Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Becca finds....
(I hope the pictures actually show up on the blog...I'm not sure how to go about this, so we'll find out...)
Full Breakfast Fry Currant Brack
Mutton and vegetable soup
A song in English about the Irish Diaspora
The Green Fields of America
Farewell to the growths of shillelagh and shamrock, farewell to the girls of old Ireland all round, and may their hearts be as merry, as ever they could wish for, as far away o'er the ocean I am bound.
My father is old and my mothers right feeble to leave their own country it would grieve their hearts sore, Oh! the tears down their cheeks, in great floods are rolling, to think that I must die upon some far and foreign shore.
But what matter to me where my bones they may lie buried, if in peace and contentment I can spend my life. The green fields of America, they daily are calling, its there I'll find an end to my misery and strife.
So pack up your sea stores now consider it no longer, ten dollars a week isn't very bad pay. With no taxes or tithes there to devour up your wages, Across on the green fields of America. The lent dams are gone and the looms are lying idle, gone are the winders of baskets and creels, And away o'er the ocean go journeymen plowboys, and fiddlers who fleight out the old mountain reels.
A but I mind the time when old Ireland was flourishing, and most of her tradesmen did work for good pay, A but since our manufactures have crossed the Atlantic, well its now that I must follow on to America.
And now to conclude and to finish my ditty, If ever a friendless Irishman should happen my way, with the best in the house, I will greet and welcome him, at home on the green fields of America.
So pack up your sea stores, now consider it no longer, ten dollars a week isn't very bad pay, with no taxes or tithes there to devour up your wages, Across on the green fields of America.
Images of Clare, Sligo, and Galway:
The Burren - County Clare
Sligo
Galway
One traditional recipe:
Mutton Broth
It is a good idea to make this broth a day in advance. The fat that rises to the surface will solidify and can easily be removed.
2 lb neck of mutton
6 cups water
2 tbsp pearl barley
1 large onion1 medium turnip
2 large carrots
1/2 small white cabbage
(serves six)
Put the meat in a large pan and cover with the cold water. Bring to the boil and skim the surface. Rinse the barley and add to the pan. Cover, but not too tightly, and simmer gently for 90 minutes. Shred the cabbage and dice the other vegetables and add these to the soup. Bring back to the boil and simmer for another hour. Remove the mutton and separate the meat from any bones, fat or gristle. Chop the meat and return to the soup. Allow to cool and remove fat. Reheat and serve.
Full Breakfast Fry Currant Brack
Mutton and vegetable soup
A song in English about the Irish Diaspora
The Green Fields of America
Farewell to the growths of shillelagh and shamrock, farewell to the girls of old Ireland all round, and may their hearts be as merry, as ever they could wish for, as far away o'er the ocean I am bound.
My father is old and my mothers right feeble to leave their own country it would grieve their hearts sore, Oh! the tears down their cheeks, in great floods are rolling, to think that I must die upon some far and foreign shore.
But what matter to me where my bones they may lie buried, if in peace and contentment I can spend my life. The green fields of America, they daily are calling, its there I'll find an end to my misery and strife.
So pack up your sea stores now consider it no longer, ten dollars a week isn't very bad pay. With no taxes or tithes there to devour up your wages, Across on the green fields of America. The lent dams are gone and the looms are lying idle, gone are the winders of baskets and creels, And away o'er the ocean go journeymen plowboys, and fiddlers who fleight out the old mountain reels.
A but I mind the time when old Ireland was flourishing, and most of her tradesmen did work for good pay, A but since our manufactures have crossed the Atlantic, well its now that I must follow on to America.
And now to conclude and to finish my ditty, If ever a friendless Irishman should happen my way, with the best in the house, I will greet and welcome him, at home on the green fields of America.
So pack up your sea stores, now consider it no longer, ten dollars a week isn't very bad pay, with no taxes or tithes there to devour up your wages, Across on the green fields of America.
Images of Clare, Sligo, and Galway:
The Burren - County Clare
Sligo
Galway
One traditional recipe:
Mutton Broth
It is a good idea to make this broth a day in advance. The fat that rises to the surface will solidify and can easily be removed.
2 lb neck of mutton
6 cups water
2 tbsp pearl barley
1 large onion1 medium turnip
2 large carrots
1/2 small white cabbage
(serves six)
Put the meat in a large pan and cover with the cold water. Bring to the boil and skim the surface. Rinse the barley and add to the pan. Cover, but not too tightly, and simmer gently for 90 minutes. Shred the cabbage and dice the other vegetables and add these to the soup. Bring back to the boil and simmer for another hour. Remove the mutton and separate the meat from any bones, fat or gristle. Chop the meat and return to the soup. Allow to cool and remove fat. Reheat and serve.
