This Cut is the Deepest

You may have read last year that Ireland was to a lead in the global
response to the emerging hunger crisis. It was hard to miss. There was
a high profile launch at the UN in September 2008, with huge media
coverage and Ban Ki Moon and Bono smiling on approvingly. Much was
made of Ireland's moral obligation, given our own history of famine,
to stand shoulder to shoulder with the 1 billion people who go to bed
hungry every night.

It was with considerably less fanfare that the Government announced
the latest of its cuts to overseas aid spending in last month's
emergency budget. It didn't even make it into Brian Lenihan's budget
speech. If it had you would have heard that €100 million in funding
was cut. The baldness of the figure indicates how carefully the
decision was measured. This, added to the €95 million cut from Irish
Aid's budget in February (which may also have passed under your
radar), adds up to a 21.8% reduction of the projected total for 2009.
It now stands at €696 million.

Our aid commitments are tied directly to the size of our economy and
set at a percentage of gross national income (GNI). Therefore, as our
economy contracts (or implodes) so to, regrettably, will the aid
budget. However, even the most pessimistic predictions from our
economic talking heads warn of an 8% shrinkage, so the cut's passed on
to Irish Aid are grossly disproportionate.

Ireland, along with other developed nations, has made a commitment to
reach a figure of 0.7% of GNI for overseas aid spending. That is just
70 cent out of every €100 the Government spends but with these latest
cuts we are now further from this target than when we first made the
commitment. These numbers totally undermine one of the key
recommendations from the Hunger Task Force that Ireland should 'work
to ensure that governments internationally fulfil their commitments to
eradicate hunger'.

These are difficult times for us all no doubt but while last month's
budget may mean some harsh lifestyle choices for some of us here in
Ireland, it may be a question of life itself for many people in the
bottom billion, the euphemistic term for the one in six people across
the globe that live on less than $2 a day.

There were riots across the developed world in 2007 as prices for rice
and other cereal commodities reached their highest price ever. Even as
those prices have dropped back somewhat, the International Monetary
Fund estimates that prices for basic staple foods still remain 71%
higher today than in 2005. Add to this the effect of the global
recession on lowering wages and you get a sense of the real crisis
that looms in other parts of the world.

Since 2008 the UN World Food Programme has added approximately 30
million more people to the swelling numbers of those it must provide
basic food and water rations to. In order to meet this growing demand
it estimates it will need to increase its budget by a fifth to €6
billion in 2009. These are simply the funds that are required for
emergency rations to stave off famine. It is an altogether bigger
question to begin to tackle the underlying causes - under-development
in agriculture; increased urbanisation; climate change - that lead to
food insecurity.

In the face of these appalling realities, Ireland is not the only
country shirking its responsibilities. A coherent international
response was conspicuous by its absence at last month’s major
international summits. At the G20 meeting the leaders of the developed
world bandied about incomprehensible figures for bank bailouts and
economic stimuli (how many zeros in a trillion anyone?). On the
Franco-German border, NATO members committed to sinking untold further
human and economic resources into the conflict in Afghanistan.
Meanwhile the cost of feeding a family in that country has increased
by nearly 75% in recent time. As a result children are being taken out
of school and put to work and daughters are being married off at a
younger age, just to put food on the table.

But let's return again to that €100 million figure. In the context of
our national finances, with €90 billion of bad debt to be absorbed and
€3 to be recouped in expenditure, it represents a cheap and cowardly
political decision when compared with larger, tougher choices that
could have been made. Yet, in the context of those who rely on the
projects and programmes of work funded through Irish Aid, this cut
will cost lives and increase the suffering and degradation of many.
This money – whether through direct government-to-government
donations, administered through multilateral funds, or supporting the
work of our missionaries and NGO’s – trickles directly down to put
food in the bellies and hope in the lives of those at the greatest
distance but suffering the worst consequences of our ailing
international economic system. April’s emergency budget has reduced
the flow from that tap, precisely when it is most needed.

Thou Shalt Not Intensively Farm

That Irish pork scare and the outbreak of swine flu have raise some
difficult questions for the pig farming industry. These incidents of
course are just the latest in millenia of bad press. The Bible set the
tone early. 'Of their flesh shall ye not eat, and their carcase shall
ye not touch; they are unclean to you. ' (Leviticus 11.8) As reviews
go, it's hardly good for business. And yet, we continue to partake in
the sins of this particular flesh. If the snake in the Garden of Eden
had an odor, it would surely be that of grilled rashers.

