Dawn on Donabate beach - time lapse

Travelling to work during the week, I saw the most magnificent sunrises with the sky overhead alight with red, gold, purple and blue as the horizon was punctured by a distant red sun and slowly gathered height. My mind drifted and I thought it would be great to capture this on time lapse, and so decided to attempt it at the weekend. On Saturday I failed miserably, and did not have any inclination to escape the warmth of the duvet at 6.30 a.m. On Saturday evening I checked the forecast for cloud cover on Sunday morning. It was not great. There was 75% upper level cloud cover forecasted and a westerly airflow which would suggest increasing cloudcover with no real prospect of a stunning sunrise to be captured.

Early on Sunday morning I heard the sea area forecast being methodically called out on the radio. It was quite clear the good spell of weather we have been experiencing in recent days was coming to an end. "West to Northwest winds will reach gale force today on coasts from Slyne Head to Fair Head to Wicklow Head and on the Irish Sea", it advised in a serious monotone. That was not all. It went on to bring the following grim news: "Occasional rain or hail showers becoming more widespread and turning to sleet or snow in places later today and tonight with the risk of thunder."

Undeterred, I ground some extra fine coffee, which I gulped down with a little warm milk, found a warmer jacket and woolly hat, before departing for the beach. In my bag was a simple garden time lapse camera, my standard camera, and my phone. I thought arriving early was a good plan to feel around for a good location in the moderate darkness, and biting cold wind. All set up, I pushed the button on the time lapse camera and listed for the bleeps to signify it had started. I pushed the button again and again in vain only to discover it had run out of battery. I hastily set up my iPhone on a post protruding from the sand dune. After a couple of fumbles, and an approximate aim at the horizon 15 degrees south of due east, I started the time lapse function at a frame to be taken every three seconds. In the diminished light, I could see that there was a bank of cloud on the horizon and ribbons of low cloud just above it. The Kish lighthouse beamed away, and aircraft landing Dublin airport also provided some interest in the sky. It was interesting to a degree but would it improve with the coming dawn. As time passed, I became jealous of the cloud formations to left and right which were out of frame. My time lapse would be trained upon a steely blue grey December sky. Clouds cork screwed and mixed with mare's tails all around apart from the area I had positioned the camera frame.

I settled in for the long run listening to Vivaldi and looking at the oystercatchers and crows running on the wet sand as the tide receded. By 8 a.m. the sky was slowly brightening but there was no promise of a dramatic dawn. The darkened clouds gathered over my shoulder pressed by a strong and cold westerly wind. The crows had begun to tease each other; one would provoke its flock into a chase when it found a tasty cockle. The chase seemed to be more fun that anything else, as the cockle was never eaten, but the chase kept them occupied for 15 minutes flying in the stiff wind before settling back down on the wet sand.  

Gradually people walking dogs arrived at the beach, and horses were cantering and walking in the water. The birds seemed to sense the sun had crested the horizon, taking off in a noisy unsettled flight, but the cloud was too thick for me to witness it. Is it possible that the morning got darker? By 8.30 the light appeared to dim somewhat and the cold intensified; Vivaldi was quickly swapped for the Rolling Stones in an attempt to add some tempo and build a little heart rate to stay warm. My face was slowly freezing and became numb. As if matters were not grim enough, a large black dog came bounding towards me along the edge of the dune. I gave it an uninterested look, my face too cold to raise any other expression, and it departed as quickly as it arrived, barking.

By 9.30 I decided it was time to retreat from the December chilly air for another cup of bracing coffee, and to review the dawn in the comfort and safety of my home.I hope to have better look next time!

Harry Clarke's stained glass: Panels from the National Museum of Ireland, Collins Barracks, Dublin

Details of "A Meeting", 1918

The details and images of the stained glass panels in the National Museum of Ireland are illustrative of many facets of Harry Clarke's work; decorative secular, and commemorative panels, and a religiously themed window. The works also span a large portion of the career of Harry Clarke, whom it must be remembered died at the age of 41. The Unhappy Judas panel was produced in 1912 for the South Kensington examinations in London and the Royal Dublin Society's Art Industries Exhibition in 1913. The panel won awards in both exhibitions.

