Arina Comes to Dublin.

Two Years. Two years it had been since I saw my favourite Dutch friend Arina. The last time had been January 2012 in London to celebrate our Capricorn birthdays and to send me off on my one-way ticket to Australia. Two years was too long to be separated from someone I lived with for a year. We spent nearly every day doing nearly everything together. After only knowing each other for 3 weeks, we went galavanting across Northern Greece for two weeks; taking every mode of transportation to get there only forced us to get to know each other. The year wouldn't have been the same without her has my roommate, and after only a short plane ride, it was hard to understand how we had spent 2 years apart.

We had discussed all sorts of possibilities of what do to in Ireland: from going up to Donegal to a bus trip to the Cliffs of Moher to the Butter Factory in Cork, but we ended up just staying in Dublin. Catching up was the priority, sightseeing a bonus. I really wanted, and needed, to be around the girl who always has a smile on her face, who has a million ideas, who together we think we could save the world, who took a huge leap to start her own company doing what she loves, who laughs, who lives confidently and fearlessly, and who knows me so well. I felt as though I needed her to visit to inspire me again. I missed the long in-depth conversations we had about absolutely everything and anything. When apart, we talk frequently over various forms of social media communication and emails, but it's just not the same.

The first question one asks is, what do you want to eat in Ireland? And what does a Dutch person think of when she thinks of Irish food? Oysters. Wild, local Atlantic Oysters. So on a cold January day, when all of our unplanned plans blew out the window, we found ourselves on the Dart to Howth. Google had incorrectly informed us that there was a farmers market on that day, but when we inquired about it in one of the open shops next to the empty market space, he told us about some of the other highlights Howth has to offer. We walked up Church Street, a narrow steep road that led us through the quiet old village. As we walked around or back down we found a set of craggy steps that invited us to the Radio Tower, or well technically, Ye Olde Hurdy-Gurdy Museum of Vintage Radio. Much to Arina's disappointment, it was closed due to the off season, but we were able to enjoy the hill top views overlooking Howth's piers stretching into the shivering Irish sea. The sight of the sea in front of us and breathing in the fresh air made us hungry for what we came for: Irish oysters and a pint of the good stuff - a classic Irish combination.

We headed back down to the West Pier, home to Beshoff's, Wrights of Howth, and a load of other seafood restaurants offering fresh catches of the day and sea views. We each had an iced platter of 6 Clarendbridge oysters and a cool Guinness. Clarenbridge oysters come from Dunbulcan Bay in South Galway. They are native Irish oysters also known as European Flat oysters which have their own festival in the town of Clarenbridge at the start of every oyster season (September). We sniffed, sipped, slurped, chewed and swallowed whole, sprinkled lemon and dashed tabasco on our oysters. Sitting on high stools catching up on life over good food was exactly what we were looking for.



Our appetites quenched with aphrodisiacs we tipsily went back to Dublin to meet up with Rory at the Porterhouse on Grafton Street to sample some craft beers and what else? Another round of oysters. They were nowhere near as fresh as Beshoffs. More slimy than succulent. Ugly to the point that the quote, "He was a brave man who ate the first oyster" reverberated too true in our heads.

When we were reunited in Ireland, the list of things she needed to see and do here grew. Ireland has so much to offer - not only beautiful destinations but a whole island of food to explore. It has its own language she didn't even know existed. Ireland is also known for its people and as happy as were were together, we spent most of the time properly catching up - she will just have to come back to see, taste, and meet more of the country. 

Leaving and Arriving. 4 Days. 4 Places.