These bacon bombshells have exploded in a contemporary newscylce that
is starting to take on an ever more apocalyptic tone. Is there
something in the Book of Revelation about pork famines and global
piggy pestilence? Yet, snuffle about a little in the undergrowth and
you may unearth an altogether different truffle of truth, one which
points to the malign hand of large-scale industrial farming practices,
rather than the hand of god, in bringing about our current porcine
plagues (too hammy?).

Across the globe, pork products account for some 38 per cent of the
250 million odd metric tonnes of meat produced each year. This
represents a five-fold increase in meat consumption on the middle of
the last century and estimates from the UN say this will climb to 300
million metric tonnes buy 2020 as the taste for meat develops
alongside the economies of emerging markets. To meet this demand the
raising of livestock has become industrialised along factory-like
processes. However, from a number of angles, this mode of production
is being challenged as a false economy; one with potentially hazardous
side-effects.

Domestically, the Oireachtas Committee on Agriculture, Fisheries and
Food released its first report on the contamination of Irish pork
produce at the the end of May concluding that the source of the
contamination was “contaminated oil operating a burner being used to
dry bread prior to its inclusion in animal feed”.

What the report alludes to but does not address is the much larger
question of just what we are prepared to allow into the food chain as
the industrial farming industry seeks ever cheaper and more plentiful
animal feed. Some of what the offending feed processing plant in
Carlow was licensed to handle included “waste from...coffee, tea and
tobacco preparation and processing...paper and cardboard
packaging...mixed packaging; edible oil and fat.”

It's a simple case of what an old college professor of mine would call
'garbge in, garbage out'. We know now that each of the three major
recent food scares – Belgian dioxins, BSE and foot and mouth – all
resulted from impurity in animal feed. But do we really need another
large scale food-scare before we further refine our lists of what is
and isn't fit for the trough?

Meanwhile, the World Health Organisation has just upgraded swine flu
to a full blown pandemic status and health experts are looking back to
the viruse's origins in Mexico for clues to its etiology. The virus is
seen a quite similar to a combined human/ avian/ swine flu previously
detected in North Carolina in the US in 1998 that killed huge numbers
of pigs though did not make the leap to humans.

At the time North Carolina was home to, among other things, 10 million
pigs. Researchers considered it likely that the virus had mutated in
the hospitable environs of the cramped and filthy super-sties where
thousands of hogs wallowed together. The virus was able to develop
increased resistance to antibiotics as it was exposed to the low level
preventative doses of drugs that constituted part of the pigs' regular
diet. A similar explanation has been put forward to account for the
emegergnce of avian flu from intensive poultry farming in China.

Now there are murmmerings of a viral epicentre in the Mexican town of
La Gloria where hundreds of residents were struck down by an unknown
respiratory illness in February – before the current swine flu had
been identified. The village happens to be homes to the Granjas
Carroll pig production facility which houses 950,000 pigs. The plant's
parent company, American corporation Smithfield Foods has stated that
none of the pigs at its La Gloria facility have shown clinical
symptoms of swine flu. Still, questions remain about the role of
industrial farming in incubating new and dagerous viruses and while it
would appear that the threat of this swine flu is less than originally
feared, this should not lessen the urgency with which we pursue the
answers.

To some, these stories of mutating viruses and oil guzzling hogs are
the stuff of dystopian science fiction. In fact it is using precisely
this premise that a novel online campaign has been set up to expose
and campaign against heavily industrialised animal husbandry. At
www.themeatrix.com you can journey into The Meatrix where Leo the
chosen hog and his teacher Moopheus reveal “the truth about where your
food really comes from”.

Meanwhile, in the face of such tribulations, we may return to the good
book, for solace and perhaps from some answers too. As the Lord says,
in what appears to be a clear endorsement of free-range farming
principles, “I have no need of a bull from your stall or of goats from
your pens, for every animal of the forest is mine and the cattle on a
thousand hills” (Psalm 50. 9-10). Amen.

Pig Facts
In 2007 Ireland produced 188,000 tonnes of pigmeat
The pig industry is estimated to be worth €368 million in exports to
the economy
7,000 people are employed in the sector, 1,200 of whom work on farms
There are roughly 500 pig producers in the State producing 3.6 million pigs

I Ship Mine Direct

I can still remember the first time olive oil was bought in our house. It was 1998 and things would never be the same again. The splashing, pouring and drizzling of olive oil has become a kitchen reflex now - unconscious, unremarkable and necessary. Along with salt, pepper, milk and teabags, stocks are never allowed to deplete. It is all the more striking then when this familiarity with a product is turned on its head, as though you are tasting it for the first time all over again.