Brian's wee little finds
1 song in English which makes specific reference to the Irish Diaspora
1 song in English which makes specific reference to a specific place (town, village, parish, or geological formation) in Ireland
Shamrock Shore
Ye brave young sons of Erin's isle
I hope you will attend a while
To the wrongs of dear old Ireland I'm going to relate
'Twas black and cursed was the day
That our Parliament was taken away
And all our grief and suffering commences from that day
Our hearty sons and daughters fair
To other countries must repair
And leave their native lands behind in sorrow to deplore
For to seek employment they must roam
Far far away from their native home
From that sore oppressed island that they call the Shamrock Shore
Now Ireland is with plenty blessed
But the people they are sore oppressed
All by those cursed tyrants we are forced for to obey
Some haughty landlords for to please
Our houses and our lands they'll seize
To put fifty farms into one and take us all away
Regardless of the widow's cries
The mother's tears and the orphan's sighs
In thousands we are driven from home which grieves our hearts full sore
We are fraught by famine and disease
We emigrated across the seas
From that sore oppressed island that they call the Shamrock Shore
Our sustenance is taken away
Our tithes and taxes for to pay
To support that law-protected church to which they do adhere
And our Irish gentry, well you know
To other countries they do go
And the money from all Ireland is squandered here and there
But if those squires would stay at home
And not to other countries roam
But to build mills and factories here to employ the labouring core
For if we had trade and commerce fair
To me no nation could compare
To that sore oppressed island that they call the Shamrock Shore
John Bull he boasts and he laughs with scorn
And he says that Irish man is born
To be always discontented for at home he cannot agree
But we'll banish discord from our land
And in harmony like brothers stand
To demand the rights of Ireland let us all united be!
Our Parliament and College Green
For to assemble 'twill be seen
And happy days in Erin's isle we soon will have once more
Then dear old Ireland soon will be
A great and glorious country
And peace and blessings soon will smile all 'round the Shamrock Shore!
1 song in Irish with English translation
AIR FÀIL A LAIL Ò
Air fàil a lail ò, horò, air fàil a lail é
Air fàil a lail ò, horò, air fàil a lail é
Air fàil a lail ò, horò, air fàil a lail é
Fail i, fail ò, horò, air fail a lail é
A' bhuachaille bhàin mas aill leat labhairt air thùs
Gur a leat-sa gun dàil mo làmh ma thig thu le mùirn
Gur truagh mar a tha nach do thàrladh mise agus tu
Ann an eilean gun tràigh, gun ràmh gun choite, gun stiùir
Ma théid thu air sàil, a ghriadh bi gini 'ad' phòc'
Is òl mo dheoch-slàint'gach àit an suidh thu mun bhòrd
L d'chride geal, aotrom, éibhneach, aighearrach òg
Gur toigh leam am beul o'm bìnn a thigeadh an ceòl
Gur toigh leam an deud 's am beul nach labhradh le sgràing
Bhi sinnte ri m' thaobh, a ghaoil nan tigeadh tu ann
Mur bhiodh luchd nam breug bha m'eudail is mise gun taing
Le òrdugh na cléir le chéile 'n ceangal gu lann
Nach robh mis' is thu am beinn no monadh no sliabh
No air an traigh bhàn an àite nach robh duine riamh
Seachd oidhche, seachd là, gun tàmh gun chadal gun bhiadh
Ach thus' a bhi 'ghràidh 's do làmh gheal tharam gu fial.
AIR FÀIL A LAIL Ò
Air fàil a lail ò, horò, air fàil a lail é
Air fàil a lail ò, horò, air fàil a lail é
Air fàil a lail ò, horò, air fàil a lail é
Fail i, fail ò, horò air fail a lail é
Oh, fair-haired cow-herd, if it is your desire to be first to speak:
My hand is yours if you come to me with joy.
It is sad that being together is not our destiny,
On an isle with no shore, without boat or rudder or oar.
If you go to sea, my dear, there will be a guinea in your pocket,
And drink to my health each place that you sit at the table.
With your pure, glad and joyful heart,
I desire the mouth from which comes forth the music.
I so like the mouth, the tooth that would not with rancor speak,
Lying beside me, my darling, if only you'd come:
Were not the gossipers there my dear I'd give thanks,
With order of clergy our binding together forever.
Would that you and I, on mountain, on moor or on heath,
Or on the white beach in a place where no one e'er was
Seven nights, seven days, without respite, without sleep without food
But just you and I my dear, and your arm's protection around me.
1 song in English which makes specific reference to the Irish Diaspora
DEAR OLD DONEGAL
It seems like only yesterday, I sailed from out of Cork.
A stranger from old Erin's isle, I landed in New York.
There wasn't a soul to greet me there, a stranger on the shore,
But Irish luck was with me there, and riches came galore.
And now I'm going back again to dear old Erin's isle.
My friends will meet me on the pier and greet me with a smile.
Their faces, sure, I've almost forgot. I've been so long away,
But my mother will introduce them all and this to me will say:
CHO: "Shake hands with your Uncle Mike, me boy,
and here is your sister Kate,
And there's the girl you used to swing
down on the garden gate.
Shake hands with all of the neighbors,
and kiss the colleens all.