Friday was the day. The last day. The day to leave Donegal. A late night with friends meant that I slept in later than I had planned. There was a part of me that didn’t want to leave the comfort of Dunfanaghy. Despite the small-town aspect that can feel a bit mundane, I like it there. Some part wanted me to miss the bus and resort to taking the very last option the next morning. The other part of me was ready to go, excited and nervous at the same time – I just had to get the first step rolling to get out of there.  I was extremely impressed with myself that I had managed to narrow my clothes down to fit into my backpack but when the time came to pick it up I nearly tumbled over: it was heavier than I had expected.  As my internal dread of over-packing slowly rose throughout my body and rushed to my head, I desperately took out a pair of sneakers and some shampoo & conditioner – like, really, those are so heavy. There was really nothing I could do, so I jumped on the 16:10 bus and was outta there. Until next time, Dunfanaghy.

 

The bus brought me to Dublin to spend the night with Hugh. It was Friday the 13^th so naturally we watched various versions of the scary movie – recent one filled with bimbos and the older ones with fantastic 80’s outfits and hair do’s. We laughed. We jumped in our seats. We looked away. We pretended not to be scared. We ate quality Chinese food – of course with chips instead of rice – it’s just the way it is in Ireland. Potato. Potato.

I'm waiting to hear you're on your way over here, Hugh. 

I was one step, one day closer. 

Next, Dublin to London. From Heathrow I transferred to Gatwick to meet up with Arina arriving from Holland. Throughout the winter I tried to convince her to come to Ireland for a visit but with a new home and a new job it was a bit difficult. Luckily and ever so gratefully, she came to meet me in London for my last night.  It’s amazing how you can not see someone for a couple months, years even, and then get back together and instantly time disappears and it feels as though you never left each other.  With our fantastic directional skills, we managed to find Ottolenghi – a chef’s restaurant who’s cookbooks I have written a lot about here, his recipes pretty much filled our three days of Christmas.  Right in between our birthdays, it was a perfect setting to celebrate with a glass of prosecco, a bottle of Italian wine, lots of laughs, and small plates and stories to share. As I had made the reservation online, there was a box option for comments where I wrote my usual “Allergic to nuts and swimming fish (shellfish is ok)” so the waiter, after some glances from the kitchen and discussions with the other staff, came over to our table with a paper menu scribbled over with X’s and checks, ingredients crossed out to show me what I could order off of. Pretty impressive restaurant attention.  We were the second to last table to leave the restaurant.  

 Great last night.

The next day, my last day in Europe was spent wandering the Brixton Village markets, eating – apparently – the best pizza in London, wandering the streets of Oxford Circus, Picadilly and Leister Square, eating at Jamie Oliver’s Italian Restaurant, walking down Kensington Church Street to see our old house on Cambridge Place, and having one last coffee on Glouster Road before we parted ways on the tube.  Arina’s enthusiastic bright smile and her supportive, generous hugs gave me the courage I needed to take a deep breath and keep going.

 Prior to flying, Singapore Airlines gives you an option to check out your meal options. Pretty impressive. And pretty tasty.

They also give you your own TV, an iPhone charger, Givenchy socks and a toothbrush, and pretty nice blanket and pillow.

2 hours into the 13 hour flight, right after I had taken half a sleeping pill, the loud speaker came on announcing the presence of a doctor to be made. Oh man, I thought, but she was ok.  And neither did I have to worry about disembarking as a drugged sleeping zombie as I slept for maybe an hour, maybe two, the entire flight. Instead I watched Drive, Moneyball, The Whistleblower, and What’s your Number?

