A Dublin Student Doctor

by Patrick Taylor

  “This one’s not about the village,” says he. “It’s about a bunch of medical students I once knew, back at Trinity College in Dublin.” He slips Lady Macbeth a bit of kipper and pretends I didn’t see him do it.

  “Indeed,” says I. “Rapscallions to a man, I’ll bet.”

  He laughed. “I suppose we were rascals—then,” he says, “but I think we’ve mellowed.” He started on his fourth kipper. It gladdens the soul to see a body’s cooking appreciated. “So, Kinky,” he says, “it’s just like I asked you to do after the last five of Taylor’s stories. Could you please put some more of your recipes on paper?”

  To tell the truth, it does please me to think there’s folks out there trying the way I cook, mostly taught by my ma back in Beál na mBláth in County Cork, so, but sometimes I do like to try something new. “I will, sir,” says I, “I have three traditional Irish dishes in mind and one for a sauce your brother Mister Lars brought back with him from Villefranche last year.”

  “That would be wonderful,” says he.

  Did you ever see the look on the face of a kiddie playing marbles with bigger boys and they’ve taken his last one? I swear to God that’s how himself looked when he realised he’d finished the final kipper. It was an expression that would have softened Pharaoh’s hard heart. “Will I do you another, sir?” says I.

  “Not at all,” says he, and patted his tummy, “but thanks for the notion.” He buttered toast. “Kinky, when I’ve finished I’m going to take Arthur Guinness for a walk, drop in at the Mucky Duck, then come home. Could you maybe get the writing done while I’m out?”

  “Bless you, sir,” says I, brushing crumbs from his tie, “they’ll be done by the time you get back.”

  So here I am at my kitchen table, pen in hand. Funnily enough, they’ll be having tomato soup with Guinness bread, then roast stuffed pork fillets tonight for their tea when Doctor Laverty gets home. My friend who’s been to America, and helps me with the differences between Irish and American measures, tells me pork fillet is called tenderloin in the U.S., and it is a tender cut. Pity sauce Béarnaise doesn’t go with pork—but my apple sauce will, and I’m sure all you chefs out there know how to make that even if you can’t get real Bramley apples.

  TOMATO SOUP

  1 tablespoon olive oil

  2 medium onions, peeled and chopped

  1 carrot, peeled and chopped

  1 medium potato, peeled and chopped

  2 pounds ripe tomatoes, skin taken off, or equivalent weight in tinned tomatoes

  1 clove garlic crushed

  1 teaspoon sugar

  1½ pints/850 ml vegetable stock (good-quality stock cubes are grand for this)

  Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

  A little basil or parsley and cream to garnish

  If using fresh tomatoes, immerse them in boiling water for a few minutes as this makes it easy to peel off the skin. When I am in a hurry, I like to use the tinned tomatoes instead. Heat the oil in a saucepan, add the onions, carrot, and potato. Cover with a lid and cook gently for about 10 minutes until softened. Add the chopped tomatoes and cook for a further 10 minutes. Then add the garlic, sugar, and stock and simmer for about 15 minutes. Blend ’til puréed, season to taste, and serve with a swirl of cream and chopped basil or parsley.

  GUINNESS BREAD

  280 g/10 oz plain flour

  280 g/10 oz whole wheat flour

  170 g/6 oz oats

  50 g/2 oz sunflower seeds

  4 tablespoons brown sugar

  3 teaspoons salt

  440 ml/15 fluid oz Guinness

  2 tablespoons cooking oil

  2 tablespoons treacle or molasses

  300 ml/8oz/1 cup approx. milk

  3 teaspoons baking soda dissolved in the milk

  First prepare the baking tins by greasing them well and lining with greaseproof parchment. Turn on the oven to 200°C/400°F. Mix all the dry ingredients in a large bowl, make a well in the centre, and add the Guinness followed by the oil, treacle, and lastly the milk. You add the milk last because sometimes you may need to add more or less depending on the brand of flour used or even the weather conditions. However, what you are aiming for is a nice soft dropping consistency. Divide the mixture between 2 loaf tins (I use a large 2lb and a smaller 1lb size for this quantity of mixture and as it freezes well I always have one for an emergency). Bake in the oven at 200°C/400°F for 10 mins, then turn the oven down to 180°C/350°F and bake for a further 35 to 45 mins.

