Copyright 2014 by Cathal Armstrong
Photographs copyright 2014 by Scott Suchman
Front cover photograph copyright 2014 by Sang An
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ten Speed Press, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House LLC, New York, a Penguin Random House Company.
www.crownpublishing.com
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Food and prop styling for by Lisa Cherkasky
Food styling for front cover photograph by George Dolese
Prop styling for front cover photograph by Glenn Jenkins
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Armstrong, Cathal.
My Irish table : recipes from the homeland and Restaurant Eve / Cathal Armstrong, David Hagedorn. First edition.
pages cm
Includes index.
1. Cooking, Irish. 2. Cooking, American. I. Hagedorn, David, 1959- II. Restaurant Eve. III. Title.
TX717.5.A762 2014
641.59417dc23
2013039099
Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-60774-430-6
eBook ISBN: 978-1-60774-431-3
v3.1_r1
To Mam, Da, and Meshelle,
who put me on the right road years ago
and keep me there now.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
FROM CATHAL: My sincerest gratitude to my children, Eve and Eamonn, for allowing Meshelle and me to use their names on our restaurants and for putting up with their parents crazy schedules; to my mother-in-law, Carmen Salang, who took care of the kids whenever we needed her to while we worked on this book; to Alice Hanson for all the prep and time she put in; to Jeremy Hoffman and Ryan Wheeler for keeping me organized; to David Hagedorn for driving me to the edge of insanity; to Master Jason Yoo for keeping me fit and stress-free throughout this process; to our business partners Todd Thrasher and Maria Chicas; to my brothers and sisters, who lent us their stories; to Joy Tutela, our agent; and to Scott Suchman for the terrific photographs.
FROM DAVID: Very special thanks to my husband, Michael Widomski, who never complained about eating Roast Leg of Pork and Dublin Coddle three days in a row (but drew the line at Steak and Kidney Pie); to Meshelle and Cathal Armstrong for bringing up this crazy idea in the first place; to Sally Swift, a supportive pal with great advice; to Carol Spier, the dearest friend I still havent met in person and fellow hater of the serial comma; and to my sister, Claire, and my posse, Nycci Nellis, Amber Pfau, and Amanda McClements, who let me prattle on endlessly about this project.
INTRODUCTION
I WAS BORN IN DUBLIN IN 1969, the third eldest of six children. My birthday, August 16, is likely familiar to the rest of the world as the day that Elvis Presley died, but in my food-centric Irish family, it was known as the night wed be feasting on prawn cocktail, rack of lamb, and corn on the cob for dinnermy menu of choice.
On any given day in my Mam and Das kitchen, until I moved to the United States at twenty years of age, the conversation centered around food. Although my mother, Angela, was acclaimed for her superlative baking skills, it was my father, Gerry, who did most of the cooking for our household.
Da was an avid gardener who took pride in cooking with the sixty-plus kinds of fruits and vegetables he grew on our Dublin property on Watson Road. It was extremely rare for the times that a family living in Dublin would have such a gardenand that a man would cook.
At home, dinnertime was sacrosanct. While other families hurriedly scarfed down fish fingers in front of the telly, we Armstrongs loitered over three- and four-course meals. Thats probably why I never got As in schoolI didnt have time to study because we were too busy eating dinner all night.
Hoping to instill in us kids an appreciation of the land, Da insisted that we tend the garden. One of my most enduring memories is of having to get up at six in the morning and spread mounds of horse manure (shite being the correct Irish term) that had been delivered and dumped in the front yard at four a.m. This was also a source of mockery from the other kids in the neighborhood.
Da was a successful tour operator who sold package holidays to the Continent, mainly Spain, so he had the means and opportunity to expose me to diverse cuisinesand he did. Throughout my childhood, it was not unusual for Da to pack up the family at a moments notice and take us to Tunisia, Greece, or Spain for a week or two, where we would feast on rabbit paella, Valencia chicken, couscous, or moussaka.
At the tender age of seven, my parents started shipping me off to France to spend my summers as an exchange student, learning the language and absorbing French culture, especially that which revolved around food. The family with whom I lived, the Baudins, took me on regular excursions around the countryside and to the sea, where I became familiar with the gustatory wonders of France: Normandy apples, Brittany butter, foie gras, croissants and baguettes, chocolate, wine (eventually), and the freshest mussels and oysters.
Mine was a wonderful and rich life, but when I was fourteen, everything turned upside down. The laws governing Irelands travel industry were altered and Das business disintegrated. We werent exactly destitute, but our family fell on hard times. More than just a hobby now, gardening became the familys primary food source. It remained a central source of our diet even after Da opened a new business, this time one focusing on business travel. Things began to look up for him.
I went to Coliste Eoin, a high school where everything was taught in the Irish language. After graduating in the late eighties, the midst of the tech revolution, I went on to study computer programming. While I was in school, I got a part-time job washing dishes at a Dublin pizza joint called Da Vincenzo. It didnt take me long to realize that being in a restaurant environment was more fun than computers. The heat, the chaos, the camaraderie, hanging out until the wee hours of the morning, rolling pizza dough, going to the clubs on Leeson Street and drinking cheap wine until the sun came upit was all just so intoxicating. I woke up in class one day and decided it was time for me to quit school. I was now a full-time dishwasher at Da Vincenzo; it was there that the thought of cooking professionally took root.
Because I had a strong work ethic, I always offered to pitch in where I could. I started learning basic knife skills and was soon doing a lot of the prep work (chopping vegetables, grating cheese, picking herbs, peeling garlic) and performing some of the everyday cooking tasks, like making red sauce or stocks.