The panel entitled "A Meeting" above, was produced in 1918 and is a diminutive, and highly detailed oval stained glass panel. It is similar in style to some other similar panels commissioned about this time, and indeed the illustrative work designed for the London publishers Harrap. Titles which Clarke worked upon during this period include "The Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Anderson" and "Tales of Mystery and Imagination" by Edgar Allen Poe. This particular panel is inspired by a ballad written by Heinrich Heine.

The panel below is a portrait of General Richard Mulcahy and was probably produced in or about 1925. General Mulcahy fought in the 1916 Easter Rising, served as Chief of Staff of the Irish Republican Army during the War of Independence [1920 - 1922], and was commander of the pro-treaty forces in the Irish Civil War [1922 - 1923].

Portrait of General Richard Mulcahy, Circa 1925

Detail of "The Unhappy Judas", 1912

Harry Clarke's stained glass: Church of St John the Baptist, Blackrock, County Dublin

A detail of from the lights depicting St Francis [1925]

A detail of the light depicting St Hubert [1925]

Lights depicting the Crucifiction [1925]

The martyrdom of St Sebastian [1925]

The windows attributed to Harry Clarke in St John the Baptist's church in Blackrock County Dublin are probably the work of his studio with a little intervention and direction from the master himself in places. There are two windows on either side of the nave and each window contains four lights. The windows are said to have been executed in 1925, when Harry Clarke was occupied not only with the commisioning and initial discussions relating to the Geneva window, but also exhibitions, illustrations and ongoing work. There was a considerable amount of work being produced by the Clarke studios during the mid 1920s.

The windows reportedly protray on the left Our lady of Mount Carmel, St Sebastian and St Hubert. On the right hand side of the nave the lights depicting the Crucifiction and St Francis.

Lights depicting St Francis [1925]

The Good Life: Autumn rewards

A basket full of tomatoes and one our orange hubbard pumpkins

Autumn not only introduces the first chill in the air but the sweet scent of ripening and decay, as the leaves gradually wither and fall. As the weeks surrender inevitably through October the first ground frosts are evident and we gather the last harvest baskets from the allotment. Despite heavy winds and rain our large variety of  tomatoes, for the most part, ripened. The vast quantity of bright red tomatoes forced us into great activity making richly flavoured vegetable lasagnas, pizza Napolitana along with the last of our anchovies from Palermo, and a rich tomato apple and courgette chutney. Those tomatoes that did not mature and ripen from the green department to the red department were also destined for the chutney treatment. Steamed and blended hubbard pumpkin flesh added to an egg custard mix enriched a the noble but simple creme caramel.

Corinne surveying the allotment and hoping I do not fall off or go through the roof of the shed

As the various crops gradually get cleared we have begun the task of digging the beds and  spreading manure to give the necessary fertiliser and boost for next years crops. The turn in the season has not stopped all growth in the allotment as the Swiss chard, sorrel, fennel, kale, mache, celery, leeks and some cabbage continue to thrive. The raspberries, despite being thrashed about in the stormy winds, have recovered for the last few weeks producing fragile but some very tasty fruit for Corinne to nibble as she works. The artichokes have been quite surprising; once mid October arrived we expected them to stop producing. We were wrong. This year the artichokes have produces constantly from May all the way through to the start of November. 


A single line of beetroot remains in the ground, being the remnants of numerous thinngs and pickings. In recent weeks the apples in a local orchard have also matured, and have been put to good use in the annual chutney production. My personal favourite so far is the beetroot and apple chutney, published by Darina Allen's Forgotten Skills of Cooking at page 439. Not wanting to waste the trek on foot along sodden tracks, across fields and deep ditches, en route to the orchard, we gathered a good supply of blackberries over a succession of weekend pilgrimages to make apple and bramble jelly, and pure bramble jelly. 

A selection of our colurful and healthy Swiss chard - the sorrel is just not photogenic no matter how healthy it is!

Corinne recently had a craving for sorrel soup also known as soupe á l'oseille, a lesser known favourite of French regional cooking. To make a good pot of very tasty sorrel soup we cut back an entire sorrel plant. We have five plants in the allotment and they grow back incredibly quickly. Therefore, with the application of some careful rotation, and minimal plant care, we could enjoy this humble mouth watering potage every week! Essentially one strong healthy plant with give you about a carrier bag full of leaves, approaching 500 grams.

