So last weekend was the Galway food festival, and I, possessing both a tongue and teeth, of course made my way down to it for a day. Galway, hidden gem of the West, hosts several such festivals each year. This summer I’m looking forward to the Galway Races which promise to bring drunk people, horses, and Mongolians, and the Galway Arts Festival, which will bring drunk people, floats, and crusty jugglers. Recent conversations have revealed that Galway is in fact bad at tourism as most of the locals have no idea what out of town visitors would be interested in seeing, this fact is balanced, however, by how well they do festivals which are accessible and enjoyable, as long as the weather holds out and sometimes even when it doesn’t.Last Saturday was certainly in the ‘good weather’ category as I was actually able to go on my first jog in this country without being pelted by sleet in 30mph winds, what little calories I burned would surely be sacrificed to the gluttony gods as we eagerly made our way down to the city center. To our delight it was not overcrowded and rowdy, just busy and happy and full of people who were ecstatic to be out on a lovely spring day. Passing quickly through an outer market which could have easily drained my wallet several times over by means of locally cured sausages and organic cheeses we pressed on to see our first free event, ‘Craft Beer and Cidre Talk and Tasting’ hosted by Martine’s of Quay Street.
The talk was actually hosted by Martine’s dad, Eddie, who has been making his own potent potables for decades in home and shed. He was wonderfully helpful and brisk as he walked a cozy roomful of interested parties through the relatively simple process of smashing 20lbs of apples into 1 gallon of sweet, sweet alcoholic cider. Of course the main attraction was the tasting portion of the ‘talk and taste’ wherein he uncorked a few bottles of his own golden ambrosia, his secret is to use champagne yeast in the fermentation stage which resulted in an absolutely crisp and dare I say elegant end product. This was followed by a selection of personal preserves picked from the local bushes around Eddie’s country home all of which were exceedingly succulent and more potent than anything you pick up on the local shop shelves. He finished off the talk with more samples, this time a homebrew ale which despite the greater outlay in time, materials, and equipment, failed to stack up to the cider’s standards.
No worries because I had to dash off to the next event, this time across the river at ‘Aniar’ a tres hip boutique kitchen and cooking school which was doing a talk on pickling, curing and fermenting called ‘Making the Old New‘. This talk was fairly lackluster, as our host was not exactly the showman I would have wanted and the fare he presented was actually not all that original-seared lamb with boiled carrots, beetroots and bits of greens. I wish I could have learned more as I expected an informative session outlining how to cure your own meats and store foods in creative ways, instead there was a bit about sticking veg in salty water and using seaweed to make crusts. No matter because once again it was free and lo and behold in a totally Irish way I ran into a friend I hadn’t seen since my college days and we shared numbers before dashing off again.
With a bit of down time before my scheduled dinner I dropped in on the wife as she enjoyed the usual charming atmosphere and stellar sweets at Cupan Tae, our favorite lunch spot on the bay. As busy as they were we still managed to snag a table and I enjoyed a cup of tea, while their deserts looked as tantalizing as ever (must get a slice of that later) we decided to go out for ice cream instead after we hit the market for fresh veg. After stocking our larders 99’s were in order, the ninety-nine being local shorthand for soft serve ice cream with a bit of chocolate stick shoved in the top, just the thing to enjoy in the sun on the river walk commenting on passersby. Once those were done and deliciously dusted we milled about the Spanish Arch where most of the demonstration tents were set up, there I got to witness first hand the delectable creations of Gail from Lizzy May’s cookies, it would have been a sin to bite them however no matter how delicious I’ve been told they are.
I was reserving space in my belly for a bit of heavier fare, a proper appetizer before the main course, so I ventured forth to locate Il Vicolo, which advertised a spread of Venetian street foods to take the edge off of my hunger. Much to my dismay I found the Café entirely closed up without a hint of the promised edibles to be found, fortunately I was spoiled for choice and this was a perfect opportunity to try out a little tapas bar I had had my eye on. Cava Bodega was as charming and bustling as one would hope for in a drop in wine and bite type place, their festival deal of 2 Euro pinchos (small bite crustinis) matched perfectly with a reasonably large glass of red wine. What a lovely experience it was to sit and sup in solitude while a dozen conversations danced around me, one of my pinchos consisted of anchovies and a Spanish almond spread called Romesco, the other was a more simple chorizo and Manchego affair which was of a perfect dry pairing for my Spanish Red. As tempting as it was to double down and spend another half hour mulling over combinations of flavor I decided instead to make a proper evening of such frivolity and jetted off to re-up with my Mrs. She was checking out cooking demos courtesy of Thai Garden in the main square, due to her insider cred and natural charms she was actually able to score their curry paste recipe and now insists we get a mortar and pestle (so excited) in order to recreate it.
While she studied their technique with a keen eye I took the opportunity to grab a little afternoon sun and by the looks of the opposite bank there were plenty of festivalistas who had the same idea. After a suitable period of reptile style digestion, I hopped up and breezed over to Creole for my main event of the day, a ’Slow and Low cooking with Craft Beer’ tasting which had caught my eye as soon as I saw the fest schedule. Having even made a reservation I had no problem plunking down a tenner for the chance to be wowed and made a bit tipsy by the three pairings they’d prepared; Pressed pork belly with a local pale ale; brazed Lamb with Mango chutney with a Rye; and finally BBQ brisket mated to a Coffee porter. I took this very seriously, perhaps too much so, as my inner poncy bastard came out. While some of the blame lies with food which had obviously sat a bit before being served I surveyed the fare thusly:
Pork belly on the dry side and lacking that savory note one desires, while its roasted red pepper relish was very well executed it didn’t quite meld with the meat. The beer was nothing too special but helped to give it a summer cook out feel.
The lamb, served on a bit of tortilla crisp, was overpowered by the salsa, which was really a shame as it was properly sweet and moist. The biggest misstep was not switching the preparations of the lamb and pork, I’ve had vastly better agnello experiences while shredded pig is a latin staple. The N17 Rye was bland as I found it lacked the strong hop notes at the finish to really round it out and demand another sip.
Maybe I was spoiled by some truly good down home Bar-B-Que back in Chicago but probably not, as the Brisket was dry and stringy, the sauce severely calling for bourbon and the cornbread square it all sat upon not passing any kind of muster. The porter, on the other hand, was the strongest standalone of the lot. Well rounded and subtle it was truly something to enjoy slowly with due consideration, I’ll be on the lookout for Galway Bay’s Stormy Porter in the future.
A bit disappointed as I’d heard absolute raves about Creole I chalked it up to the idea that this was an introduction to what they could do, recognizing that what I’d been served was only a few small missteps away from being a truly satisfying plate. In any case it had only cost me 10 Euro and had come with the equivalent of about a pint of beer, so I can’t whine too much. In any case it was 4.30 in the afternoon and we’d come and seen all we needed to, passing by a tart concocting demonstration courtesy of Goya’s bakery we only dallied a moment before heading home, an easy ten minute drive in light traffic and we were home again home again, making plans for dinner that night and looking forward to next year, when we could eat the whole thing all over again.
