June 2013

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We’ve moved on from Cork to Ardmore, a little seaside town about 60 klicks to the southeast. We’re staying at the Cliff House Hotel, so named because…well, because it’s literally perched on the cliff here.

The original hotel, called Kelly’s, after the owner, a Mr. Kelly from Connemara, was built in the 30s. Mr. Kelly ran the hotel until his death in 1983. After that, they tell me, the hotel fell into disrepair. Until the O’Callaghan family, who’d been coming to Ardmore on holidays forever, purchased the rather decrepit ol’ gal in 2005. They pretty much gutted the place and then spent three years rebuilding, re-opening five years ago this month.

When we checked in we were met by a lovely woman with sad eyes but a lovely smile who introduced herself as Honor. I just couldn’t resist: “I’m Justice,” I told her. She looked at the reservation and seemed a bit confused until I informed her of my poor joke. “Yes, I see,” she said, her pale blue eyes lighting up, “Honor and Justice. Just so.”

Honor escorted us down several floors (the lobby is actually on the ground floor and the rooms are terraced on the cliff below) to our room which was resplendent in pink—pink bedspread, pink armchairs, pink curtains. Above the pink couch was a bookcase with a book I’d heard about but never actually seen: Let’s Go Disco. It’s not what you think. It’s a very stylish cookbook. By Martijn Kajuites, the hotel’s Michelin star chef. Evidently “Let’s go disco!” is what Martijn shouts at his kitchen brigade when things get a little tense in the kitchen. We’re eating there tonight. With Honor, of course. I can hardly wait.

Let’s Go Disco above the pink couch in our room at the Cliff House Hotel in Ardmore. Photo by David Lansing.

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Derk and the spa ladies

Derk Richardson

Derk getting a manicure after high tea at Cork’s Hayfield Manor. Photo by David Lansing.

So I mentioned yesterday that while we were having high tea at Hayfield Manor in Cork, Lisa Leahy, our host, also offered up the services of two of her spa manicurists (I’m not sure that’s a word—manicurist—but let’s go with it). No manicures for me. I bite my nails (yes, I know, disgusting). But I was curious about how this would work. Who, I wondered, was going to be the first lady to quickly down her tea and run over to the spa ladies to get her nails done?

Actually, it wasn’t a woman; it was Derk Richardson, an editor from AFAR magazine in San Francisco. I like Derk and I’ve been trying to get something in AFAR since they first came out a few years ago, so I did what any ambitious writer would do: I grabbed my camera, ran to the spa table, and snapped several pics of Derk getting his nails done. Not by one manicurist, mind you, but by two!

But Derk wasn’t cooperating; he was scowling at me. “Listen, Derk,” I said as I continued shooting, “I’m going to use these photos for blackmail. Either you give me an assignment or I publish these babies.”

That made him laugh. But he still hasn’t given me an assignment. So I have no choice but to publish…and probably perish.

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High tea at Hayfield Manor, Cork

Hayfield Manor in Cork, Ireland.

Lisa, who works at Hayfield Manor in Cork, has invited us to tea. Not like a cup of tea or something but the full on high tea with a three-tiered silver serving dish full of little triangle sandwiches and smoked salmon on rye bread and an assortment of little tarts and cakes and such. Oh, and some tea…after the champagne.

Lisa has strawberry blond hair and blue eyes and is gorgeous but that’s not why I love her. I love her because when we first met at Ballymaloe and I asked her where in Cork I should go to get the famous Cork clove rock candy that I’m addicted to she went and found some and gave me four jars of the stuff. That alone is enough to make me be in her debt forever.

So she invites us all to tea at Hayfield and tells us she has a little treat for us. I’m secretly hoping it’s more clove rock candy but instead she’s had a couple of manicurists come down from the spa and tells us that if anyone wants to get a manicure when they’re done with their tea, they’re more than welcome.

Wow. Smoked salmon, champagne, tea, and a manicure. This is why I love Lisa. And want to do something for her but I can’t think of what. Until she starts talking about her daughter, Belle, who is crazy about all things related to Disney’s Toy Story. “She’s got just about all of the dolls,” Lisa says. “Buzz Lightyear, Woody, Jessie. About the only one we haven’t been able to find is that silly horse, Bullseye.”

So that’s it. When I get home I must see if I can find a Bullseye doll. And then ship it off to Belle in Cork. Clove candy for a Bullseye. A good trade, I think.

