in cabinets that were lovingly thought about, chosen and purchased or found in places we travelled to throughout the years.  I began to keep this idea in mind as I proceeded to 'pick the carcass clean' as if my poor, outdated kitchen were the turkey at Thanksgiving and now someone had to save all of the meat for sandwiches later!




Pint of Guinness


Daube de Bouef Provençal is a recipe I had been trying to perfect even before our initial visit to France years ago.  It has become our traditional Christmas Eve meal when the family is all together at our house for the Holidays.  Simply served with copious amounts of good French bread for soaking-up all the delicious wine infused broth and a fantastic dessert at the end to round-out the meal, we're good-to-go until Christmas Day breakfast!! 

"Jackie, did you know the French traditionally slow cook this recipe in a clay steam pot over low heat for several days before serving?  I have several pots you can see.....," offered my friend, Daniele, during our stay at Le Verger in the Luberon.  Daniele and her husband, Jean-Philippe, were born and raised in Provence and run the most beautiful B&B in the area located just south of Gordes.  Of course, I fell in love.......with these charming pots, and made it my mission to acquire one.  I had an entire week to do so.  After scouring many outdoor markets (le marche), I found my Daube pot in a small kitchen shop in Bedoin, a handsome small town at the foot of Mont Ventoux.  Merely looking at it everyday conjures up so many wonderful memories of family, great friends and delicious food!



Guinness Glasses Survive Trip Home
Now, what is more Irish than a 'pint o'Guinness' and the actual pint glass the Guinness is poured into?  Sipping out of these at home takes me back to many, many Irish pubs all along its rustic Western Way and back again to Dublin City and its birthplace in 1759 at the St. James' Gate Brewery.  Naturally, these beauties take 'top dawg' position in the 'glasses' cupboard considering we don't have a personal pub at home.  Do you believe that a connoisseur of drinking Guinness (Aren't we all?) might balk at the idea of "double pouring" milk in these pints for dinner? 


Then there was my quest in Paris to find my madeleine tin (mold) and covered rectangular French butter dish.....


Golden Madeleine Cakes

Ah.....Madeleines!!  Madeleines are small French butter cakes that have the consistency of sponge cake and are formed in shell-shaped molds and are the perfect accompaniment for a small, strong cup of coffee!  Anytime!  I found my personal copy of Larousse Gastronomique, the encyclopedia of the study of food and culture, many years ago in East Lansing, Michigan, and it has been lovingly earmarked as my classic cooking reference.  It suggests that these buttery little delicacies were named for a 19th-century pastry cook, Madeleline Paulmier.  Merci beaucoup, Madamoiselle Paulmier!


Buttery Yellow Butter Dish and Madeleline Tin
While hunting for the madeleine tin at Le Bon Marche, built by Gustave Eiffel in 1852, and considered one of the city's most popular department stores, a soft yellow butter dish caught my attention.  Fortunately, both of these kitchen essentials fit neatly in my suitcase because they were considered mine from the moment I saw them.  We use the butter dish constantly and keep rectangular slabs of Kerrygold Pure Irish Butter in it.  A bit of cultural commingling is quite healthy and definitely encouraged in my kitchen.

I've mentioned before that our family visit to Ireland way back in 1990 brought us to the small village of Adare just south of Limerick and the River Shannon.  An old thatched-roofed cottage was, and still is, the home to a small but delightful shop that caters to the many tourists that pass through Adare either by rental car or Irish tour buses that jam hundreds of people into the smallest spots at any given time.  Fortunately, we arrived there between buses and were able to look around the shop in comfort and that's when I found A Little Irish Cookbook by John Murphy.  This little gem has been my guide to traditional Irish fare for years.  From an Irish Farmhouse Breakfast on the Dingle peninsula, to a lunch of traditional Boxty (potato dish), and baked Limerick ham served with boiled potatoes and Brussels sprouts to polish-off the day! 



A True 'Gem' of a Recipe Book
The hand drawn and colored renditions of each dish in this little book adds a large dollop of pure Irish charm.  According to its author, "All I can say is that if a visitor to Ireland were to encounter only what is in this book during a short stay then he would be satisfied that he had eaten well in the Irish style."  Like I said.....golden!!

From the sunny beaches of Aruba to the craggy foothills of Mont Ventoux in the south of France, my journey continues as I will always find the space in my kitchen for recipes, pots and tins that evoke memories of places and cultures we've taken the time to absorb within our hearts.  My little foray into the 'dead zone' proved to be most pleasurable after all.



 




Copyright © 2014 By Jacqueline E. Hughes
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