You're as welcome as the flowers in May
To dear old Donegal."
They'll give the party when I go home.
They'll come from near and far.
They'll line the road for miles and miles
with Irish jaunting cars.
The spirits will flow and we'll be gay,
we'll fill our hearts with joy.
The piper will play an Irish reel to greet the Yankee boy.
The dancers will reel the whole night long. Such fun as never seen.
The lads will be decked in corduroy, the colleens wearin' green.
There'll be thousands that I never saw, I've been so long away,
But my mother will introduce them all and this, to me, will say:
1 recipe for a traditional Irish dish; recipe may not include any ingredients not available in rural settings
Irish Potato Soup
2 Ib Potatoes
1 Large Onion
2 oz Butter
2 pints Vegetable Stock
1/2 pint Milk
1 tablesp Chives or Parsley
Nutmeg
pinch of Salt & Pepper
1 tsp Cornflour
Peel and cut potatoes in quarters and finely slice the onions. Melt butter in a sausepan and add the Potatoes and Onions, cover and simmer for 10 mins (don't brown veg). Add the Stock, Salt & Pepper and Nutmeg, Stir. Cover and bring to the boil stirring continuously. Reduce heat and simmer for 30 mins, until vegetables are soft, stir occasionally. Remove from heat and put through a sieve, and return to the saucepan. Stir in the milk and cornflour and bring to the boil, stir continuously. Remove from the heat, serve with a sprinkling of chives or parsley.
1 song in English which makes specific reference to a specific place (town, village, parish, or geological formation) in Ireland
Shamrock Shore
Ye brave young sons of Erin's isle
I hope you will attend a while
To the wrongs of dear old Ireland I'm going to relate
'Twas black and cursed was the day
That our Parliament was taken away
And all our grief and suffering commences from that day
Our hearty sons and daughters fair
To other countries must repair
And leave their native lands behind in sorrow to deplore
For to seek employment they must roam
Far far away from their native home
From that sore oppressed island that they call the Shamrock Shore
Now Ireland is with plenty blessed
But the people they are sore oppressed
All by those cursed tyrants we are forced for to obey
Some haughty landlords for to please
Our houses and our lands they'll seize
To put fifty farms into one and take us all away
Regardless of the widow's cries
The mother's tears and the orphan's sighs
In thousands we are driven from home which grieves our hearts full sore
We are fraught by famine and disease
We emigrated across the seas
From that sore oppressed island that they call the Shamrock Shore
Our sustenance is taken away
Our tithes and taxes for to pay
To support that law-protected church to which they do adhere
And our Irish gentry, well you know
To other countries they do go
And the money from all Ireland is squandered here and there
But if those squires would stay at home
And not to other countries roam
But to build mills and factories here to employ the labouring core
For if we had trade and commerce fair
To me no nation could compare
To that sore oppressed island that they call the Shamrock Shore
John Bull he boasts and he laughs with scorn
And he says that Irish man is born
To be always discontented for at home he cannot agree
But we'll banish discord from our land
And in harmony like brothers stand
To demand the rights of Ireland let us all united be!
Our Parliament and College Green
For to assemble 'twill be seen
And happy days in Erin's isle we soon will have once more
Then dear old Ireland soon will be
A great and glorious country
And peace and blessings soon will smile all 'round the Shamrock Shore!
1 song in Irish with English translation
AIR FÀIL A LAIL Ò
Air fàil a lail ò, horò, air fàil a lail é
Air fàil a lail ò, horò, air fàil a lail é
Air fàil a lail ò, horò, air fàil a lail é
Fail i, fail ò, horò, air fail a lail é
A' bhuachaille bhàin mas aill leat labhairt air thùs
Gur a leat-sa gun dàil mo làmh ma thig thu le mùirn
Gur truagh mar a tha nach do thàrladh mise agus tu
Ann an eilean gun tràigh, gun ràmh gun choite, gun stiùir
Ma théid thu air sàil, a ghriadh bi gini 'ad' phòc'
Is òl mo dheoch-slàint'gach àit an suidh thu mun bhòrd
L d'chride geal, aotrom, éibhneach, aighearrach òg
Gur toigh leam am beul o'm bìnn a thigeadh an ceòl
Gur toigh leam an deud 's am beul nach labhradh le sgràing
Bhi sinnte ri m' thaobh, a ghaoil nan tigeadh tu ann
Mur bhiodh luchd nam breug bha m'eudail is mise gun taing
Le òrdugh na cléir le chéile 'n ceangal gu lann
Nach robh mis' is thu am beinn no monadh no sliabh
No air an traigh bhàn an àite nach robh duine riamh
Seachd oidhche, seachd là, gun tàmh gun chadal gun bhiadh
Ach thus' a bhi 'ghràidh 's do làmh gheal tharam gu fial.
AIR FÀIL A LAIL Ò
Air fàil a lail ò, horò, air fàil a lail é
Air fàil a lail ò, horò, air fàil a lail é
Air fàil a lail ò, horò, air fàil a lail é
Fail i, fail ò, horò air fail a lail é
Oh, fair-haired cow-herd, if it is your desire to be first to speak:
My hand is yours if you come to me with joy.