 Corinne in the sorrel patch cutting the leaves from one of the plants and not a bad shot of the sorrel either!

To make the soup, prepare the leaves by washing them and removing the stalk. You will also need 1.5 litres of good vegetable or chicken stock. We add two or three leaves of chard to mellow the citric tang of the sorrel. The chard should be washed and roughly chopped or torn, reserving the stalks to use in another dish (we have added the stalks rather than let them go to waste - no harm!). Clean and chop a leek, and peel and chop two medium sized potatoes. Once all the ingredients are ready to go, melt some butter in a large tall pot. When the butter has melted, toss in the chopped leek and sorrel leaves, cooking gently until the sorrel begins to wilt (about 5 minutes). Then pour in the stock followed by the chard and the potatoes. Season with salt and pepper and cook for about an hour. To finish the soup use a blender stick to liquefy the contents of the pot. Serve the soup with some fresh cream. It makes a surprisingly flavoursome bowl of soup, and a hard act to follow.

I am always surprised about the vibrant colours on display in the Autumn. Not just from the richly golden and rusty shades of the deciduous trees but in the flowers vegetables and plants that manage to keep on growing deep into November, until they are finally taken by a fatal frost. The rose hips continue to glow red, and the glossy hardy Swiss chard stand tall in the beds. Not far away the nasturtium bloom with a resilient yellow.in the sunshine.

Nasturtium flowers

There is very little that can be planted at this time of year but Harry has put down some winter onion sets in between spells of digging and manuring the raised beds. Corinne and I have planted garlic in anticipation of adding to the other crops which we expect to yield in the Spring. In addition to the onions and garlic, we are hopeful the purple sprouting broccoli, and asparagus will arrive just after the trustworthy rhubarb.

Fishing fleet at low tide in Skerries

Cooked blue velvet swimmer crabs

This Saturday we took a break from the allotment and headed north along the coast pulling into the small fishing harbours that dot the rocky coastline of north county Dublin. Our tour took us to Rush, Loughshinny and Skerries to enjoy the fresh crisp sea air on what was a stunning day. We watched a group of fisherman lifting their pots off Loughshinny and landing them on the beach. Later in the afternoon the same guys were working the pots off Skerries, and recognising us from Loughshinny, very kindly gave us a bucket of blue velvet swimmer crabs. Much smaller than the brown shore crab, they are largely exported and are not often to be found in local fishmongers. You might find them in Spain garnishing a paella or a fish soup, being valued for their sweet flavour. Being quite small they take a good deal of time to pick the meat from the shells and legs, but it is worth the effort. Drop them into a pot of salted boiling water. Once the water comes back to the boil simmer for five minutes and thereafter allow them to cool. The bucket of crabs we were given may have taken five minutes to cook but took about three hours to shell and are now destined for a fine crab tart.

The Good Life: Tomatoes and Shallots

The Good Life: Harvest on the 20th August

The runner beans are beginning to make an appearance in the harvest basket and we hope it will not be long before the yellow dwarf beans join them. A late crop of green beans, lettuce and fennel are now sprouting and they should provide some variety to our weekly gathering in September and October.

We are still not sure what the yellow squash or pumpkin is. For a few weeks we thought it could be a crook neck yellow squash or zucchini, however as time passed the neck has straightened out and our thoughts are leaning more towards the thingy being a miniature yellow pumpkin. It may be too early to harvest at this time, but we have cut the largest one in the plot, measuring almost a foot long, for further investigation. Once cut, it had a noticeably thin skin and bright lemon coloured flesh. It might go well mixed with chard in a gratin!

The artichokes continue to provide us with messy starters for a number of meals during the week. The plants have continued their production since May, throwing out their fleshy flowers. The thorny ones catch me unawares at times depositing their hooked thorns into my fingers. Our mammoth crop of tomatoes continues to grow in a healthy fashion. They have only been struck down by the wind this far and not any sinister form of blight, mildew or pestilence. Over the next month we can look forward to these ripening into bright red giants and the bush varieties forming long clutches of tomatoes. My fingers are crossed so that the majority ripen because there is only so much green tomato chutney you can make, and I do not wish to repeat last year's quantity of production

Apart from making the selection for this weeks basket, an hour was spent weeding and looking after the beds. The scarlet pimpernel, and other little flowers, have made their home in the raised beds and were beginning to take a hold competing with the leeks and tomatoes. The asparagus patch received special attention, and was fully cleared of weeds and stones in preparation for next years growth and our first harvest.