  SAUCE BÉARNAISE

  6 egg yolks

  75 ml/2½ oz white wine vinegar

  200g/7 oz melted butter

  1 tablespoon chopped tarragon (or ½ teaspoon dried)

  Salt and freshly ground black pepper

  This is probably one of the most difficult of all the French sauces to make, but I think this recipe is quite foolproof.

  First you blend the egg yolks (I use the Sunbeam Mixmaster Doctor O’Reilly bought me in 1960 and it makes life a lot easier than whipping things by hand), for about one minute or so. Then with the mixer still running, add the vinegar very slowly and follow by gradually adding the butter. To finish, add the tarragon and the salt and pepper and serve immediately.

  STUFFED PORK FILLET (TENDERLOIN)

  1 pork tenderloin weighing about 450 g/1 lb

  4 or 5 strips of bacon

  Stuffing

  25g/1 oz butter

  1 medium onion, chopped finely

  85g/3 oz mushrooms, chopped finely

  ½ teaspoon thyme (dried)

  2 teaspoons parsley

  110g/4 oz breadcrumbs

  Pinch salt and ground pepper

  Preheat the oven to 180°C / 350°F/gas mark 4.

  Prepare the tenderloin by splitting it lengthwise. Then using a rolling pin or a meat mallet, batter it on both halves to flatten it.

  To make the stuffing, melt the butter in a pan, then fry the onion gently for a few minutes until it is transparent and soft but not coloured. Add the mushrooms and finally the herbs. Cook for a few minutes and add the breadcrumbs and seasoning.

  Spread the stuffing on one side of the pork and place the other half of the fillet on top. Wrap the strips of bacon around the pork and finally place on a piece of buttered parchment or foil and close loosely by scrunching the top and sides. Bake at the top of the preheated oven for about 1 hour. Open the paper or foil about 10 mins before the end of cooking time.

  It will slice more easily if kept warm and left to rest for 10 mins or so.

  This is very good served with apple sauce or apple fritters.

  GLOSSARY

  To each of the five previous Irish Country books I have appended a glossary. Judging by the letters I receive the explanations are appreciated. The English spoken in Ireland not only differs much from standard English, but the language of the regions is diverse. Belfast and Dublin dialects are as far apart as those from the Bronx, New York, and Lubbock, Texas, yet many of the expressions in Ireland are shared, so in this glossary by preceding the definition with “Dublin” or “Ulster” I have identified those more likely to be heard in Davy Byrnes pub in the city on the Liffey and those prone to crop up in the Crown Liquor Saloon near where the Lagan flows. Without those modifers, expressions are fairly universal in the Emerald Isle.

  I spent October 2007 to May ’10 there and frequently visited Dubh Linn, the Black Pool, or as it is properly known in Gaelic, Baile Atha Cliath, the Town of the Ford of the Hurdles, where I expanded my vocabulary. In my years in the north of Ireland I had never heard expressions like “gameball,” evincing great approval. My northern versions would be “wheeker” or “sticking out a mile.” “Mind your house,” exhorting a sports team to be on the lookout for a tackle from behind would be translated by us roaring, “Behind, ye.” A scruffy individual in Dublin would be “in rag order.” Up north they would have looked as if “they’d been pulled through a hedge backwards,” or “like something the cat dragged in.”

  But
, not all is different. North and south we’d both “go for our messages” when running errands, wonder what that “yoke” (thingummybob) was for and might end up “shitting bricks” (very worried) because our pal had got himself “steamboats” or “elephants” (utterly inebriated).

  Our speech in the north sounds harsh and has gutturals like “och” and “lough.” We often sound as if we are clearing our throats. Dubliners have a nasal accent all their own. Ordinarily I avoid attempting to render speech phonetically. The “Oim Oirish, sorr, faith and begorrah,” Paddywhackery is not for me, but I have made two concessions when it comes to the Dublin dialect. The letter G does not exist in the syllable ing so I have written words like “drinking” as “drinkin’.” I hope the apostrophes are not annoying. H (pronounced “haitch” in Dublin) is always dropped from th so “thing” becomes “t’ing,’ “brother,” “brudder.” As I worked I kept hearing a Dublin friend of very long standing, Henry Galvin, saying, “Did you know, Pat, by the same token, if you divide one hundred by t’ree you get t’irty t’ree and a turd?”

