Most cafes I visit are most likely to be in Dublin where I live. Some of my favourites are listed in the sidebar. Occasionally I get to visit cafes and coffeehouses elsewhere, some of which I blog about, but most of which I don't. This one is worth taking the time to write a few words of personal recommendation (for what that's worth, right?).
A couple of days away with the family to County Cork this week provided the longed for opportunity to walk around Cork City. I've become very found of Cork very quickly. For a start I like how the main shopping area has developed between the River Lee and a southern channel of the same river thereby forming a shopping island. The gloriously wide avenue of St Patrick's Street attempts to cut the island in two before it sweeps around and asks Grand Parade to complete the task. The tributaries of this main route provide some fascinating small streets and laneways where you will find independent clothes shops, art and craft stores, bakeries, chic restaurants, bookshops and a couple of fantastic traditional toy shops where batteries are not included because they are not needed! The English Market also offers some fine fare with fruit and veg, cheeses, breads and olives, fish so fresh you think they're still breathing (and lobsters which are), meat of every variety, and a chocolatier who provided sweet treats for Queen Elizabeth's recent historic visit.
But I'm not writing a piece for the Cork Tourist Board. I want to tell you about O Conaill Chocolate Bakery Cafe. It's located on French Church Street, one of those alluring passageways off St Patrick's St. On a cold, gray January afternoon the warmth from within the cafe seemed to be silently suggesting that to walk past would be foolish, forever leaving you wondering what it might have been like. Now here's the thing: For most people the choice of whether or not to enter would be easy, but when you have four children in tow, one of whom is still in a buggy and by the sound of things needing a nap, you think twice before entering. But in we went, such was the attractive power of the place.
Clearly this is a popular spot in Cork as all seats downstairs were taken, while upstairs at tables and couches another crowd sat, sans enfants, with only the company of other adults or a book. I will admit that I was more than a little jealous. There was even a queue for take away coffee and hot chocolate! But then a vacancy became available and it was perfect: a hightop table, surrounded by stools, which was large enough for all of us with room for four more children - should we have desired!
As is clear by this blog, if I'm going to write about a cafe it's because I have a coffee there. This was no exception and the regular latte served to me was most acceptable. No doubt countless other people go to O Conaill's for the coffee (and huge cookies for just 1euro! Nice), but with certainty people go for the hot chocolate. Not because it's served up in a huge mug with mountains of marshmallows, capped with too much whipped cream and drowned in sprinkles - far from it. This is hot chocolate for the more discerning palette. My wife enjoyed a dark chocolate, cinnamon and orange drink decorated with a small tricolour of mini chocolate buttons on the side. It was most agreeable and my wife gave it the rating of the second best hot chocolate she has ever had. (You'll have to ask her about the first.)
To top off the experience three delicious drinks were served to my older children. Then when the chocolate barista noticed our youngest was a little more than unsettled he provided a complimentary warm milk with just a drop of vanilla essence. It did the trick in seconds.
I've gone out of my way to Cork for coffee in the past, but I wouldn't recommend that cafe now. (Anyway, I don't think it's still there). However, if you are ever in the Cork region it would be well worth your while visiting the O'Conaill Chocolate Bakery Cafe on French Church Street.
An added bonus is that they also have a bakery down another one of those lovely side streets!
Wednesday, 4 January 2012
Sunday, 1 January 2012
New Year - Try Again
No one ever really keeps New Year resolutions and I am no exception. I've stopped trying.
But a thought popped in to my head so I reached for my blog again.
Happy New Year! I hope you'll read on below.
But a thought popped in to my head so I reached for my blog again.
Happy New Year! I hope you'll read on below.
My Personal Coffee History - Part 1
This morning I made a cafe latte for my wife and myself. The beans were roasted just a few days ago at one of my favourite specialty coffee roasters in London - a blend of El Salvador and Guatemala - and then precision ground just seconds before I brewed. The resulting thin flow of espresso from my machine was reminiscent of dark, golden honey with a buttery, sweet fruit aroma. Steaming the milk I then added it into the rich coffee base managing to pour the shape of a heart on the top - especially for my wife. Delicious.
But it hasn't always been like this.....
The first cup of coffee I remember making was for my dad and a friend he was meeting with at home. I'm not sure what it was - probably Nescafe, but I also remember Cafe Hag floating around the kitchen. Whatever it was, it was instant coffee. (It's okay. I was just a kid. I didn't know any better.) I would have been around eight or nine years old and the responsibility of handling a kettle of boiling water then bringing the cup of hot, brown liquid to my dad is what made the impression on me rather than the coffee itself: 1 tsp of coffee granules, 2 tsps of sugar, add some milk (full-fat back then) are the instructions I recall. Nevertheless, it was the start of a journey which has and still does bring a moment of pleasure with every cup.
I drank tea before I drank coffee, and at quite a young age. My mother was from Ireland and my father England - two great tea drinking nations. It came naturally. I still drink tea today (possibly just as much as coffee; some days more so), but I no longer drink it with lots of sugar as I did when I was younger. On rare occasions someone may accidentally hand me a cuppa with sugar in it which I will, of course, graciously accept and for a moment I'm transported back to different times simply through the taste of hot, sweet, milky tea. On the flip side I struggle to drink coffee with sugar added to it. A freshly brewed cup of quality coffee will be naturally sweet and probably more flavourful without milk.