During the week we went for a little adventure in the forest to search for mushrooms, and whatever else was growing. As we wandered around we found the first blackberries ripening, wild damsons thronged together on brittle branches, the first bright red rose hips, and some other oddities like the radiant berries of the guelder rose. There were no mushrooms to be found, and it was clear from the healthy floor of the forest that there had not been a growth yet this year. We will have another look in the forest in or about the next full moon, but I will no doubt return in the next two weeks to gather some of the damsons to make a flavoured gin.

 

My sunflowers have grown tall this year and are magnificent and colourful

Harry Clarke's stained glass: Crawford Art Gallery, Cork and Church of the Assumption, Bride Street, Wexford.

 The consecration of St. Mel, Bishop of Longford, by St Patrick, 1910

The God Head Enthroned, 1911

 The meeting of St Brendanand the unhappy Judas, 1911

Details from stained glass panels designed and executed by Harry Clarke dating to 1910 and 1911 at the Crawford Art Gallery, Cork

Detail of Saints Aidan and Adrian, 1919

Madonna and Child, 1919

 

 Details feom two lights dedicated to William O'Keefe who died at Arras in 1917 and executed by Harry Clarke in 1919

The Good Life: Late night mid week harvest 10th August

A swift harvest

We made a last minute dash to the allotment tonight to see what could be pulled from the ground before the dense dark leaden rain clouds closed in on the plot. The windy start to the day caused a little bit of damage, and we were somewhat diverted  from our task while we rescued a number of helpless flattened tomato plants. Once these minor chores were attended to, we rushed to pull carrots, fennel and spring onions. A few of the artichokes were ready for collection, as were a few heads of lettuce, and a hand full of pea pods.

It looks like it might be roast fennel tomorrow evening for dinner. The kitchen in the meantime will become nicely scented. Corinne has already targeted a few innocent sweet carrots to munch on for a bedtime snack.

The Good Life: Craving for vrai myrtilles sauvages, Bilberries or Fraochán

When you look forward to the August Bank Holiday weekend you have a certain amount of expectation measured with more than a fair sprinkling of pessimism. The first break since early June and the knowledge that the Irish Summer has passed you by is confirmed when you realise the weather forecast for the August Bank Holiday weekend is going to be dull, overcast and damp at best. In fact you could view it as the departure of the Summer as the weather was going to be in constant decline from Friday afternoon.

Undeterred by the lack of global warming and promised long stretches of sunshine we ventured into the Dublin mountains for a little adventure suitably attired in warm clothing. Our quest was to find bog land as Corinne wanted to see if we could collect what the French call myrtilles sauvages, and are known as bilberries in England or fraochán in Ireland. She has often treated me to Tarte aux Myrtilles or Vrai Myrtilles Sauvages en bocaux while in France. There is some bog land in the Doubs region where these low growing shrubs or vaccinium myrtillus and its related species thrive in the acid soil. They may also be found in some of the forests where the soil is suitable.

 A view of the fraochán still in situ

Bog land is plentiful in the Dublin and Wicklow mountains and we stopped close to Glencree sighting the bright green foliage, and a number of people practically on their hands and knees collecting in the cold mist and rain. At first this might seem like an unrewarding task, but after a few hours collecting by hand you might gather almost three quarters of a kilo of the small black berries. We saw little or no evidence of people having used combs which can be used to rake the berries from their branches. These gather a good quantity of berries quite quickly but also strip the leaves from the small shrubs. As we drove closer to Glencree we saw more and more of these shrubs, not just growing among the heather but growing in thick tufts along the road side and atop the distinctive Wicklow granite walls.