It is sad that being together is not our destiny,
On an isle with no shore, without boat or rudder or oar.
If you go to sea, my dear, there will be a guinea in your pocket,
And drink to my health each place that you sit at the table.
With your pure, glad and joyful heart,
I desire the mouth from which comes forth the music.
I so like the mouth, the tooth that would not with rancor speak,
Lying beside me, my darling, if only you'd come:
Were not the gossipers there my dear I'd give thanks,
With order of clergy our binding together forever.
Would that you and I, on mountain, on moor or on heath,
Or on the white beach in a place where no one e'er was
Seven nights, seven days, without respite, without sleep without food
But just you and I my dear, and your arm's protection around me.
1 song in English which makes specific reference to the Irish Diaspora
DEAR OLD DONEGAL
It seems like only yesterday, I sailed from out of Cork.
A stranger from old Erin's isle, I landed in New York.
There wasn't a soul to greet me there, a stranger on the shore,
But Irish luck was with me there, and riches came galore.
And now I'm going back again to dear old Erin's isle.
My friends will meet me on the pier and greet me with a smile.
Their faces, sure, I've almost forgot. I've been so long away,
But my mother will introduce them all and this to me will say:
CHO: "Shake hands with your Uncle Mike, me boy,
and here is your sister Kate,
And there's the girl you used to swing
down on the garden gate.
Shake hands with all of the neighbors,
and kiss the colleens all.
You're as welcome as the flowers in May
To dear old Donegal."
They'll give the party when I go home.
They'll come from near and far.
They'll line the road for miles and miles
with Irish jaunting cars.
The spirits will flow and we'll be gay,
we'll fill our hearts with joy.
The piper will play an Irish reel to greet the Yankee boy.
The dancers will reel the whole night long. Such fun as never seen.
The lads will be decked in corduroy, the colleens wearin' green.
There'll be thousands that I never saw, I've been so long away,
But my mother will introduce them all and this, to me, will say:
1 recipe for a traditional Irish dish; recipe may not include any ingredients not available in rural settings
Irish Potato Soup
2 Ib Potatoes
1 Large Onion
2 oz Butter
2 pints Vegetable Stock
1/2 pint Milk
1 tablesp Chives or Parsley
Nutmeg
pinch of Salt & Pepper
1 tsp Cornflour
Peel and cut potatoes in quarters and finely slice the onions. Melt butter in a sausepan and add the Potatoes and Onions, cover and simmer for 10 mins (don't brown veg). Add the Stock, Salt & Pepper and Nutmeg, Stir. Cover and bring to the boil stirring continuously. Reduce heat and simmer for 30 mins, until vegetables are soft, stir occasionally. Remove from heat and put through a sieve, and return to the saucepan. Stir in the milk and cornflour and bring to the boil, stir continuously. Remove from the heat, serve with a sprinkling of chives or parsley.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Steve Finds.....
Recipe:
Steak & Guinness pie
-1 kg of steak
-1 tablespoon cream flour
-1 teaspoon brown sugar
-1 tablespoon raisins
-5x onions
-300ml Guinness
-8 slices bacon
-3 oz lard
-Make the pastry before you begin to make the casserole.
-Now cut steak into bite sized cubes
-Put the steak into the flour and make sure it is all covered.
-In a pan gently melt the lard
-Add the steak, bacon and cook until it starts to brown.
-Peel and chop the onion and add to the pan.
-Place steak, bacon and onion in a casserole dish.
-Add the raisins and brown sugar
-Pour in the Guinness.
-Cover tightly and simmer over a low heat or in a very moderate oven (325-350F) for 2 1/2 hours.
-Stir occasionally.
-Add more Guinness or water if the rich brown gravy gets too thick.
-Line a deep pie dish with half the pie crust (bake it blind).
-Then add the Guinness and steak mixture.
-Cover with a layer of pie crust
-Bake until finished about another 10 minutes.
© FoodIreland.com
Song of a place:
The Rocky Road to Dublin
In the merry month of May from my home I started
Left the girls of Tuam nearly broken-hearted
Saluted Father dear, kissed my darlin' Mother
Drank a pint of beer my grief and tears to smother
Then off to reap the corn, and leave where I was born
I cut a stout blackthorn to banish ghost and goblin,
In a bran'new pair of brogues I rattled o'er the bogs
And frightened all the dogs on the rocky road to Dublin,
Chorus: One, two, three, four five, hunt the hare and turn her
Down the rocky roaad, and all the ways to Dublin
Whack fol-lol-de-ra.
In Mullingar that night I rested limbs so weary,
Started by daylight next morning light and airy,
Took a drop of the pure, to keep my heart from sinking,
That's an frishman's cure, whene'er he's on for drinking,
To see the lasses smile, laughing all the while,
At my curious style, 'twould set your heart a-bubbling,
They ax'd if I was hired, the wages I required,
Till I was almost tired of the rocky road to Dublin.
