A slew of apple varieties at the Apple Farm in County Tipperary, Ireland. (Sylvie Bigar for The Washington Post)
“By God, I believe we’re lost,” said my guide, Brian Kennedy. Daylight had yet to pierce the thick, humid cloud cover, however we had already been driving south much more compared to two hours since I landed at 4 a.m. in Dublin. Slowly, as we drove on, the Irish countryside awoke to a foggy, dreamlike autumn morning.
I was sleepy, however it wasn’t coffee I was craving; it was a tall glass of hard apple cider, deliciously fermented apple juice. Ever since I heard from my friend Gay Howard, co-founder of United States of Cider, that Ireland joined the midst of a craft cider swell, I vowed to hop over and sip my means through the apple orchards.
Just the believed of crisp, tangy apple cider transported me spine to my childhood summer vacations in Brittany, where my French cousins believed nothing of pouring sparkly (fermented) cider to accompany the crepes oozing salted butter that we devoured at snack time. Perhaps it was the hazy happy mood that ensued — my very first highs, no doubt — however I always loved that drink.
[From bon voyage to bon appetit: When travel is all about food]
Even in Brand-new York, where I live, hard apple cider is gaining traction since the opening last year of Wassail, a restaurant and cider bar that features much more compared to 100 ciders on draft and by the bottle. however the love story between apples and Ireland is far from a hipster fad.
“Apples have actually been linked to Ireland since Celtic times,” said Daniel Emerson, who, along with his wife Geraldine, runs Stonewell Cider, one of much more compared to 15 Brand-new “cider start-ups.” It’s unclear once cider making started, however historians agree that the very first written mention of apple cider in Ireland dates to 1155. Since then, numerous liters have actually been gulped down, most of it in recent years made by Bulmers, a commercial brand that controls regarding 94 percent of the market.
But commercial anything was the furthest thing from my mind once we finally spotted a sign for Longueville Estate on a windy lane near Mallow in the Blackwater Valley. In my mind, the words of poet Patrick Kavanagh sang:
On an apple-ripe September morning
Through the mist-chill fields I went . . .
On our right, two gold-rimmed pheasants ran along a meadow. On our left, my very first Irish sheep, as plump and fluffy as the clouds above us, heralded our arrival. We drove to the pink Georgian mansion at the top of the hill.
“Welcome! Chance you’re hungry!” called Aisling O’Callahan, the vivacious blond proprietor, standing on the porch. In the O’Callahan family since 1938, the stately estate has actually been turned in to a cozy inn despite the grandeur of the rooms, the height of the ceilings and the scintillating chandeliers.
“Why don’t you join the group that’s touring the garden? That means you’ll see the trees,” O’Callahan said. “You need wellies?”
“Excuse me?” I answered.
She was referring to the quite very first waterproof boots, invented in the 19th century by the Duke of Wellington, famous for defeating Napoleon at Waterloo.
“I have actually those,” I said, pulling my camouflage $15 plastic pair from Payless.
“Lovely,” she answered.
It was unseasonably warm, and the earth smelled of sweet summer rain. Of the 450 acres that make up the property, 25 are planted along with apple trees from which the family produces exactly what I had heard was one of the most effective craft apple ciders in Ireland.
We were in the middle of harvest time, and there were apples everywhere: on the trees, on the ground and in the hands of William O’Callahan, tan sweater and pants tucked in to knee-higher wellies, his eyeglasses higher on his head.
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“Our cider is a blend of Michelin and Dabinett varieties,” he announced as the press crunched behind him, prior to introducing Dan Duggan, the rugged resident brandy and cider maker.
“What’s your secret?” I asked.
“There’s no recipe,” Duggan said. “Cider Simply happens.”
Finally, it was tasting time. Amber-colored and slightly carbonated, Longueville Estate struck a great balance between dry and sweet.
Later at the house, a massive rack of pork ribs roasted in one of the sitting rooms in front of a majestic fireplace. I watched as William O’Callahan, that trained as a chef in France, poured homemade apple brandy on the meat, instantly developing the kind of fragrant crust culinary legends are made of.
Almost every little thing in the lavish lunch buffet came from the farmland: from the free-range pork to the venison pâté to the vegetables. And we drank cider, of course, a perfect pairing along with the crispy, caramelized pork. My thirst was quenched, however not my curiosity.
The next day, we drove regarding an hour north toward Tipperary, pausing in Cahir to take in the quiet, fully restored 12th-century castle that belied the violent history of the area.
But during this busy season, there was nothing quiet at the Apple Farm, where owner Con (short for Cornelius) Traas cultivates 40 acres of apples, among others fruit trees.
Traas, a horticulturist, farmer and professor, baby-faced and wearing a khaki jumpsuit, was waiting for me in front of the large farm shop filled along with bottles and apples of all colors and sizes.
“We cultivate 60 different varieties of apples,” he said.
We walked up and down the neat rows of small apple trees. Traas chose to have actually smaller sized trees to make the picking easier.
Once again, I was grateful for my wellies.
“We got to cider because we wanted to make cider vinegar,” he said. Con’s Irish Cider is “a blend of four different kinds of Irish apples, devoid of added sugar or water.” We sat in his tiny office, away from the frenetic bottling machinery, and I tasted the sharp, tannic drink, enjoying a slightly bitter bite. “Real cider,” Traas said proudly.
