Mantecatura

I may have fallen beyond the limits of the art of translation; but I have noticed that when conversation takes you down unexpected avenues and you continue willingly with it, you find yourself in a new realm of meaning, which is not where you meant to go but perhaps that is only because your sense of direction is not that subtle.  Case in point, Mantecatura, I was reading about risottos (a favourite past time, anti pasta time, of the gluten intolerant) when I found this word.

from Oggi

Having an Italian in my life I leaned against his kitchen’s doorway and asked for a definition of this word.   He described it as a bringing together, the final incorporation of flavour and flavours before you serve a dish, as he tossed the hot pan of pancetta, wine, pasta and freshly added egg and parmigiano-reggiano that would momentarily be served as carbonara, to demonstrate.

He more memorably defined it a few days later when I attempted to cook an Ottolenghi feta-fish stew. When pushed to give an opinion, “Well, did you like it?”, he responded, “it had nice flavours but it lacked….mantecare”. I had failed to bring Ottolenghi’s fabulous Mediterranean stew with a feta twist together.

And so I have come to think a little more of Mantecare, the combination of elements and those steps or points where you amalgamate parts into a greater whole. In a risotto, where the word is generally used, it is the last of a successful series of steps when you generously add Parmesan, maybe some butter, and if you are my Australian friend, a final drop of the white wine and mix it through.  

Mantecatura is more than parsley sprinkle or mint sprigs used to dress a dish, or salt to bring out the flavour. It is elsewhere to the foundation of good cooking, which is good ingredients; use a good stock in a risotto and the rest of the ingredients, bar the cheese, are food thrills.

The essence of Mantecare strikes me as being more than adding a bit of butter or cheese to risotto. Here is where I wander from translation, is mantecare the generosity of ingredients and thought when you taste something in the process and decide that it is good but something more is needed? Is it the hat upon which you stick your feather and then tilt it to a cocky angle? I made a cake yesterday, whiskey and chocolate and while the recipe stopped with sprinkling more booze upon the cake, I thought it could go further. If I stopped there it would have been attention, not love.  From a different angle, it is a creator standing before a work and not finishing until they utter, “it is good”.

And so the cake received a dressing, an icing of orange and sugar to set off the chocolate and whisky. While it is not beautiful, my cooking and dressing rarely is, I hope that this time I have approached mantecare.

Land of Kings and Butter

Before I came to Ireland, under the wing of my stepmother, herself being from Mohedian House in Croghan, Boyle, Co. Roscommon, I had been told that Ireland was the Land of Saints and Scholars. I had looked at Desmond Guinness and Jacqueline O’Brien’s book on the Great Irish Castles and Houses like the tale that it was, of a foreign land.

Castle Ryan, Lough Key, Co. Roscommon

I have since met and known some of those princes.  Those Georgian Houses I have loved but they are relics of the past, those living in them have to fight to hold on to them and to work very resourcefully in order to live in them with dignity; weddings, festivals, country hotels help span the difference.  It is easy to forget what makes legends legendary or to bring to mind the excellence of friends whom you have come to know so well, too well. Sometimes I forget.

Graceful Georgian Squares in the cities, countryside themes of large houses, long private walls, dignified parish corners and neat white washed cottages offer immediate satisfying charms as you survey the land. If you will forgive me, so much of this often reminds me of the presence of occupation and colonialism, and the subjugation and poverty of the Irish.

There are exceptions, but there is also a majority. This easily admired landscape locates the visual and historical wealth of the land on it and into it, more often than from it.

I am largely ignorant when it comes to the history of Ireland. I have heard of ancient tombs, Newgrange (and eventually Loughcrew), a Cattle Raid, Warp Spams, the Famine and the English, the Revolution, Yeats, the Troubles and the Church and now the EEU.

I forget how generous and sophisticated Ireland is and how its richness and its resourcefulness seep up from the earth and its past. While the Irish endured long attempts to subjugate their character, they were not without eminence.

Three points have recently illuminated my mental map. I have remembered what I should have known from Uí Maille, Cockagee and, go figure, Butter. 

As I was setting the table at a friends I put down an extra place in case one more should arrive. It brought to mind a (most likely true) story of Grace O’Malley (Gráinne Mhaol) who, when refused hospitality by the Lord of Howth, kidnapped his son and asked as a ransom that the Lord of Howth should forever set a place at the table for an unexpected guest.  When he acceded she returned his son; the place is still being set.  

Known as the Pirate Queen of Mayo, Gráinne Ní Máille was not exactly a pirate or a Queen but she was a sovereign and, I think, she was simply operating on an earlier, different or exterior value system to the English. Your ship near her waters was simply fair game. Grainne was a head of her Clan and led them as such. She petitioned directly, in Latin or through interpretation, for the return of her imprisoned relations from Queen Elisabeth I and the removal of the local governor Richard Bingham.

Her request was (partially) granted. I wonder if the Queen did not have some time for this other woman leading in a man’s world. Her story is rather terrific and completely of this land - generous and independence, with negotiation.

Then there is Cockagee, a cider being made in Slane, Co. Louth. It is made in a manner similar to cidre-bouché.  Cockagee references goose turd (Cac a gheidh) and the small green apples of that name that

were delicious and highly valued for their virtues in cooking and cider making in the sixteenth century. That particular apple bite is most likely lost to us though the maker of Cockagee cider, Mark Jenkenson, has searched. He has however found and brought into Ireland the process of keeving. It is old and apparently Breton way of preparing cider. The pulp of the apple macerates in the pressed juice, thus releasing pectin that produces a gel which is siphoned from the pressing – leaving the juice ready for a long fermentation. Mark talks of a history of cider making in older Ireland.

I forget that Ireland made things, that it was not just the famine and a history of potatoes. Cider, mead - it is not just a pint of Guinness that we can raise our glasses too.

Finally, Ireland was not always known for its food but it has long been known for its butter. It suits us.  Butter did not suit the warmer, olive oil laden, more southerly, formerly unrefrigerated climates. Pliny the Elder mentioned butter as a delicate part of the strange barbaric northerner’s culture and discussed its medicinal qualities. This, I suspect was another way of saying that it improved bread.

Butter is rich in this lands history. We have bog people and we have bog butter. The ancient Irish were burying it in firkins in the bogs (for

preservation from enemies, time and post-raid munchies) thousands of years ago. 

It has been buttering our bread for a long time.  From maybe the 1750’s, the butter market in Ireland provided an income source for farmers and even moderate success to some Irish families. The Farm by Lough Gur, Co. Limerick, tells the story of the rare middle class Catholic family in the mid 19^th century; making and selling butter was part of their financial success. We even networked for it, Ireland had military roads for military movements and butter roads for butter – I know which road I’d rather go hitch hiking on.

From Cork Harbour butter was sent to different parts of the world: Spain, the West Indies even South

America. The Butter Exchange (1770-1925) in Cork was where the butter was graded and auctioned before it was shipped.  The best butter was graded as first and the least as bishop. I do wonder at the name selection.

Butter is not just to be found on the breads. Buttery, some of the soft washed rind Irish cheeses that I admire, Ardrahan, Brewer’s Gold, Durrus, Milleens, all remind me, to various degrees of sweet, salted or cultured butter. It seems appropriate that what makes such a beautiful flavour in the cheese should resonate so well with what else one knows to value in this strange and wonderful land.

Brewer’s Gold (from abitmoreveg.com)

It is easy to forgot how naturally rich and wonderful Ireland naturally is, until you set out a few things and places for supper - butter, cheese, cider and a setting for the unexpected.