In Dublin next arrived, I thought it such a pity,
To be so soon deprived a view of that fine city,
Then I took a stroll out among the quality,
My bundle it was stole in a neat locality;
Something crossed my mind, then I looked behind,
No bundle could I find upon me stick a-wobblin',
Enquiring for the rogue, they said my Connaught brogue
Wasn't much in vogue on the rocky road to Dublin.
From there I got away my spirits never failing,
Landed on the quay as the ship was sailing,
Captain at me roared, said that no room had he,
When I jumped aboard, a cabin found for Paddy
Down among the pigs, I played some funny rigs
Danced some hearty jigs, the water round me bubblin'
When off to Holyhead I wished myself was dead,
Or better far, instead, on the rocky road to Dublin.
The bovs of Liverpool, when we safely landed,
Called myself a fool, I could no longer stand it;
Blood began to boil, temper I was losin'
Poor old Erin's isle they began abusin'
"Hurrah my soul!" sez I, my shillelagh I let fly,
Some Galway boys were by, saw I was a hobble in,
Then with a loud Hurrah, they joined in the affray,
We quickly cleared the way, for the rocky road to Dublin.
Song on the Diaspora:
The Shores of Amerikay
I'm bidding farewell to the land of my youth
and the home I love so well
And the mountains so grand round my own native land
I'm bidding them all farewell
With an aching heart I'll bid them adieu
for tomorrow I'll sail far away
O'er the raging foam for to seek a home
on the shores of Amerikay
It's not for the want of employment I'm going
It's not for the love of fame
That fortune bright, may shine over me
and give me a glorious name
It's not for the want of employment I'm going
o'er the weary and stormy sea
But to seek a home for my own true love
on the shores of Amerikay
And when I am bidding my last farewell
the tears like rain will blind
To think of my friends in my own native land
and the home I'm leaving behind
But if I'm to die in a foreign land
and be buried so far far away
No fond mother's tears will be shed o'er my grave
on the shores of Amerikay
Pictures:
Clare
Sligo
Galway - yes - this is a shot of the bay.....enjoy!
Steak & Guinness pie
-1 kg of steak
-1 tablespoon cream flour
-1 teaspoon brown sugar
-1 tablespoon raisins
-5x onions
-300ml Guinness
-8 slices bacon
-3 oz lard
-Make the pastry before you begin to make the casserole.
-Now cut steak into bite sized cubes
-Put the steak into the flour and make sure it is all covered.
-In a pan gently melt the lard
-Add the steak, bacon and cook until it starts to brown.
-Peel and chop the onion and add to the pan.
-Place steak, bacon and onion in a casserole dish.
-Add the raisins and brown sugar
-Pour in the Guinness.
-Cover tightly and simmer over a low heat or in a very moderate oven (325-350F) for 2 1/2 hours.
-Stir occasionally.
-Add more Guinness or water if the rich brown gravy gets too thick.
-Line a deep pie dish with half the pie crust (bake it blind).
-Then add the Guinness and steak mixture.
-Cover with a layer of pie crust
-Bake until finished about another 10 minutes.
© FoodIreland.com
Song of a place:
The Rocky Road to Dublin
In the merry month of May from my home I started
Left the girls of Tuam nearly broken-hearted
Saluted Father dear, kissed my darlin' Mother
Drank a pint of beer my grief and tears to smother
Then off to reap the corn, and leave where I was born
I cut a stout blackthorn to banish ghost and goblin,
In a bran'new pair of brogues I rattled o'er the bogs
And frightened all the dogs on the rocky road to Dublin,
Chorus: One, two, three, four five, hunt the hare and turn her
Down the rocky roaad, and all the ways to Dublin
Whack fol-lol-de-ra.
In Mullingar that night I rested limbs so weary,
Started by daylight next morning light and airy,
Took a drop of the pure, to keep my heart from sinking,
That's an frishman's cure, whene'er he's on for drinking,
To see the lasses smile, laughing all the while,
At my curious style, 'twould set your heart a-bubbling,
They ax'd if I was hired, the wages I required,
Till I was almost tired of the rocky road to Dublin.
In Dublin next arrived, I thought it such a pity,
To be so soon deprived a view of that fine city,
Then I took a stroll out among the quality,
My bundle it was stole in a neat locality;
Something crossed my mind, then I looked behind,
No bundle could I find upon me stick a-wobblin',
Enquiring for the rogue, they said my Connaught brogue
Wasn't much in vogue on the rocky road to Dublin.
From there I got away my spirits never failing,
Landed on the quay as the ship was sailing,
Captain at me roared, said that no room had he,
When I jumped aboard, a cabin found for Paddy
Down among the pigs, I played some funny rigs
Danced some hearty jigs, the water round me bubblin'
When off to Holyhead I wished myself was dead,
Or better far, instead, on the rocky road to Dublin.