Finally we landed in summer-toasted Singapore and I began stripping off the tremendous amount of layers of summer clothes I had piled on to keep me warm the last couple days in winter-coated Dublin and London. I don’t think I can begin to tell you how excited I was about my 13 hour layover in the Singapore airport.  It may have been the cheapest flight option, but as I looked into it, there was part of me that secretly wished I had stayed a bit longer. It makes sense as it is such an international layover stop to have such amenities for weary travelers. A swimming pool, movie theatre, world-class shopping, restaurants, spa services, hourly hotel rates, free tours into the city, feet-eating fish, shower facilities....it sounded great! And it did feel more like a mall than an airport. I was disappointed to find out that I had missed the free tours of the city as I had arrived at 6pm but then as I looked around and saw signs for public transportation I thought why not take myself in? It was nighttime, I was by myself, and I had absolutely no sense of bearings for Singapore. I couldn’t think of a visual image I had seen of it before nor could I think of any major tourists sites. I didn’t know if it was a safe city or where to go.  I dropped my shoulder bag off at the excess baggage desk and asked the guy what he thought. He said it was the start of Chinese New Years, explaining that it would be busy in town and naming some places to go for some bars and nightclubs. I smiled, replying that my flight was at 7:55am the next morning I didn’t think I would be going to any nightclubs or bars by myself in a strange city. As I walked out towards immigration, I asked for a second opinion to see if it was worth it to go into the city for a couple hours before the last train and if I just needed my boarding pass and passport to get back in. The lady at the immigration desk also mentioned Chinese New Year and started at my wool sweater saying I would be extremely hot wearing that outside. On my way to find some Singapore dollars for the train, I passed the tourist center and the woman there not only gave me a map of the city and the subway, but circled and walked me through all the different spots I could visit within the length of time I had. It was exactly what I needed.  Rather pleased with my adventure, I probably still looked like I was lost as I was the only Caucasian on the train – no one wanted to sit next to me.

awkward traveling alone.

 I got out where I was told and immediately the hot summer night air hit me, and almost as effect, knocked my head upwards as I felt tiny amongst the huge, brightly lit skyscrapers. It was really quite beautiful. I walked around the path around the river that was lined with restaurants and people enjoying eating an array of Indian, Asian and seafood restaurants. I remember walking around, enjoying the night on my own, and thinking how glad I was that I dared to venture out. It gave me a bit more of the confidence I needed to travel alone.

 I got a little lost on my way to Chinatown, feeling a little directionally challenged, but when I found it, wondered how I could ever not find it. The streets were lit up with bright lights and Chinese lanterns covering the car-less roads. On either side of the streets the stores opened up with tables and displays selling trinkets for Chinese New Years, chopsticks, candies, dried mushrooms, glass dragons, fans, iPhone accessories, wild Malaysian fruits, lanterns, dried meats of whoknowswhat and little vendors selling all types of Chinese food like a little Chinese mall’s food court. It was so hot and sweaty maneuvering between the hoards of people I eventually sat down to a cold Tiger beer and chatted with an English guy who owns a bar in Crete and travels for the 6 months of the year doesn’t work. Rough.

 Back on the train, I arrived at the airport with another 7 hours to go.  I wandered, chugged coffee, took a shower, and then sat, heavy-eyed at the gate. Another 5 hour plane ride to Perth, I thought for sure I would sleep no problem. Nope. I was restless. As I followed the flight map on the television screen in front of me, the plane slowly crossing the Indian Ocean, completely surrounded by water, all I could think of was how many sharks there must be in the deep water below us. I’m pretty sure it was the first time the pilot had ever landed a plane. It was awful. I thought for sure I wouldn’t even make it to the ground. We did. Then we arrived and he announced it was 36 degrees Celsius, which is 6 degrees Fahrenheit. What? I was sweating as we stood in line at immigration. Not only for the heat, but what if I wasn’t allowed in?  The guy took my passport, looked at the numbers, looked at them again, asked me if the passport was issued in Ireland and I said no America and he goes hmm I don’t see in here (computer system). Ohmygod. Then he handed me my passport and I was all set to go through.

 All Sharks.

First sight of Australia. 

AHHH HELLO AUSTRALIA!! I made it. 

"You Know What Happens When It Rains?..."

So Hurricane Irene is imminently approaching. If only "she" had access to Facebook and Twitter and who knows what else, this blog, she'd get a really big head. It's all anyone's talking about. At first I was nervous about being home alone and having the upstairs windows blown in - they comprise of two of the four walls.....now I think it's just going to be a heavy downpour.

This by far is my favorite.  Sums it up perfectly.

Where to meteorologists go for a drink? To the isobar.

Come on, Irene...

Let's drink Hurricane cocktails...

