I bet you saw the picture of the soup and soda bread and assumed that it came from a fine, local West Cork restaurant. Not so fast you jumper to conclusions. My goal today is to prove that I’m not just a pretty face, but also a world-class short-order cook. Top-notch really. In the pantheon of world-class short-order cooks, I can hold my own making grilled cheese sandwiches, boiling hot dogs, and making potato soup with soda bread.
This past Sunday, the weather here in Western North Carolina was dreary, chilly, and a bit damp. Sound familiar?
I came across the soup recipe on the Irish American Mom page a couple of weeks ago and tucked it away for a “weather appropriate” day. We also had a bag of the Irish-style flour on hand for such an occasion, which makes the bread making a relative cinch.
The process of making the soup was super easy and straightforward. In fact, you might say that even a Dallas Cowboys fan could make it. Then again, you might not. A bit of chopping. A bit of cooking. A bit of pureeing. It takes some work to screw up this soup.
For me, the bread was a bit trickier. Not that the process of putting the ingredients together was difficult. Three of the four members of our household are obsessed with the “Great British Baking Show,” and I sit on the sofa in complete trepidation watching the contestants put their bakes together. Then comes the judging. Oh, the judging. I’d fold quicker than the Dallas Cowboys “offensive” line.
I was baking the loaf in our LG range with an oven that looks like a dragon spewing fire. The visual effect is amazing and include the audible roar of the blower after the door is closed, and you can’t help being overawed by the spectacle. I better understand the feeling Tom Hanks’ character had in “Castaway” when he made a fire for the first time.
The bread started to get away from me twenty minutes into the forty minutes the recipe kindly requested. Because of the inferno in the oven, the outside was getting a little too dark, too fast. I covered the loaf with foil and moved it away from the angry, smelly breath of the dragon. When the bread was finally finished, or my patience ran out, the bread was pulled from the oven.
The soup was ladled into bowls. The bread was cut and smothered with Kerry Gold butter from REAL IRISH COWS! That’s the only Irish we’re getting this year. The only thing missing was a pint of Smithwick’s and a peat fire.
The soup and bread were top notch. Thank you Mairéad for the recipe.