The bovs of Liverpool, when we safely landed,
Called myself a fool, I could no longer stand it;
Blood began to boil, temper I was losin'
Poor old Erin's isle they began abusin'
"Hurrah my soul!" sez I, my shillelagh I let fly,
Some Galway boys were by, saw I was a hobble in,
Then with a loud Hurrah, they joined in the affray,
We quickly cleared the way, for the rocky road to Dublin.
Song on the Diaspora:
The Shores of Amerikay
I'm bidding farewell to the land of my youth
and the home I love so well
And the mountains so grand round my own native land
I'm bidding them all farewell
With an aching heart I'll bid them adieu
for tomorrow I'll sail far away
O'er the raging foam for to seek a home
on the shores of Amerikay
It's not for the want of employment I'm going
It's not for the love of fame
That fortune bright, may shine over me
and give me a glorious name
It's not for the want of employment I'm going
o'er the weary and stormy sea
But to seek a home for my own true love
on the shores of Amerikay
And when I am bidding my last farewell
the tears like rain will blind
To think of my friends in my own native land
and the home I'm leaving behind
But if I'm to die in a foreign land
and be buried so far far away
No fond mother's tears will be shed o'er my grave
on the shores of Amerikay
Pictures:
Clare
Sligo
Galway - yes - this is a shot of the bay.....enjoy!
Jill Finds...
Irish Visual Art:
Song about a specific place:
Mountains of Mourne
Oh Molly this London's a beautiful sightwhere the people are workin' by day and by night
They don't sow potatoes nor barley nor wheatbut there's gangs of them diggin' for gold in the street
At least when I asked them that's what I was toldso I took up my hand at this diggin' for goldbut for all that I found there I might as well bewhere the Mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea
I believe that when writing one wish you'd expressedas to how the fine ladies of London are dressed
well if you believe me when asked to the ballfaith, they don't wear no tops to their dresses at all
Oh, I've seen it myself and I tell you in truthI can't tell if they're bound for a ball or a bathdon't go startin' those fashions now
Molly Machreewhere the Mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea
You remember young Peter O'Laughlin of coursewell now he is here at the head of the force
I saw him one day I was crossing the strandand he stopped the whole street with one wave of his hand
And there we stood talking of days long gonewhile the whole population of London looked on
But for all his great power he's wishin' like meto be back where the dark Mourne sweeps down to the sea
I saw England’s King from the top of a busstill I don’t know him still he claims to know usand though by the
Saxon’s we once were oppressedstill I cheered God forgive me I cheered with the restand since that he’s visited Erin’s green shorewe’ve been much better friends than we’ve been heretofore
when we get what we want we’re as quiet as can bewhere the Mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea
There are beautiful girls here-Oh, never you mind
With beautiful shapes nature never designed
And lovely complexions all roses and creambut O'Laughlin remarked with regard to the same
That if at those roses you venture to sipthe colours might all come away on your lip
So I'll wait for the wild rose that's waiting for me
Where the Mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea.
Recipe- Irish Stew:
2 1/2 lb boned mutton
4 large potatoes
2 large onions
3 or 4 medium carrotssprig of parsley
2 cups watersalt and pepper
(serves four)
Cut the meat into good size chunks. Peel the vegetables and slice thickly. Chop the parsley. Choose a pot with a well-fitting lid and put in the ingredients in layers, starting and finishing with potatoes. Pour in the water and season to taste. Cover and put on a very low heat for about 2 1/2 hours until the meat is tender and the potatoes have thickened the liquid. The dish may also be made with lamb, in which case it requires only 1 1/2 hours cooking time.
Irish Song with English Translation:
Planxty Fanny Power (Mrs. Trench) (Bean an Trinsigh)
Is mian liom labhairt ar óig-mhaol shuairc.
Is uaisle geanúla gnaol agus cáil,
Is uaisle geanúla gnaol agus cáil,
Do bhios insa mbaile tá ag cuan Loch Riabhach
Táim buioch nar casadh mé laimh léi.
Is aerach is tréitheach an mhaighdean bhreá scafánta
Grá chroí na héireann an péarla deas galanta
ïOlaidh go tréan is ná déanaigi failli,
Faoi thuairim Fainí nion Dáibhi.
Siúd í an eala tá ag taobh a' chuain
Na sluaite fear dul in éag dá grá
'S í Faini deas geanúll na ndlaoi is na ndual
Fuar bua go minic le haille.
Nár fhága mé an saol ó go mbi mé go ceannasach
A' damhsa go h'aerach is mé ar do bhainis sé
Fógraim an té sin a d'iarrfadh aon spré leat,
A phéarla leanbh na mbán ghlac.
English Translation:
I wish to speak of a gracious young lady,
A loveable lady of beauty and reputation,
Who lives in the town near the bay of Loch Riabhach.
I'm thankful that I had the chance to meet her.
She's lively, airy, - a cultured fine maiden,
The love of all Ireland and a nice cultured pearl.
O drink up now and don't be slack!