Drawing your fingers through the fleshy green leaves to collect the small berries, you can gather a multitude of little insects disturbing the happy existence of small spiders and ladybirds. Corinne found a frog at one point. During my foraging, I noticed a tiny ladybird moving about climbing through the berries in the container. The ladybird was extremely small and quite unusually coloured. Before it took flight to a safer location, I managed to photograph it and subsequently discovered it was a 10-spot ladybird or Adalia decempunctata. Add another dot to your chart Mister Anderson!  This site has a more accurate distribution chart for this type of ladybird

The "punk" - the 10-spot ladybird or Adalia decempunctata among the small berries

Upon reaching the kitchen we started the lengthy process of cleaning the berries an separating them from a multitude of tiny leaves, twigs and diminutive spiders. Fortunately most of the spiders had disappeared by the time the berries were washed and were not condemned to a watery grave. An average full depth tarte aux myrtilles would employ 600 grams of the precious berries; a few hours work wrapped in a sweet pastry crust. I wanted to preserve a few berries and Corinne, becoming more and more demanding, made a strong argument for tarte aux myrtilles. I decided to scale down the affair, being a moderate diplomat maintaining the vestiges of some control and proposed the option of a few tartlets.

 A close up of the cleaned berries - not unlike there tasteless commercially grown cousins the blueberries

The vrai myrtilles sauvages en bocaux is the least difficult method of preserving the berries. The recipe was given to me by a friend of Corinne's who lives near Frasne in the Haut Doubs, which is very close to one of the few bogs in the area. Essentially you fill a .75 litre Le Parfait jar or other preserving jar with the berries and sprinkle over them two tablespoons of sugar. Seal down the jars and put the in a large preserving pot or bain marie with a lid. Place a tea towel on the base of the pan.; preferably the one you have just destroyed while cleaning the berries. This prevents the jars coming in direct contact with the heat. Fill the pan with water until it reaches two thirds the height of the jars, and simmer steadily covered for 1 hour. Allow to cool and store in a cool dry place away from sunlight. These are great on a cold winters night after dinner served with sweetened whipped cream. Do not forget to compare the colour of your tongues!

Corinne changed her mind (a recently developed fluctuating characteristic which is difficult to accept at times), and wanted a baked custard base filling to her tarte aux myrtilles. Fortunately, this allowed a more moderate use of the berries, and I should be able to make a full tart using a 24 centimeter tart ring. To begin place 250 grams of the berries with 50 grams of sugar in a pot and cook for 5  minutes. Thereafter allow to cool and strain the cooked berries through a sieve retaining the juice. Pour this juice over the uncooked berries and stir - I have about 270 grams remaining!

Then make a sweet shortcrust pastry. I rub approximately 250 grams of flour and 40 grams of icing sugar, together with 125 grams of cold butter. Once it mixture is the consistency of breadcrumbs, add an egg yolk and two or three tablespoons of cold water. Bring the pastry together and place in the fridge for about 20 minutes to rest.

In the meantime you can prepare your custard. There are many recipes for this, but I generally beat 4 eggs with two tablespoons of sugar, and a teaspoon of  purée de gousses de vanille or vanilla extract. Once combined I add to the egg mixture 250 milliliters of milk and the same quantity of cream. Leave this mixture to stand at room temperature. Carefully, roll out the pastry on a floured surface and with the same care and precision place the pastry into a buttered and floured tart tin. Cook the pastry blind at 180 Celsius for about thirty minutes. It is important to make sure there are no tears in the pastry prior to baking because you will be pouring a very liquid custard mix into the cooked pastry case. Taking the pastry case out of the oven, I let it cool for a short period before taking the parchment, and weights or chickpeas, from the case. To firm up the pastry I brush it with a little egg wash and put it back into the oven for a few minutes.

 
Once satisfied the case is not broken or torn, reduce the temperature of the oven to 160 Celsius and return the pastry case to the oven. I find it easier to pour in the custard mix at this point rather than going on a shaky adventure through the kitchen accompanied by frequent spillages. Cook the custard and the case for 45 minutes, or until the custard has a gentle wobble when you gently nudge the pastry tin. When cooked remove the tart from the oven and allow it to cool. Thereafter, gently spread and dot the the surface of the baked custard with the cooked berries. Then spoon the remaining berries and juice on top of the tart. To complete the experience, find a French person, preferably in a good humour, and serve them a slice of this tart with sweetened whipped cream and a cool glass of chardonnay from Arbois, Franche Comté.

An excellent end to the day

Corinne is leafing through a cook book now and has suggested that she would like grenouilles á la creme for dinner at some stage. I guess it is back to the bog for me next week!

The Good Life: August Bank Holiday Harvest