This is exactly what happened when I took delivery of 5 litres of Colletta Olivieri Extra Virgin Olive Oil. If you are someone who thinks one oil has to be much the same as the next, this may be difficult to imagine, but Colletta Olivieri Oil is to your average oil what Rolex is to the Swatch watch. Grown on the hillsides overlooking the Adriatic, the with wild herbs that share the soil with the olive trees infuse it with a complex, aromatic flavour, its texture smooth and buttery. I have, on occasion, simply drank it neat.

The oil is produced by the Colletta Olivieri family in the Puglia region of Southern Italy. I came across it when I happened to be working with Lino Olivieri, who moved to Ireland in 1999 and, more recently, has been kind enough to let me steal his lunch from time to time - he is an excellent cook! All learned from Mama.

There is a clue to the quality of the oil in the name. The family name Olivieri comes from the Latin 'Oliverius' which means 'one who owns olive groves'. As we say more parochially, where would you leave it?

Colletta Olivieri Extra Virgin Olive Oil can be bought by contacting Lino directly (lino.olivieri@gmail.com). This also allows you to say to people, "Oh, I have my olive oil shipped direct from Puglia".

Alternatively you can go to the Goldwater Shop, 17 Terenure Rd North (01 4928110) or pop along to the Dublin Food Co-Op (01-4544258; www.dublinfood.coop) where you might be lucky enough to meet Lino's two gorgeous little daughters, Florence and Sophia.

http://www.olivierioliveoil.com/index.html

Five Times Better

Much derided for profiteering during our age of plenty, the restaurant industry is having to strip back and get creative as belts tighten. Odessa has been at the fore of this new value-for-money spirit and there has been quite a bit of buzz about their Fivers menu - a refreshingly straightforward idea where generous tapas-styple plates are served at, that's right, E5 each. And it appears that where efforts like this are being made by restaurants, diners are being responsive.

The first impression that struck me arriving in Odessa, mid-week early in March, was nostalgia. The full dining-room, hearty laughter, high spirits, tables heavy with assorted dishes and plentiful plonk all screamed, "Recession. What Recession?" While outside Rome burns and Cowen fiddles, within the cocoon of the Odessa dining room diners ate, drank and made merry like t'were early 2008.

Initially guided to an awkward table in the thick of the crowd, on request we were happily reassigned to a cosy berth by the window with no qualms, not always the customary response of a busy restaurant that would much rather you sat where they had put you and you were least likely to linger longer than was profitable. This pleasant service was maintained for the evening - our waitress disarmingly charming, knowledgeable about the menu and helpful but unobtrusive throughout. Cold tap-water arrived at the table with the menus; bread coming shortly thereafter. In sporting parlance, we were off to a flyer.

Glancing about the room we readily decided that two of the Fiver plates may not be enough to fill us individually but three may have been too much. Between the two of us then, the Med-Head and I, we picked five plates (are you detecting a theme?) from among the 12 or so on offer, a selection which ranges widely across cuisines and should keep most happy.

First up, on the express recommendation of our waitress, was the Brandade - an intensely fishy salt-cod puree. The concentration of the fish flavour was cut through to some extent by fresh herbs (dill certainly and others too) but the portions were off with too much puree and not enough bread for dipping. Less would have been more and, taking a few solo spoonfuls, the sensation was much the same I would imagine as sucking on a fisherman's tackle. Not one for the faint-hearted.

Sticking with the surf, salt and pepper calamari arrived next and were a shining example of how something so familiar, in the right hands, can be a rare treat. A judiciously seasoned crust gave way to thin cirlces of squid that had bite but were never chewy - snatched from the oil at precisely the right moment. This plate challenged the sharing ethos of the meal and the Med-Head proved himself the bigger man by leaving the last ring to me.

Mushrooms with garlic and thyme were probably the weakest element of the meal, over seasoned and over-cooked, the little button mushrooms too meagre and shrivelled. A lighter hand and a bigger, more flavourful mushroom is needed to balance the flavours in the dish. A small antipasti plate of olives, artichokes and peppers hinted at good sourcing of ingredients.