To Fanny, the daughter of David.
She is the swan at the edge of the bay,
Crowds of men are dying for her love.
She's nice gentle Fanny of locks and braids,
Who often gets the prize for beauty.
May I not leave this world, if I may be so bold,
Unless I can first cheerfully dance at your wedding feast.
I challenge the one who would ever ask a dowry for you,
O Pearl-Child of white hands
Josh's finds
Boxdy
1/2 lb Raw potato 1/2 lb Mashed potato 1/2 lb Plain flour Milk 1 Egg Salt and pepper
Grate raw potatoes and mix with the cooked mashed potatoes. Add salt, pepper and flour. Beat egg and add to mixture with just enough milk to make a batter that will drop from a spoon. Drop by tablespoonfuls onto a hot griddle or frying pan. Cook over a moderate heat for 3-4 minutes on each side. Serve with a tart apple sauce: or as part of an Ulster Fry, with fried bacon, fried sausage, fried eggs, fried black pudding, fried bread, fried soda bread.
1/2 lb Raw potato 1/2 lb Mashed potato 1/2 lb Plain flour Milk 1 Egg Salt and pepper
Grate raw potatoes and mix with the cooked mashed potatoes. Add salt, pepper and flour. Beat egg and add to mixture with just enough milk to make a batter that will drop from a spoon. Drop by tablespoonfuls onto a hot griddle or frying pan. Cook over a moderate heat for 3-4 minutes on each side. Serve with a tart apple sauce: or as part of an Ulster Fry, with fried bacon, fried sausage, fried eggs, fried black pudding, fried bread, fried soda bread.
Whiskey cake
Soda bread
Irish Stew
3 Irish works of art:
Pictures of counties Clare, Galway, and Sligo, in that order:
Eric Finds
1 recipe for a traditional Irish dish; recipe may not include any ingredients not available in rural settings:
Cockle Soup
Salted water for cooking
4 dozen cockles or mussles
2 heaping tablespoons butter
2 heaping tablespoons flour
4 cups cockle stock
2 cups whole milk or cream
2 cups chopped parsley or seaweed
½ cup chopped celery
Salt and pepper to taste
Cream
Scrub the cockles well to clean off sand and grit. Put them into a large saucepan; cover with salted water. Bring water to a boil; all cockles should open. Do not continue cooking. Remove cockles to cool, reserving liquid. Remove cockles from shells. Melt the butter in a saucepan, and stir in the flour. Add the strained cockle juice and milk, stirring all the time until it is smoothly blended. Put in the chopped parsley, celery, and seasoning. Cook for 10 minutes. Finally, add the cockles, heat, and serve with a dollop of cream on each portion.
1 song in English which makes specific reference to a specific place (town, village, parish, or geological formation) in Ireland:
Molly Malone
(Traditional)
In Dublin's fair city,Where girls are so pretty,I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone,As she pushed her wheelbarrowThrough streets broad and narrow,Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive oh"!
Alive, alive oh! alive, alive oh!Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive oh"!
Now she was a fishmonger,And sure ‘twas no wonder,For so were her mother and father before,And they each wheeled their barrow,Through streets broad and narrow,Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive oh"!
Alive, alive oh! alive, alive oh!Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive oh"!
She died of a fever,And no one could save her,And that was the end of sweet Molly Malone.Now her ghost wheels her barrow,Through streets broad and narrow,Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive oh"!
Alive, alive oh! alive, alive oh!Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive oh"!
1 song in Irish with English translation:
Bean Phaidin
(traditional)
'S é'n trua ghéar nach mise, nach mise
'S é'n trua ghéar nach mise bean Pháidín
'S é'n trua ghéar nach mise, nach mise
'S an bhean atá aige bheith caillte
Rachainn go haonach an Chlocháin
Is siar go Béal Á' na Báighe
Bhreathnóinn isteach tríd an bhfuinneog
A' súil is go bhfeicfinn bean Pháidín
Chuaigh mise siar Toin a Roisin
Thart timpeall le Barr a’t Sailin,
‘gus bhreathnaigh me isteach frid na fuinneogai
Feachaint an bhfeiceann bean Phaidin
Rachainn go Gallaí' go Gallaí'
Is rachainn go Gallaí' le Pháidín
Rachainn go Gallaí' go Gallaí'
Is thiocfainn abhaile sa mbád leis
Go mbristear do chosa, do chosa
Go mbristear do chosa 'bean Pháidín
Go mbristear do chosa, do chosa
Go mbristear do chosa 's do chnámha
Translation:
The Woman of Paidin.
Oh, ‘tis pity that I am not, that I am not,
That I am not the woman of Paidin.
‘Tis pity that I am not his woman,
The woman he has, gone from him.
Oh, I went down by the shingles
And round by Beal Ath na Boige.
Looking in through people’s windows,
To search out the woman of Paidin.
And I went down Toin a’Roisin,
And back up by Barr a’t Sailin,
And called in to Matthew O’Casey’s
To search out the woman of Paidin.