NYC evacuations and subway closures?


not really funny, but I think this is what people expect.

so true. 

And how am I supposed to straighten my hair without electricity?

BorowitzReport Andy Borowitz 

The language of weather forecasts is subtly shifting from "savage destruction" to "inconvenient wetness." #irene

Basically...

BorowitzReport Andy Borowitz 

Hurricane Irene has an amazing publicist.

From Nick

But hey, Sunday's market has been canceled and rain or no rain, hurricane or no hurricane, it means a Saturday night for me! And Juan Macclean is playing tonight at the Red Door! woo.

ps, to answer the question above.....YOU GET WET. 

BEST Welcome Home Gift EVER.

My year in Italy at UNISG. Every picture, every blog post are included. every lower case letter and spelling mitsake are also included. My sister, somehow, formatted my blog amazingly into this hard cover book. All my efforts to capture each moment, to record memories, and to tell the stories we experienced seem secondary to the hard work and time my sister put into this. Tears and words could not express how much it meant to me; the thoughtfulness of it all as my family not only told me how much they enjoyed reading my blog over the year and how upset they were when there wasn't a new posting to start their day, but to know that they liked it as much as I loved living there. They realized how much it  meant to me that now I have all those memories in my hand to relive again with just a flip of the page. I just cannot love it or my family enough. Enough that I carried it out with me for the first couple days and people would ask me why I brought my yearbook to the bar. Then I would show it to them and gush about my sister and they too became obsessed. 

As I flipped through the book, memories jumped out of the pages with more stories to tell:

I'm published!! 

Created by Jessica Ryan. Produced by John Ryan. Written by Shauna Ryan.

UNISG memories.

Summers in Zso-ugly.

when mum and dad came to visit, trip to piemonte. (upside down)

enthusiastic!! pickerlicker!

i thought this picture deserves its own post, jess thought then it should deserve it's own page.

upside down, UNISG memories.

ciao ciao bene. i love you.

jess's favourite post.

amazed.

Al Vedel

I ate at Al Vedel twice. Once for lunch with Arina and Asher and then for dinner (the next day) with mum and Arina. I didn't take pictures of everything we ate, but everything was delicious - maybe it was gone too quickly before I had a chance to snap a photo. 

La speciale selezione di tre stagionature di Culatelli di Zibello dop 16-26-38 mesi con focaccia  a lievitazione naturale 

we also had: Involtini di melanzana con crema di ricotta e ombrina, ragù di scampi al frutto della passione 

and

Bourguignonne di lumache con crema di aglio dolce " Cerasaro" e cestino di patate croccante

Ravioli di verza, crema allo zafferano e chips di cotechino 

Pappardelle di pasta rustica al ragù di cervo

Anolini parmigiani in brodo di carne

we also had: Risotto con salame fresco e funghi porcini

Sella di cinghiale  al  Barolo, tartar di filetto al tartufo nero e giardiniera di verdure

Terrina di coscia di lepre, arrostino di sella

Maialino da latte croccante con cipollotti fondenti e riso

house wine.

Crostatina calda alla crema di limone e meringa, frutta fresca 

we also had: Semifreddo " Bacio di Parma" con salsa profumata al nocino

Chicken Liver Mousse Recipe

Arina made this from The Fifth Quarter- an Offal Cookbook by Anissa Helou:

50g unsaltd buter
450g organic chicken livers
1 small onion, finely chopped
1 garlic clove, finely chopped
1 teaspoon thyme leaves
1 measure brandy
1 teaspoon finely chopped parsley
1 tablespoon puree
sea salt and freshly ground pepper
140ml double cream
5 egg whites, stiffly beaten
1 X 30g aspic sachet, diluted in 225ml water

Melt the butter in a large frying pan over a medium heat. WHen the butter is hot, add the livers, onion, garlic and thyme and cook for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally.

Add the brandy and flame it. Then add the parsley, tomato puree and salt and pper to taste. Cook for another 5 minutes. Let cool.