The chicken leg confit took an age to arrive, probably a good sign, but was a bit on the plain side and would have benefitted from something wet alongside the solitary poultry leg. The confit istelf was technically flawless, crisp outside like a winter morning; the meat within giving way to the fork like soft earth to shovel. The same skills are brought to bare on the impeccable duck confit on the main diner menu.

With two espressos and a drinkable, if forgetable, bottle of house red the bill came to E48.90 without service. When you consider your typical three course set menu weighing in at about the E25 mark before drinks, the Fivers menus offers a novel and economical alternative dinner for two. In the coming months our new economic gradient is likely to sort the restaurant wheat from the chaff. On this evidence a table at Odessa seems as good a place as any to wait out the last days of the Celtic Empire.

Odessa
14 Dame Court, D2
+ 353 (0)1 6707634
www.odessa.ie
info@odessa.ie

What Is Luxury?*

Conspicuous consumption, it would appear, is out. Belt-tightening becomes much easier when goodies are rationed. But the perception that luxury should equate to expense is perhaps a little misguided. Epicurus, the godfather of gourmandise, recognised this well when he said, ‘bring me some cheese, that I may have a fest when I please’. Whether it was a block of Calvita or a finely ripened Stinking Bishop was not the question. Rather he was commenting on how we maximise our pleasure in life in the ways that we think about, relate to and socialise through food. Not that this should preclude the occasional indulgence for indulgence sake. The secret these days is finding the balance.

1. Hotel Breakfasts

As they say, ‘eat breakfast like a king’. For those not dwelling in a palace, a good hotel is the next best place. Do it properly and wake up in the Ritz to Eggs Benedict with your morning papers. (www.theritzlondon.com; 0044 20 7493 8181)

2. L’Ortolan

The last meal of Francois Mitterand, Ortolan makes fois gras look like spam. The bird is caged and force-fed oats and figs before being drowned in Armagnac, roasted and eaten whole.

3. Cod and Chips

Once the food of the common man, cod's increasing scarcity has made it something of an environmental luxury. Some say other white fish will fill the batter just as good but it’s debatable. Eating an animal into extinction? That’s decadent.

4. Someone to do the washing up

You just cooked up a storm, and consequently your kitchen looks like Hurricane Nigella just hit. Enter the kitchen-cleaning fairy, everybody's favourite dinner party guest. Failing that, call in the pros. (www.pristine.ie)

5. Dinner in El Bulli

At E250 a head, dinner in the 'best restaurant in the world' represents something of an investment. If the cost seems a little exorbitant take solace in the fact that, by the time you can get a reservation, the recession will probably have passed. (www.elbulli.com)

6. Chef's Knife

Japan’s GLOBAL brand of knives brings centuries of samurai sword-making expertise into the kitchen. At E100 each they are certainly not cut-price but will last a life-time. (http://www.yoshikin.co.jp/w/)

7. Kitchen Bible

For all their slick production and lifestyle appeal most modern cookery books see little time in the kitchen trenches. Not so Nicholas Clee’s Don’t Sweat the Aubergine, an indispensible and humorous source of counsel in a foodie’s darkest moments.

8. Kids in the Kitchen

Without coming over all Jamie Oliver there is a great pleasure in sewing a few foodie seeds. If you don’t have a kid, borrow one. Baking will never be as much fun again.

9. Home comforts

We all have them; those meals that aren’t the same unless eaten at home with the seasoning of comfort and nostalgia. My own is my mother’s scrambled eggs, with plenty of butter and cream, taken off the heat just before fully set.

10. Going Native

Sick of Croque Monsieur in Paris and Spag Bol in Italy? A little local knowledge can make all the difference in avoiding the tourist fodder. In the absence of a local guide, take to the blogosphere. (www.hungryinparis.com)

11. Hidden gems

There’s something tantalising in stumbling upon an unexpectedly good eating house; a sense of privilege from being in the know about the shabby Trattoria with the best tiramisu this side of the Apennines. I have mine, and I’m not telling.

12. Cooking Holidays

As you were told when sent to the Gaeltact, the best way to learn a language is by total immersion. It’s the same with food. The luxury here is time, giving it over totally to food, its preparation and its consumption. (www.ballymaloe.ie or www.atasteofrome.ie )

13. Pig Out

We’ve had our differences of late. Time to heal the rift. What better way than to eat a whole one? Try a roast

suckling pig, a cross-cultural totem of luxury and celebration for millennia. (www.brasseriesixty6.com; 01 4005878)

14. Saucing it up

With a large collection of ramekins, I have sometimes struggled for ideas to fill them. They are empty no more thanks to Janet’s Country Fayre, a range of artisan condiments produced in Co. Wicklow and stocked nationwide; a lustrous accompaniment to any meal. (www.janetscountryfayre.ie)

15. Thirst Quenching

Luxury is relative. Trekking in hills in 40 degree Tanzanian heat, the juice of a fresh coconut, cut from the tree and drank from the shell was the nectar of the gods.