Oh, I’d go to Galway, to Galway,
To Galway I’d travel with Paidin.
Oh, I’d go to Galway, to Galway,
To be in his boat with him returning.
I wish that your legs they were broken,
A curse on you, woman of Paidin.
I wish that your legs they were broken,
Your legs and your bones to be broken.
3 images of different Irish traditional foods:
(from right to left)
1: Irish Tea Brack
2: Stinging Nettle Soup
3: Traditional Irish Black Pudding
Cockle Soup
Salted water for cooking
4 dozen cockles or mussles
2 heaping tablespoons butter
2 heaping tablespoons flour
4 cups cockle stock
2 cups whole milk or cream
2 cups chopped parsley or seaweed
½ cup chopped celery
Salt and pepper to taste
Cream
Scrub the cockles well to clean off sand and grit. Put them into a large saucepan; cover with salted water. Bring water to a boil; all cockles should open. Do not continue cooking. Remove cockles to cool, reserving liquid. Remove cockles from shells. Melt the butter in a saucepan, and stir in the flour. Add the strained cockle juice and milk, stirring all the time until it is smoothly blended. Put in the chopped parsley, celery, and seasoning. Cook for 10 minutes. Finally, add the cockles, heat, and serve with a dollop of cream on each portion.
1 song in English which makes specific reference to a specific place (town, village, parish, or geological formation) in Ireland:
Molly Malone
(Traditional)
In Dublin's fair city,Where girls are so pretty,I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone,As she pushed her wheelbarrowThrough streets broad and narrow,Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive oh"!
Alive, alive oh! alive, alive oh!Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive oh"!
Now she was a fishmonger,And sure ‘twas no wonder,For so were her mother and father before,And they each wheeled their barrow,Through streets broad and narrow,Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive oh"!
Alive, alive oh! alive, alive oh!Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive oh"!
She died of a fever,And no one could save her,And that was the end of sweet Molly Malone.Now her ghost wheels her barrow,Through streets broad and narrow,Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive oh"!
Alive, alive oh! alive, alive oh!Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive oh"!
1 song in Irish with English translation:
Bean Phaidin
(traditional)
'S é'n trua ghéar nach mise, nach mise
'S é'n trua ghéar nach mise bean Pháidín
'S é'n trua ghéar nach mise, nach mise
'S an bhean atá aige bheith caillte
Rachainn go haonach an Chlocháin
Is siar go Béal Á' na Báighe
Bhreathnóinn isteach tríd an bhfuinneog
A' súil is go bhfeicfinn bean Pháidín
Chuaigh mise siar Toin a Roisin
Thart timpeall le Barr a’t Sailin,
‘gus bhreathnaigh me isteach frid na fuinneogai
Feachaint an bhfeiceann bean Phaidin
Rachainn go Gallaí' go Gallaí'
Is rachainn go Gallaí' le Pháidín
Rachainn go Gallaí' go Gallaí'
Is thiocfainn abhaile sa mbád leis
Go mbristear do chosa, do chosa
Go mbristear do chosa 'bean Pháidín
Go mbristear do chosa, do chosa
Go mbristear do chosa 's do chnámha
Translation:
The Woman of Paidin.
Oh, ‘tis pity that I am not, that I am not,
That I am not the woman of Paidin.
‘Tis pity that I am not his woman,
The woman he has, gone from him.
Oh, I went down by the shingles
And round by Beal Ath na Boige.
Looking in through people’s windows,
To search out the woman of Paidin.
And I went down Toin a’Roisin,
And back up by Barr a’t Sailin,
And called in to Matthew O’Casey’s
To search out the woman of Paidin.
Oh, I’d go to Galway, to Galway,
To Galway I’d travel with Paidin.
Oh, I’d go to Galway, to Galway,
To be in his boat with him returning.
I wish that your legs they were broken,
A curse on you, woman of Paidin.
I wish that your legs they were broken,
Your legs and your bones to be broken.
3 images of different Irish traditional foods:
(from right to left)
1: Irish Tea Brack
2: Stinging Nettle Soup
3: Traditional Irish Black Pudding
Sunday, February 11, 2007
readings... something funny
These are some things from the reading (Flann O'Brien, #45) that I find to be absolutely hilarious:
page 15: The exchange between the old man and the child. After a quite intelligent conversation, the child goes on to say that he was 10 months old when that happened- very Stewie!
page 20: After building the hut: "When I, my grandmother and two of my brothers had spent two nights in the hut, we were so cold and drenched wet that it is a wonder we did not die straight away and we couldn't get any relief until we went back to the house and were comfortable again among the cattle."
page 15: The exchange between the old man and the child. After a quite intelligent conversation, the child goes on to say that he was 10 months old when that happened- very Stewie!
page 20: After building the hut: "When I, my grandmother and two of my brothers had spent two nights in the hut, we were so cold and drenched wet that it is a wonder we did not die straight away and we couldn't get any relief until we went back to the house and were comfortable again among the cattle."
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