Con Traas, owner of the Apple Farm in County Tipperary, southern Ireland, walks among his 40 acres of orchards. (Sylvie Bigar for The Washington Post)
Julie Calder-Potts, that runs Highbank Orchards along with her husband, Rod, in County Kilkenny. (Sylvie Bigar)
Real? It was time to dig deeper, so I called Emma Tyrrell, that works along with Cider Ireland, an association that represents 13 apple growers and craft cider makers.
“You see, apple juice desires to be cider, however cider desires to be vinegar,” she said. “That’s where the cider maker steps in.”
Many, like Simon and Emma Tyrrell, farmer Angus Craigie and two wine buddies that launched Craigies Cider in 2011, don’t have actually their own orchards, however they make up for it along with their taste buds. “We ferment, we blend, we taste, we wait,” she explained.
Simon Tyrrell, a veteran vintner, added: “We make vintage cider. We’re not in to consistency. We’re interested in exactly what was the expression of that terroir that year.” (That’s wine speak for the personal taste of a drink or meals associated along with the unique soil, climate and location it is made in.)
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Others see the process differently.
James O’Donoghue, the Longways Cider maker and a beekeeper in South Tipperary, studied for years until he was confident he had a recipe he could replicate. Waiting served your man well, as he’s been winning all kinds of awards this past year. “We make wine along with apples,” he said.
From the Apple Farm, we took the spine roads through sleepy villages and ancient walled fields towards Kilkenny, however suddenly, at the entrance of Grangemockler, a fuchsia door beckoned.
“Stop!” I yelled, making my friend jump very first and then brake.
“What? Everything’s closed,” he said.
But it wasn’t, and I was hungry. From inside the Auld Mill Bakery, a sweet, yeasty aroma wafted in to the street. I bought black pudding, thickly packed and slightly gamy, and (how could I pass?) a whole apple pie that we shared along with the good-humored truckers that were stopping to buy bread.
It wasn’t easy, however Highbank Orchards was well worth seeking out. Located Simply outside Kilkenny, the 55-acre domain is the largest organic apple orchard in Ireland. The whole experience felt like a dip in to history: A long lane toward the 17th-century stone courtyard, the reduced farm buildings and even the cozy farm shop spoke of tradition and know-how.
“In the last 1,500 years,” said Rod Calder-Potts, that owns the property along with his wife, Julie, “the farm has actually only belonged to four families.”
To the sound of the geese and under a bright sun, he took us on a tour of the fields, showed us the warehouse, where he caressed the massive plastic cubes that held his beloved cider, and then opened the door to “the smallest legal distillery in Ireland.” The estate produces gin, brandy and vodka all from apples, as well as sweet apple syrup, however I was there for cider. All three — Highbank Proper, Highbank Medieval along with honey and the Dessert Cider — were made to go along with food, not as summer drinks or an aperitif.
“We recommend serving the Proper chilled, along with a fish course,” said Julie Calder-Potts. “The Medieval along with pork, maybe.”
The couple are quite creative in attracting visitors, and as they told the story of their land, I learned that they present performances at the farm and welcome overnight visitors in search of peaceful agritourism.
Dinner at Zuni in the focus of medieval Kilkenny, after strolling along the castle and the cathedral, was a delicious exercise in Irish farm-to-table. however the next day, I was craving some seaside action, so we bypassed Dublin and drove to Howth along the water.
[The splendid views from Ireland’s western coast]
I wanted to meet Donal Skehan, the bubbly celebrity chef that graced the cover of the national TV guide that week.
“Meet me at the house!” he had said, however once we arrived in the postcard-fairly fishing town, famished, we spotted a restaurant called “The House.”
“Do you believe it’s exactly what he meant?” I asked Brian. Never mind, we had to eat. I savored a delicate fish and shellfish chowder filled along with haddock, mussels and clams topped along with a poached egg. We were far from the sad potatoes-and-cabbage stories I had heard spine in the States. Ireland’s palate was booming.
“Craft Irish cider?” the young chef asked. “Well, that’s exactly what we served at our wedding a few months ago, rather than champagne.”
That did it. Craft Irish cider was hot.
A huge cart of apples in November at Longueville Estate in County Cork, Ireland. (Sylvie Bigar)
In Dublin the next day, I headed to the Chop House, the perfect choice to try the famous Irish beef. I grabbed the last stool at the bar, discovered Mac Ivors cider from County Armagh and chatted along with Joe Doohan, the manager. “I drink cider all the time,” he said.
Restaurants now offer craft cider paired along with food. For our last meal, Brian and I chose the epitome of the gastropub, L. Mulligan Grocer in Stoneybatter. Under black pudding on the menu, the recommended beer was . . . Dan Kelly’s craft cider! It likewise matched my scotch egg perfectly, adding a clean buzz to the luscious yolk.
Artisan cider makers are sprouting all over Ireland, spurred by the craft beer movement however likewise by foodies’ interest in all points artisanal.
“If you don’t see cider on a menu,” confided Kristin Jensen, co-author of “Sláinte: The Finish Guide to Irish Craft Beer and Cider,” “ask for it. Chances are there are bottles hidden under the counter.”
Bigar, that is on Twitter as @frenchiefoodie, is a meals and travel writer based in Brand-new York.
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