Day 32: An apple a day

It pissed with rain last night. So much that I hardly slept after 4. I pretty much gave up for a while threw the door open and just sat, watched and listened. No cooking or demo today - instead we are off on a school outing. I haven’t been on one of those for many, many years. I felt like sneaking a bottle of Bells in my jacket pocket like we used to on theatre trips at High School. I didn't. The coach left at 8 and, in a variety of conditions, we were all on it.

First up was Frank Hedermann's smokehouse in Cobh. A straight talking guy with a passion for what he does, he explains the various temperatures and procedures for cold and hot smoking. All his salmon is salted for two and a half hours before being cold smoked, the temperature only ever reaching 20-22ºC. Eel, mackerel and haddock are hot smoked. I ask what temperature. He explains that it is gently increased until it reaches a maximum of 72ºC, where it is held for two minutes before being gently decreased again. He adds a caveat. In theory. In reality, he explains, a guy who works for him puts his elbow to the door of the smokehouse and pronounces whether it is ready or not. He took delivery of new smoking equipment and promptly removed all the thermometers and controls. It is simple, he says. You get the finest, freshest fish, introduce the smoke, and when they're done, they're done. I mentally add fish smoker to the growing list of things I want to be in life.

Next up we head to Mahon Point Farmers Market. Last night I had a couple of beers with the guys who run it, and a long discussion regarding the future of food production and distribution. The market is awesome. There are forty odd stalls, selling everything you can think of. All local, all produced with passion and respect. As an added bonus, I get my hands on the best coffee I have had since I left Melbourne back in May. After the best steak sandwich in history, I treat myself to a second cup.

I kip on the long drive to Clogheen in County Tipperary where we visit Anne and Richard Keating, the makers of Baylough Cheese. It's probably become a bit of a cliché, but these guys are true food heroes. Anne, who doesn't look a fraction of her 66 years, used to make cheese and chutneys in a saucepan on the stove while they lived as lettuce farmers. As times hardened (in 25 years the price they got for their lettuce grew just 10%) they faced bankruptcy and eviction. A few friends suggested Anne try and sell her cheese. She did. She no longer makes it on the stovetop. They were driven into their business by necessity. The contrasts with those who pursue such endeavours with a sense of adventure or wanton bravado couldn't be more acute. It is easy to be frivolous, to squander, when you have money. These guys had no choice but to make their business work, and with everything on the line, they succeeded through sheer hard work and passion. The cheese is amazing. Cheesemaker goes back on the list.

We head to an apple farm that supplies the big Irish supermarket chains and presses its own juice from what doesn't make the grade. It all feels a bit industrial but there is something mesmerising about all the machinery. A strange little river bobs the apples round to the Wonka-like sorting room where they are graded by size and sent by conveyor belt to be hand placed and wrapped in supermarket trays or bags. They're not quite oompah loompahs in here, but the main differentials are height and gender, not face colour. Oversized or unevenly coloured apples head to the juicing room, whilst small ones are gently dropped into a revolving crate for sale as Hallowe'en special offers. The contrasts with Dick and Anne's cheese business are more than noticeable, not least when we head up into the fields to see the eastern European apple pickers at work.

I wasn't looking forward to today. The prospect of being stuck on a coach and driven from place to place like a load of Cox’s pippins bobbing their way towards the grading machine didn’t exactly appeal. Yet another reminder that, more often than not, I am too negative. Today was brilliant fun. On the drive across the Knockmealdown mountains we stopped to admire the stunning view and take photos. For a moment I stood and looked in wonder as sixty people of all ages, backgrounds and nationalities, none of whom had met or even heard of any of the others just five weeks ago, laughed, joked and horsed around like old friends.

I have spent long enough ranting over these past few weeks to obscure some of the human angle. Today we were treated to a glimpse into the power of the human spirit. At the same time, it was reassuring to observe people so close and comfortable with one another after such a short time, albeit one in which we have all been thrust together. A common passion binds most of us together. After the trip I head to the Blackbird with two of my best and newest buddies, where an impromptu strum and sing-song captivates us for a couple of hours. In those moments when you sit transfixed by music, and lyrics seem to wash over you and mean so much, it is easy to be thoughtful. I am becoming ever more so, as the days tick by and I get closer to having to make decisions. A welcome distraction is just round the corner, probably just close enough to save me from myself. On Saturday, I am going home.