I can't say for sure when I started drinking coffee, but I would guess it wasn't too long after learning the art of independent coffee production. I certainly can remember coming home from secondary school (11 yrs old), flicking on both the kettle and the TV and sitting down to enjoy a cup of coffee and a Wispa chocolate bar. (Thank you Cadbury's for bringing them back!)
Cups of sweet tea and instant coffee were all well and good, but an early milepost in this journey occurred when a new coffee machine appeared in the kitchen of our small house in South Wales. I have a vague feeling that we already owned a coffee percolator (can there be a worse way for brewing coffee?), but this was different. It was a present from my dad to my mum I think and it featured two main functions. One was that it brewed ground coffee into a small jug at a high ratio of coffee to water in order to extract as strong a flavour as possible. The other feature was a steam arm used to heat, no scald, a jug of milk. This morning as I steamed my milk I carefully skimmed the surface introducing air to the milk and stretching it with fine microfoam. The result is a velvety, textured milk brought to a high enough temperature to produce a caramel sweetness, but stopping before the milk gets too hot and tastes burned. Back in my mother's kitchen however the aim was to produce big bubbles in the milk by raising and lowering the milk jug so the steam arm would gurgle while submerged and splat as it was removed from the milk only to dive back in again. The result was astonishing and the finished product was affectionately and rather aptly named. This was years before knowledge of the cappuccino. This was the age of the Frothy Coffee. No matter the quirkiness of the name the very act of personally crafting such a drink was enough for me. I was smitten.
Years later and then living in England I learned a valuable, but heart-breaking lesson. My grandmother accidentally placed that frothy coffee machine on top of a hot oven. It melted and was ruined. I hugged my grandma while she cried and told her that it didn't matter. It was just stuff.
Today I am very happy with my growing and varied collection of coffee machines, grinders and brewers. It has become quite an investment, but is very satisfying. I do feel a little bit proud when every now and then I get a drink just right. But I've learned to hold loose to it all. There are things far more important than coffee.
More thoughts on this journey to follow.
But it hasn't always been like this.....
The first cup of coffee I remember making was for my dad and a friend he was meeting with at home. I'm not sure what it was - probably Nescafe, but I also remember Cafe Hag floating around the kitchen. Whatever it was, it was instant coffee. (It's okay. I was just a kid. I didn't know any better.) I would have been around eight or nine years old and the responsibility of handling a kettle of boiling water then bringing the cup of hot, brown liquid to my dad is what made the impression on me rather than the coffee itself: 1 tsp of coffee granules, 2 tsps of sugar, add some milk (full-fat back then) are the instructions I recall. Nevertheless, it was the start of a journey which has and still does bring a moment of pleasure with every cup.
I drank tea before I drank coffee, and at quite a young age. My mother was from Ireland and my father England - two great tea drinking nations. It came naturally. I still drink tea today (possibly just as much as coffee; some days more so), but I no longer drink it with lots of sugar as I did when I was younger. On rare occasions someone may accidentally hand me a cuppa with sugar in it which I will, of course, graciously accept and for a moment I'm transported back to different times simply through the taste of hot, sweet, milky tea. On the flip side I struggle to drink coffee with sugar added to it. A freshly brewed cup of quality coffee will be naturally sweet and probably more flavourful without milk.
I can't say for sure when I started drinking coffee, but I would guess it wasn't too long after learning the art of independent coffee production. I certainly can remember coming home from secondary school (11 yrs old), flicking on both the kettle and the TV and sitting down to enjoy a cup of coffee and a Wispa chocolate bar. (Thank you Cadbury's for bringing them back!)
Cups of sweet tea and instant coffee were all well and good, but an early milepost in this journey occurred when a new coffee machine appeared in the kitchen of our small house in South Wales. I have a vague feeling that we already owned a coffee percolator (can there be a worse way for brewing coffee?), but this was different. It was a present from my dad to my mum I think and it featured two main functions. One was that it brewed ground coffee into a small jug at a high ratio of coffee to water in order to extract as strong a flavour as possible. The other feature was a steam arm used to heat, no scald, a jug of milk. This morning as I steamed my milk I carefully skimmed the surface introducing air to the milk and stretching it with fine microfoam. The result is a velvety, textured milk brought to a high enough temperature to produce a caramel sweetness, but stopping before the milk gets too hot and tastes burned. Back in my mother's kitchen however the aim was to produce big bubbles in the milk by raising and lowering the milk jug so the steam arm would gurgle while submerged and splat as it was removed from the milk only to dive back in again. The result was astonishing and the finished product was affectionately and rather aptly named. This was years before knowledge of the cappuccino. This was the age of the Frothy Coffee. No matter the quirkiness of the name the very act of personally crafting such a drink was enough for me. I was smitten.
Years later and then living in England I learned a valuable, but heart-breaking lesson. My grandmother accidentally placed that frothy coffee machine on top of a hot oven. It melted and was ruined. I hugged my grandma while she cried and told her that it didn't matter. It was just stuff.
Today I am very happy with my growing and varied collection of coffee machines, grinders and brewers. It has become quite an investment, but is very satisfying. I do feel a little bit proud when every now and then I get a drink just right. But I've learned to hold loose to it all. There are things far more important than coffee.
More thoughts on this journey to follow.
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