  And a caveat. Dublin English, like most inner-city discourse, is not for the faint of heart. Blasphemy is de rigueur, Jasus (Jesus), Mary (Holy Mother of God), Joseph, and the saints are frequently invoked. To devout Christians I apologise, but I have striven for accuracy in all things, which is why along with those exclamations a variant of the F word will be found in these pages.

  “Feck” is a verb meaning to have intercourse, to steal, “I fecked fifty pounds,” or to run away, “I fecked off in jig time.” “Feck off, you eejit.” It may express extreme denial. “The feck I did,” and is also used as a modifier of almost anything as in “I was feckin’ terrified,” to the extent of being used as a hyphen. “I’d terrible dia-feckin’-rrhoea.” No one who knows the true Dubliner would believe me if I left it out of the direct speech of some characters and my remit is to bring to the page people as true to life as I can make them.

  So to capture the day-to-day idiom in the book I have here given definitions in this short Irish English/North American English instant translator. I hope they will add to your enjoyment.

  a policeman wouldn’t ask you that: A polite way of saying “Mind your own business.”

  acting the lig: Fooling around.

  airing cupboard: Also known as a hot press. A cupboard with shelves built round and over the hot water cistern. It was a place where clothes and bedclothes could be dried and warmed. On winter days when I was a boy my mother always put my underwear in the airing cupboard so it would be warm to put on in the chill of our pre–central heating home.

  all the best people: Ulster. Self-deprecatory expression often used when you have done something stupid. “All the best people throw up at cocktail parties.”

  amadán: Irish. Pronounced “omadawn.” Male idiot. Contrary to popular belief men are not the only idiots in Ireland. Óinseach, pronounced “ushick,” is the female equivalent.

  anyroad: Anyway.

  at myself, not: Ulster. Unwell.

  babby: Baby.

  bad bottle: Ulster. The putative cause of last night’s inebriation. “I had sixteen pints last night and I’ve got the horrors. [Dublin. A bad hangover.] I must’ve got a bad bottle.”

  banjaxed: Ulster. Exhausted or broken.

  beat Banagher/Bannagher: Ulster. Far exceed realistic expectations or to one’s great surprise.

  bee on a hot brick: Running round distractedly.

  bejizzis: By Jesus. In Ireland, despite the commandment proscribing taking the name of the Lord in vain, mild blasphemy freqently involves doing just that. See also use of “Jasus; Jesus, Mary and Joseph.”

  bevvy: Alcoholic drink.

  black pudding: Traditional Irish blood sausage.

  blether: To talk excessively about trivia, or an expression of dismay. “What are they doing in the Senate?” “Blethering as usual.” Or: “Your car has a flat tyre.” “Och, blether.” May be accompanied by a genteel stamping of the foot.

  bloats: A disease seen in cattle who have ingested any of a number of foodstuffs which when acted on by the bacteria in the animal’s rumen produce large amounts of gas, causing the animal to swell.

  blow out: End a love affair. “Is Sheilah still seeing Archie?” “Nah. She blew him out.”

  blowout: A big night out. “Yer man put away two whole pizzas and two six-packs. Quite the blowout.”

  bog trotter: Pejorative. Country person (bumpkin implied).

  bollix/bollocks: Testicles (impolite). May be used as an expression of vehement disagreement or to describe a person of whom you disapprove.

  bollixed/bolloxed: Ruined.

  bonnet: Hood (when applied to a car).

  boot: Trunk (when applied to a car).

  boozer: Public house or person who drinks.

  both legs the same length: Standing about uselessly.

  bowsey/ie: Dublin. Drunkard.

  brandy balls: Hard, boiled, spherical candies.

  brass neck: Chutzpah. Impertinence.

  brave: Ulster. Large. Or good.

  bricking it: Dublin. Very nervous or scared.

  buck eejit: Imbecile.

  bullock: Castrated male calf. Steer.

  bulls’ eyes: Hard, boiled, black-and-white candies.

  bullshite: Bullshit.

  bumper: Ulster. Electric rotatory floor polisher. The code word used to start the PIRA breakout from the Maze Prison in 1983.

  bye: Boy.

  capped/cap: A cap was awarded to athletes selected for important teams. Equivalent to a “letter” at a U.S. university.