Transfer the contents of the pan to a food processor and process until very finely ground. Remove to a mixing bowl. Add the cream and aspic and wait unil the mixutre starts to stet before foliding in the egg whites. Spoon into a round or rectangular ceramic mould and refrigerate. Serve slightly chilled with the cold Tomato Sauce (other recipe in book) or, for an unusual combo with the Creme d'Artichaut (another recipe in the book)

Serves 6-8

UNISG Internships

"you can develop taste, but passion is certainly a genetic thing, like a good ear for music." Judith Jones

Not only have I loved my experience during my stage so far, I love being in Colorno with my friends/other students who are doing their own independent studies and get to learn what they are experiencing. 

Arina for example, is studying the "obscure" left-over/less popular meats like brain, liver, tripe, and pork skin for example. Not only has she been cooking and eating with nonnas and Italians all over the boot, she made a delicious chicken liver pate the other day. (liver is apparently, according to Massimo Bottura, very good for the health of women). and yes, it was very good. 

 Brittany is exploring birra artigianale -  artisinal Italian breweries and brought over a P.i.L.S beer from Pausa Cafe in Torino. I believe it is a brewery inside a jail where prisoners can learn a course on brewing beer. Not only is it a good cause, it's full of floral hops and bright gold in colour. deliciously sinful.

Poppi also went with Brittany to Piemonte to discover the legal world of Robiola di Roccaverano. She brought back cheese that was made 4 days earlier (four days!) as well as an aged Robiola. The fresh cheese was moist and melted in your mouth, not too sticky like some goat cheeses. The mature cheese was full of flavour and relentlessly irresistible to eat. 

"I am not a glutton - I am an explorer of food"
— Erma Bombeck

my first visit from Sinterklaas!

Dear Shauna aka Shaunty B.
you don't know me that well,
but hearing my name 
will surely ring a bell.
I come this night all the 
way from Spain
and am happily to bring
you this warm present by train.
Unfortunately my horse is ill 
tonight and as you might 
know this time on this special
eve is always thight. 
I hope you enjoy the
cold winter in Colorno
this special year.
before you know
it will disapear.
spring will come and
you will shine like a blom
because you are the bom! :-)
yours sincerely,
Sinterklaas

The First Snow of the Winter and an Apres-Ski Party.

Snow came to Colorno on the 1st of December. We started with snow in Colorno, and are ending with snow. It was not enough to cancel classes like on the first day. As we crossed the bridge to class, we found the Christmas tree being put up in Piazza Garibaldi. It was a little skimpy, making me feel cold just looking at the bare, naked trunk that barely supported the evergreen branches, but festive Colorno made me happy. 

 Being stuck inside later that night staring out in the blanketing white snow, the winter weather inspired us to divert our attention away from our barely concentrated year's end homework assignments and plan a Apres-ski Party. We had cocktail class in the afternoon (rough life) and a free day for some Italian holiday the next day (really rough life) so it was perfect to plan a themed party! 

snow fell from the sky

With some construction paper, scissors, tape, a visit to the euro store and a bag full of leftover toilet paper rolls, our creativity really shone. I like to think we transformed our little apartment into a winter wonderland  where even Anton from Tyrol would be impressed. 

snow flakes frosted the windows 

what's green and goes down a hill?

santa even popped in for a visit.

toilet roll holders are a waste of an invention.
for some reason we kept a bag full of empty rolls.
for some reason we must've known they'd be put to use.

dinky wreath.
yes those are chocolate coin wrappers

gluwine. mulled wine.

we even had a christmas tree!

the boys. 

Themed costumes were recommended. Decked out in winter clothes, despite the cold December night air, the windows were opened to cool us off.

Asher won the prize for best costume.
and best dj.

hostess with the mostess.

we even had Apres-ski dance moves:
moguls! downhill! jump! cross-country!

And the dancing started immediately and lasted into the night...until the neighbours pretended to call the police. ugh! they are noisy all the time morning into night!