16. Chocolate

Such are the psychological benefits of eating a good bar of chocolate that far from being a luxury in days of recession, it should be available on the medical card. I prescribe J.D. Gross Amazonian (60% Cocoa) available in Lidl, taken daily with a glass of red wine.

17. Scavenging

There is a primal pleasure in gathering your own food; mushrooms from damp August fields, plump inky berries from the hedgerows.

18. Love at first bite

Each new flavour and ingredient promises a sensual revelation and even when it disappoints it’s a notch on the bed-post of the gastronome that wants to taste it all.

19. Food al fresco

During the good times we sank millions into patio heaters, timber decking and patio furniture. And still we wait...

20. Home-brew

The oenophile can spend untold sums on the finest vintages. What about something more unique and personal – home-brewed apple and elderflower wine? Get those creative juices flowing and fermenting. (www.thehomebrewcompany.ie)

*A version of this post appeared in the March issue of Food and Wine Magazine

Better The Devil You Know

In the spirit of all things recessionary I set myself a little challenge yesterday: go into Tesco, buy the cheapest meat you can find, bring it home, cook and eat it. In the interest of comparing like produce I limited my selection to raw meats in the chiller section, though perhaps there was an element of self preservation here too. Not even a global economic meltdown will get me eating meat from can. With these carefull parameters in place I ended up at the till with a half-kilo of pork liver, at a total cost of e1.57.

The first thing to notice about the product was that it was double-sealed. This was ominous. It is a wrapping tactic I use myself with dirty sports gear. I'm not quite sure of the precise health and safety reasons in the context of fresh meat but an obvious one that quickly came to mind (and nose) was the smell.

Now I'm not squeamish when it comes to food, and neither am I a total novice in the consumption of the more visceral inards of an animal (lightly poached goose gizzard is a personal favourite) but the odor of bodily function that accompanied the piercing of the second layer of plastic gave me pause for thought. Pork liver smells like...well actually, it smells precisely how you would imagine a pigs liver smells.

Assuming you can get past the smell, what are you signing up for with pork liver? It has higher levels of iron than other meats and so may not be the ideal introduction for a novice liver eater - I've had subtler fillings. With little connective tissue in the meat it can quickly become tough and dry as well (you are by now beginning to understand the reason for its bargain price). It's a meat that needs a fairly robust sauce to mask the flaws as it were.

Despite some work on the trendier fringes of celebrity cookery, we have to a great extent lost the culinary skills required to make these less enticing animal components more palatable. In embracing a more frugal cusine we do well to learn lessons from our forebearers who exhibited a greater resourcefulness when meat was rare, little was wasted and was never far from spoiling.

"Devilling" is by now almost an arcane term, originating in the late middle ages when new spices and herbs came from the east. It refers broadly to any variety of foods prepared with spices or strong seasoning and is distinguished from curry probably by its emphasis on vinegar and mustard. One would hazard a guess that the satantic reference was evocative of the sharp and fiery flavours of the sauce.

Here's my super cheap recipe for Devilled Pork Livers on Toast:

Ingredients:

2 pork livers
Tablespoon plain flour
Tablespoon paprika
Knob of butter
1/2 and onion (finely diced)
Splash white wine vinegar
Tablespoon Tomato Puree
Teaspoon dijon mustard
Tablespoon creme fraiche
Half Lemon
Few sprigs of flat leaf parsley

Crusty Bread
Splash of olive oil

Method:

1. Place the flour, paprika and pork livers in a sealable bag and coat the livers well in the mixture.

2. Soften the onion in the butter over a medium heat.

3. Turn up the heat and add the livers, cooking for two minutes on each side.

4. Add the vinegar to the pan and reduce for a couple of minutes.

5. Stir through the tomato puree, mustard and creme fraiche, allowing the sauce to bubble slowly over a low heat until the pork is cooked through (the braver among you may like to leave a subtle pink trace through the meat - pork liver can quickly turn tough).

6. Season with salt and pepper, add a squeeze of lemon juice and chopped parsely and serve on thick slices of grilled bread drizzled with olive oil.