  casualty: Department of hospital. Emergency room in USA. Now A&E (accident and emergency) in Ireland and UK.

  cat: Dublin. Ruined. Useless.

  champ: A dish of potatoes, buttermilk, butter, and chives.

  chancer: Untrustworthy person or one who takes unnecessary risks.

  chemist: Pharmacist.

  chipper: Fish-and-chip shop.

  chiseller/chissler: Dublin. Child.

  chuckin’ it down: Pouring with rain.

  cipher: Calculate mathematically.

  clabber: Glutinous mess of mud, or mud and cow-clap.

  clatter (a brave or a right): A large quantity.

  codding me: Pulling my leg or deceiving me.

  colcannon: Dish of mashed potatoes with bacon, cabbage, milk and cream, scallions and butter. For recipe see Country Girl.

  confinement: Delivery of a preganant woman, or incarceration.

  constipated greyhound (look like a): Be depressed and show it on your face.

  Continent, the: Europe.

  craic: Pronounced “crack.” Practically untranslatable, it can mean great conversation and fun (the craic was ninety) or “What has happened since I saw you last?” (What’s the craic?) Often seen outside pubs in Ireland: Craic agus ceol or “fun and music.”

  crick: Painful strain.

  Dáil Éireann: Pronounced “Doyle Airann.” Irish House of Commons.

  deadner: Dublin. A blow to the upper arm muscles, often affectionate, but can be painful.

  demob: Shortened form of demobilize or discharge troops to civilian life.

  Denny’s: Ireland is renowned for her pork butchers. Henry Denny started a bacon-curing plant in Waterford in 1820 and to this day it produces marvellous sausages. Its chief rival is Haffner’s.

  desperate: Ulster. Immense, or terrible. “He has a desperate thirst.” “That’s desperate, so it is.”

  dickie bird: Rhyming slang. Word.

  divil: Devil.

  divil the bit: None.

  domiciliary: Visit at home by a specialist. GPs made home visits (house calls).

  dote (n): Something adorable. “Her babby’s a wee dote.”

  dripping: Congealed animal fat often spread on bread.

  drop of the pure: A drink—usually poitín (see here).

  drumlin: Ulster. From the Irish dromín (little ridge). Small rounded hills caused by the last Ice Age. There are so
many in County Down that the place has been described as looking like a basket of green eggs.

  dudeen: Short-stemmed clay pipe.

  dummy tit: Baby’s pacifier.

  Dun Laoghaire: Port near Dublin. Pronounced “Dun Leery,” literally, Leary’s Fort.

  duncher: Ulster. Cloth cap, usually tweed.

  fag: Cigarette, derived from “faggot,” a very thin sausage.

  fair play to you: Dublin. To be fair or well done.

  feck (and variations): Dublin corruption of “fuck.” For a full discussion of its usage see the introduction to this glossary. It is not so much sprinkled into Dublin conversations as shovelled in wholesale, and its scatalogical shock value is now so debased that it is no more offensive than “like” larded into teenagers’ chat. Now available at reputable bookstores is the Feckin’ Book series—The Feckin’ Book of Irish Slang, The Feckin’ Book of Irish Sayings, etc.—by Murphy and O’Dea.

  fist of: Attempt.

  fit: Dublin. Of a woman. Well built.

  flex: Electrical plug-in cable.

  florin: Silver two-shilling piece about the size of a silver half-dollar. Worth about forty cents today. In 2010, 120 florins, about $25, would be required to purchase the same amount of goods as 1 florin would have in 1930. This must be interpreted in light of today’s wild currency fluctuations.

  foundered: Very cold.

  Garda Síochána: Pronounced “Garda Sheekana,” State Guards. National police force of the Republic of Ireland. Used to be RUC in the north. The Royal Ulster Constabulary is now PSNI, Police Service of Northern Ireland.

  gargle: Dublin. Alcoholic drink. “The gargle’s dimmed me brain.” Alternate line to “The drink has dimmed my brain” from the song “Dublin in the Rare Old Times” by Pete St. John.

  gas: Dublin. Fun.

  gas man: Bit of a wit or fun to be with.

  gasper: Cigarette (archaic, no longer used).

  gee-gees: Horses.

  gerroff: Get off, usually directed at over-affectionate animals.

  git: From “begotten.” Bastard, often expressed, “He’s a right hoor’s [whore’s] git.”