Where is the bacon? Musings from my vacation in Ireland

black and white pudding

I just returned from my vacation in Ireland or as the Irish would say, my holiday. I truly enjoy traveling the new places.  I love trying the regional dishes.  As unusual they sometimes seem at first, I simply say, "when in Rome, do as the Romans, do." Or, perhaps a more accurate statement would be, I will try anything... once.”

My husband, on the other hand, tiptoes around anything new.  I have to give him credit, however, because if I tease him enough he will even take a tiny taste of say, black pudding.  

Black and white puddings are pretty popular in Ireland. What, you may ask, are black and white puddings?  To the American ear, the word pudding brings to mind, sweet and creamy desserts like chocolate or banana, or even tapioca. (Seriously, if we are talking about weird dishes here, what the heck is tapioca anyway?) 

But I digress.  White and black puddings are a type of breakfast sausage.  The white consists of sausage meats, seasonings, and some types of grain, like oatmeal.  The black sausage is a blood sausage.  Yup, that's what I said. It has the same ingredients as the white pudding with the addition of blood.  So the white pudding tastes like a mildly seasoned and less greasy pork sausage patty.  The black pudding tastes very similar, but the thought of cooked blood is hard to get out of your head.

White and black puddings are on all the breakfast menus in Ireland, as are baked beans.  What?  Did I really say baked beans, the staple of all American backyard cookouts?  Well, yes, I did.  Baked beans like the kind you sometimes got out of a can when you had hot dogs are a staple of the Irish breakfast.  It's as common a side dish as hash browns are in American breakfasts.  

Not being a bean eater even with hot dogs, I avoided the stuff which husband dear ate eagerly. Guess he had a lot of hot dogs as a kid.

The oddest thing, I think, was the lack of bacon.  It wasn't a total surprise since I’d already experienced that omission in Greece.  Order a bacon cheeseburger in Greece and your burger will not be topped with a crispy strip of smoky goodness, but a big honking slice of ham.

Ireland it seems feels the same way about bacon.  Yes, breakfast menus listed, juicy bacon as a side but you soon discover it is, again, ham.  You get used to it, however, so when you see the word bacon you are not as surprised.  What is it Shakespeare said?“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”  I think old Will was talking about bacon here. And actually, ham is a lot healthier than bacon. 

I didn't go into McDonald's although they are all over the place so I cannot vouch for whether or not Micky Dees, is on board with the bacon/ham debate.

The food, all in all, was fantastic.  Everything, fresh and tasty and served with a pint of Guinness. Shoot, they use Guinness in everything, stew, tarts, and soups.  

Next post, castles, blarney stone and more fun things from the emerald isle.

The ultimate Greek dilemma, What no breakfast?

Santorini

Recently I visited Greece on vacation, and found out something I always vaguely knew.  Greeks don’t eat breakfast.  There is an old joke about breakfast in Greece.  They say a Greek breakfast is basically a cigarette and coffee.  My husband being of Irish descent is a lover of all things breakfast.  He would be happy eating breakfast, morning, noon, night and even midnight snack!

I never could get around the ridged food list that makes up breakfast.  What law saws breakfast must contain, bacon, sausage, eggs, pancakes, or hash browns? God forbid there be pizza in there unless of course it has bacon and eggs on it.  Usually while husband munches on some crispy bacon and scrambled eggs I eat leftover Chinese food cold from a box.  Guess I never subscribed to what you are supposed to do at breakfast.

So I knew there would a culture clash when we went to Greece.  Each of our hotels included a buffet breakfast.  This breakfast consisted of olives, feta, Greek yogurt, fruits, spinach and cheese pies, homemade breads and usually a tray labeled bacon.  Bacon it seems, in Greece, is masquerading as ham.

A Chronology of Breakfast time

So the first day, poor hubby sat there looking lost while I chowed down on olives and other non-breakfast type foods. He drank a cup of watered down American type filter coffee and waited for lunch. 

On the second day, he repeated his actions of the first day.