High tea at Hayfield Manor in Cork. Photo by David Lansing.

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Jill and the pot still

Jill Robinson at Jameson distillery in Ireland.

Jill and the pot still at Jameson Heritage Center in MIdleton, Ireland. Photo by David Lansing.

We were driving to the old Jameson distillery in Midleton when Jill Robinson, a writer from Northern California, leaned over and asked me if, when we got to Jameson, I’d take some photos of her kissing the big pot still out front.

I told her I’d be happy to and then asked her why she wanted a photo of herself kissing a pot still.

“I told someone I’d do it,” she said.

Very mysterious.

There was a sign near the pot still asking people to keep off the grass. Jill thought about that for a moment and then said, “To hell with it.” She ran across the grass and through the flowers and put her arms around the shiny pot still. Or at least as much of it as she could. I took pictures of her kissing the still, hugging it, and seductively leaning up against it as if she were Marlene Dietrich standing in front of her bedroom door.

Her antics created quite a scene. At one point I looked over my shoulder and there were at least a dozen other Jameson visitors also taking her picture. It had become an impromptu paparazzi moment and everyone was snapping pictures as fast as they could. I’m sure they had no more idea why they were taking the pictures than I did. But it was fun.

Jameson Heritage Center

Jameson Heritage Center in Midleton. Photo by David Lansing.

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You can just make out the ruins of Penn Castle behind the Design Center in Shanagarry, County Cork.

Last week after writing about Shanagarry, the little fishing village that is home to the Ballymaloe cooking school, I got a note from one of my readers, Fred Harwood, who always seems to know a damn lot about the places I’m visiting. Fred wanted to know if Shanagarry wasn’t the village where William Penn owned a castle.

I don’t know how Fred knew this, but he was right; there is a Penn castle here. I’ll tell you how I found out. Yesterday Jan decided to go for a run along the country road in to Shanagarry, which is a couple of miles away. She got a bit lost (and also realized, after passing a roadside memorial to a killed pedestrian, that this wee road probably wasn’t the best for jogging) and went a lot further than she’d expected.

On her way back, there was an older gentleman doing some gardening in his front yard. He stood up and watched as Jan approached and then yelled out asking how far she’d run. Jan said she really didn’t know, but it was further than she’d expected. So the old gent comes over to the low stone wall in front of his house and asks her where she’s from. She tells him and then he points across the street to a ruin sitting behind the Design Center and says, “You’ve heard of William Penn, I suppose. Well, that was his castle.”

It’s not much to look at, the Penn Castle. More like a decrepit stone manor house. But it’s got an interesting story. Penn became a Quaker when he was about fifteen when he met a Quaker missionary, Thomas Loe, but he sort of kept it to himself because the Quakers were persecuted by both Catholics and Protestants in England and Ireland. In 1669, when Penn was 25, he traveled to Ireland to deal with his father’s estates, including the property in Shanagarry known as Penn Castle. While there he became an integral part of the Quaker community (which still exists in this area of Ireland) and decided that he needed to take the issue of Quaker persecution directly to the King. Which he did.

Somewhat surprisingly, King Charles granted an extraordinarily generous charter to Penn giving him possession of over 45,000 square miles of land west of New Jersey and north of Maryland in return for one-fifth of all the gold and silver mined in the province (which had virtually none). At first Penn called the area “New Wales,” and then “Sylvania” (Latin for “forest or words”), but King Charles changed the name to Pennsylvania in honor of Penn’s father, an English admiral and politician who sat in the House of Commons from 1660 to 1670.

In 1682 in England, William Penn drew up a Frame of Government for the Pennsylvania colony. Freedom of worship in the colony was an absolute, as was freedom from unjust imprisonment and free elections.

One last thing: Ireland is celebrating this big thing this year called The Gathering. It’s a way to get the hundreds of thousands of people all over the world who are at least part Irish to come home for all kinds of gatherings in the villages, towns and cities of Ireland. There are literary gatherings and jazz gatherings and walking gatherings and, perhaps the most famous gathering, a Riverdance Gathering in Dublin from July 15th to 21st when hundreds (thousands?) of former Riverdance cast members, as well as amateurs, will dance along the banks of the River Liffey. That should be spectacular.

Anyway, I mention this because there’s also going to be a William Penn Gathering in Shanagarry on August 25th to celebrate all things Penn. Fred, maybe you should think about going.

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