In search of spuds

As I peeled potatoes this evening (using what one gourmet friend of mine would term an ‘old-fashioned’ potato peeler), I reflected on the source of the foods we were eating. We started our adventure in Irish shopping this morning with a visit to the convenience store around the corner, since we woke hungry to the grey day and the larder was completely empty. We downed a lovely light breakfast of thick back rashers, hot cross buns (from Cuisine de France) and orange juice. We demolished the whole litre of orange juice, clearly still dehydrated from the long flights.

So after polishing off the breakfast, and waking up with a nice cup of cocoa, we threw a load of laundry in the machine (once we figured out which of the 12 programs the Italian combined washer/dryer would do what we wanted), and walked across the street to the Luas, the light rail. Two stops up the tracks took us to Dundrum Shopping Centre, billed as the largest mall in Europe. The first store that greeted us was Starbuck’s, which we immediately passed by. We were looking for a light lunch, to get our stomachs accustomed to the time change, and found a smoothie bar. We had some berry and juice concoction and planned our attack. First a phone card, then some food.

After a quick pit stop, we took care of the phone cards in record time (it’s a real time-saver to not to have to spell my name out!). Then on to the food. We trundled down sloping travelators (like escalators, only flat so you can push a shopping cart or a buggy—sorry, stroller) to Marks & Spencer, where their designer food is as lovely as ever. There are huge signs everywhere touting Plan A (because there is no plan B), which in the most immediately visible terms meant that the old plastic sandwich boxes are gone, replaced with thin cardboard with cornstarch cellophane windows. The sandwiches inside are still some of the best, and they disappeared quickly.

The other constant, and really only downside, is the pricing: my ten items cost over 40 Euro—more than $45 for supper ) a tiny lamb roast (the name of the farmer is on the package!), some peas and asparagus and salad (yes, in a bag, sigh), the two aforementioned sandwiches, some Irish cheddar and two very cute chocolate ducks for Easter.

But back to provenance: I was having a devil of a time finding Irish potatoes. There was one item in the extensive and fetching spud section that came from Ireland, but it was sweet potatoes! The small buttery yellow potatoes that tempted me were from Israel, not the Emerald Isle. I just couldn’t stomach that.

So on to Tesco, another British import (what happened to Irish supermarkets?) where prices were a tad more reasonable, but still cost me over 50 Euro for two bags of groceries. I found their potato section—an entire aisle—and started reading. Still lots of pretty spuds from Israel, and a couple organic offerings. But all in packages (10 lbs.!) or from the UK, Israel or France. Finally, down at the end cap, one bin of loose rooster (red) potatoes, including dirt, from County Wexford. Four went into my cart, which got peeled (not organic, sigh), and made into mashed potatoes with a generous chunk of sweet cream butter (County Kerry). It sat next to some steamed spinach, asparagus and peas with white wine butter (from Northern Ireland), some fresh lamb (Ireland) and salad (lettuce from the UK, avocado from California, leftover from my in-flight stash). Sweet (dessert to you and me) was yogurt, but not just any old strawberry, nope: this was chocolate and hazelnut, with a nice chocolate covered hobnob. All washed down with some chilled Bullmer’s cider.

We’re off tomorrow to visit vegan friends in England for a long weekend, so will have less say in what we eat, but know that it will be selected with care. After spending hours looking at all these American brand names in a huge mall, I am anxious to find a real, local store, where I can buy real, local food.