A translation into Irish Gaelic of “spending the morning walking about” is “an mhaidin a chaitheamh ag fálróid thart.” Don’t ask me how to pronounce it, as I’ve found Irish Gaelic pronunciation impossible. The reason I was wondering about the translation of “spending the morning walking about” into Irish is that I had just finished doing exactly that on what has been a rare, beautiful morning, and I’m about to travel to my beloved second home of almost 50 years in the far northwestern corner of Ireland, in County Donegal, after being away for almost two years.
The morning had the feel of the best days in Donegal, when the air is fresh, the temperature neither too warm nor too cool, and the sky bright with puffy cumulus clouds floating lazily about overhead. It’s well known that Donegal is a place where all four seasons can be experienced on any given day, so an entire calm weather day in Donegal can be rare, and therefore cherished. I felt that way yesterday morning with all the nasty weather we’ve been experiencing lately as I walked through Canoe Meadows near my home in Pittsfield.
As I was walking, I wondered if what I was doing in my more advanced years was hiking. I very quickly decided my activity level didn’t rise to that definition, so how would I describe my activity? The words that came to mind were “wandering,” “strolling,” “roaming,” and “meandering.” It gave me something to ponder between trying to determine a mushroom’s edibility or attempting to identify wildflowers I’d come across through a couple of apps I have on my phone.
I really can’t say my activity was wandering, as wandering suggests aimlessness, and although I’ve had times I’ve deservedly been accused of aimlessness, I prefer to think of my approach as more Zen-like, or at least as close to Zen-like as someone with roots in northern New Jersey can get. However, the question remained, was I truly achieving a Zen moment? We’ll return to this question.
Could it be strolling? Strolling is a little too refined for a Clydesdale like me as I clump along the path. I think of strolling as what people do who don’t sweat. I don’t fit in that category, as people who know me well can assuredly attest. As Ella Fitzgerald once amended a well-worn observation from the stage one sultry night, “It’s been said horses sweat, men perspire, and ladies glow,” to which she added, “All I know is I’m glowing like a horse right now!” This Clydesdale can relate to her amendment.
Was it roaming? Merriam-Webster tells me, “Roaming suggests wandering about freely and often far afield.” Nope! I was firmly sticking to the path and had my car in the parking lot on the edge of the field as a destination.
Meandering is closer to describing my walk. As an adjective, meandering is certainly a good descriptive modifier for the paths in that wonderful little wildlife sanctuary. However, as a verb, meandering still has that connotation of aimlessness. I stand by my assertion that what I was doing was not aimless, at least in this instance.
The question then becomes if my walk isn’t aimless, can this former Jersey boy have a chance of truly touching on a Zen moment?
Although my walk was peaceful and relaxing, my understanding of having a Zen moment involves, in part, actively thinking about all the things to not think about. It’s a discipline that works for many people, but makes my brain hurt. All of which brings me back to walking about and Ireland, a place where I’ve enjoyed many long walks simply enjoying the breathtaking scenery around me. If I were to ask my best friends in Ireland to actively think about all the things to not think about to achieve a Zen moment, I’d undoubtedly be actively ridiculed, a trait for which the Irish are expert, most likely in language I can’t use here, the mildest of which would probably be something along the lines of, “Only a feckin’ eejit would think like that!”
Having been severely roasted in my mind by my friends in Ireland, I decided to circle back to thinking of my solitary walks in the same way I do in Donegal — simply taking the time to cherish what the day has to offer while walking about and feeling blessed. It’s a simple approach and doesn’t make my brain hurt. I’m sure the concept would be better explained in the Irish language, in which — much the same as the Inuit have 52 words for “snow” and “ice” — there are 32 words for “field.” Now, if I only had a clue how to speak it.
Cheesy Irish Wheaten Bread
All this talk of Ireland and walking made me hungry for the food I enjoy while I’m there. Before you start scoffing about Irish food, take it from this old chef, the Irish generally do take their food seriously, and there’s a great deal of excellent food to be had there. One of my longtime favorites is a comforting rustic loaf of wheaten bread. About 15 years ago, I decided to see if I could replicate the bread while here. I came close, using butter in the bread to moisten and soften the American flour, ground from our wheat, which is harder than the wheat of Ireland. I’ve made it for friends and family for years to rave reviews. It’s mostly just a simple quick bread, and because I usually can’t leave anything well enough alone, I thought it might be nice to use grated cheddar, Irish cheddar of course, to replace the (Irish) butter I normally use.
The result was a more than an acceptable loaf and particularly good the next day toasted for breakfast, with or without a fried egg and good Irish butter slathered on it. Because it’s closer to a quick bread, I don’t knead it, as kneading can toughen quick breads. I do make sure it’s mixed thoroughly and begins to become sticky as it’s mixed, either by hand or with a paddle on my stand mixer.
Bain taitneamh as!
Ingredients
1 cup all-purpose white flour
2 cups whole wheat flour
½ cup rolled oats
1½ tsp baking soda
7 oz brick of Kerrygold Dubliner cheese, grated
Approx. 2½ cups buttermilk
Method
Preheat oven to 425 degrees Fahrenheit with the oven rack on the bottom third of the oven.
In a large bowl or in your stand mixer with the paddle attachment, mix together the dry ingredients on low before mixing in the grated cheese.
Make a well in the center of dry ingredients and cheese mixture, and add 2 cups of the buttermilk to the well.
Mix on medium-low or by hand, adding a bit of the buttermilk at a time, until the dough is thoroughly mixed and becomes sticky. Flours all have different properties, and you may use all or most of the remaining ½ cup of buttermilk.
Spray a 2# loaf pan with oil, add the dough, and smooth it flat with a dampened rubber spatula. Make a slit down the length of the dough and sprinkle it with flour.
Place the loaf on the prepositioned oven rack and bake for 45 minutes.
Place the loaf on a cooling rack when done and wait about 30 minutes before removing it from the pan. Wait approximately another 30 minutes before slicing.
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July 29, 2021 at 11:02AM
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