On the third day, he tried a little of the fresh bread and complained there was no toaster, but he did go back for seconds, buttering each piece with a generous slab of fresh butter.  He tried the bacon (ham) and some cheese.  He tried some Greek coffee and fresh (yes fresh) squeezed orange juice.  Was that the hint of a smile playing with the corners of his mouth?

On the fourth day he ate with gusto.  He tried the thick creamy Greek yogurt with fig spread, feta, and some warm fresh baked breads and pastries.  He made himself some Greek coffee, and had the fresh squeezed juice.  He had finally come to terms with breaking the rules and traditions of breakfast law.  He found out there was no breakfast police.  And when in Rome, Athens, or Mykonos, you do as the romans or Greeks do. He even said, "Poli kalO" (Which means very good) when asked how it was by a waiter. 

What? No bacon?

I am not a fan of fast food but riding on the ferry for our 8 hour return trip to Athens I ate the only food available on the boat.  (It ate at was what I am sure they viewed as an American style burger stand) I innocently ordered a bacon cheeseburger and opening this sad little sandwich I saw the bland piece of ham.  Yup-- no bacon in Greece.

Greek Orthodox Cathedral

Red beach in Santorini

Grecian cats--no, not a new, travel version of the musical

The interloper

During my recent trip to Greece I came in contact with cats, a lot of cats.  A quick Google search reveals that most Greeks feel that cats are not exactly house pets, but a wild species best left to their own devices.  As a result they wander the streets and ancient ruins with pretty much no human interference.

Even we Americans know that one doesn’t own a cat.  A cat owns us.  If a cat wants something, it gets it.  All the while plotting their happy little owner’s demise.  When we come home from work the dog greets us with gusto.  He jumps, yelps, and licks while his tail wags at 100 miles an hour.  The cat, on the other hand, stands aloof, as if to reprimand us for not being at her disposal all day.  She may, if it suits her, decide to saunter by and rub against our legs; simply to piss off the dog.  We hear her purr and we imagine it is for us, which in all reality may not be the case.

Grecian cats strolled around many of the outdoor restaurants and cafes.  They sunned themselves on walls and threaded their way through the crowded streets full of multi national tourists.  Most looked well fed and fairly healthy.  They were not pets but not exactly what we Americans would call feral.  They lay beside humans and begged with only their presence.  Who but a local could refuse their enormous staring eyes? These cats have perfected the art of begging.  They remind me of the squirrels and chipmunks in National parks that know just what cute little tricks to do to get the goofy human to toss them a few nuts. 

My husband who fancies himself a Dr. Dolittle tried to pet a docile looking black and white cat lounging on a path and was put in his place with a quick swat of the paw. That’ll teach you, lesson learned.  They are not house cats. 

Evenings in Greece are beautiful, cool and comfortable not even requiring an air conditioner, and there are very few bugs.  So as we went out to dinner in one of the many outdoor cafes, we chose to leave the windows to our hotel room open. Do you see where I am going with this?

Returning to our room after a delicious dinner, we turned on the lights and proceeded to get ready for bed.  A strange sound was coming from the sofa, and, to our surprise we saw a large ginger cat casually using the back of the couch as a scratching post.  It just stared, and not the sweet large eyed, begging stare.  It was a look that said we were the intruders and it was standing it’s ground.

Shaken, I turned to my husband with a look that said, “What should we do?”  "Should we call the desk?"  Or do we just wait and see if it’s friendly?

My husband tiptoed over to the door, and opened it. (Not really sure why he tiptoed since the cat already saw us and they can't fly)  Then he comically deepened his voice and said, “SHOO.”  Seriously?  Shoo?  This was steadily becoming a cartoon.  I almost expected Jerry from Tom and Jerry to jump out from behind the sofa.  My husband repeated his shooing while ridiculously flailing his arms. The cat jumped off the sofa and casually, with a regal toss of it’s head, walked out the front door, but not before I snapped his pic.

Maybe the Greeks have it right after all.  Cats should just be left to their own devices.  They can use people when they want.  They can walk around like they own the place, because in their minds they do.  And nature can take care of the rest.

The beauty of Greece

Our beautiful hotel in Mykonos