Tourists are often mocked, usually for good reason, but they have one advantage over locals. More than likely, they tend to see more of a city than people living there long-term, or God forbid, people born and raised there. In other words, people who may skip gems in their own city precisely because they are so attractive to tourists. A full semester was just enough time to lure me into trap of anti-tourism. Sure, I got out and saw quite a few things, particularly during my exhausting scavenger hunt during my first weekend. However, as I settled in for the semester and became less determined to power through the rain in search of adventure, routine reared its pleasant head.
Suddenly with my time in Cork ticking down all too fast, I have snapped back to tourist mode. Now the struggle is deciding between revisiting the people and places I have grown to love, or crossing a few last places off my bucket list. In between packing up everything I own, of course. No matter where I go, food has been central to all of this.
Wavering between what was familiar and what has become familiar, I wonder what I will miss most from Cork. Only a couple weeks, I already had a laundry list of foods I missed from Boston. Everything from the Thai restaurant of my heart, Bangkok Pinto, to dim sum with friends in Chinatown, to New England-style hot dog buns, all manner of food trucks, and sushi burritos in the Seaport. Other cravings took longer to manifest, such as my yearning for cheap kettle corn.
Initially, I did not think I would miss Irish cuisine. The majority of the meals I ate were ones I made in my own kitchen. Though I am a fairly adventurous eater, this does not describe my cooking style. Besides, my roommates’ potential wrath at the odor would prevent me from trying anything especially traditional, like tripe and drisheen. Whereas, the sorts of places I passed by daily, kebab shops and “chippies” and grills specializing in hamburgers, were not really my thing either. Still Cork had a lot to offer, I only bit off the top of the iceberg, primarily through a series of brunches dedicated to that very effort. All this without even venturing out to the country’s gourmet capital, Kinsale.
For nostalgia if nothing else, Clonakilty pudding emerged as a strong contender in my first week in the city. I will forever associate it with my quick lunch break during Orientation, quite disoriented, happening on a heavenly combination of black pudding and Ballymaloe relish. If these words do not mean anything to you, no worries, I was in the same boat. Clonakilty is a cute little town, in fact an two-time national winner of Ireland’s “Tidy Towns” award, in the Small Town category. It also lends its name to a dish that is definitely not a dessert. Non-vegetarians click here for a more thorough explanation. Non-vegetarians click here for a more thorough explanation. Whereas, Ballymaloe relish is one of the products I have committed to taking home as a souvenir, a local condiment which has been produced in Little Island in County Cork since 1990. Taste aside, this is one reason I appreciated these products, for the knowledge that they were locally-produced.
The power of narrative even caused me to appreciate Cork’s downtown Starbucks. As more of a tea drinker than a coffee addict, I tend to skip these in the United States. However, in Cork not only is Starbucks a study spot alternative to the often overcrowded library, the menu is intriguingly different from that in the United States, and the building which houses the Starbucks is certifiably historic. Very early on in my Irish Art History class, I was shocked to learn that the (admittedly gorgeous) building was the home of antiquarian Richard Sainthill, where Cork-born artistic great, Daniel Maclise, boarded during the start of his career. Now put that in your iced macchiato and drink it. Huntington Avenue simply does not compare.
An independently owned coffee shop which deserves a mention is Café Depeche on Washington Street, a few minutes from the University College Cork campus. It is painted an eye-catching purple and a barista told me that the owner only allows them to play music by Depeche Mode. I admire the commitment to a theme. Especially because their appreciation for the band is further proven by the café’s sister shop, the Mode Boutique, specializing in chocolate and all-too trendy bubble waffles.
Having ditched a meal plan sophomore year without looking back (except for that year where I was an RA), eateries on campus are tied many other fond memories. The student canteen, or “Main Rest”, rather than using swipes had students pay sweet, sweet, subsidized prices. An incredibly filling “meal deal” featured a plate loaded with chips (fries), baked beans, and sausages for €3.25 every day. Though, I was told of by a friend who may or may not know better, that it was cooler to eat at nearby Elements Café. On those days where I had classes in the far-flung Western Gateway building, the café there was a to agonize over programming, meet up with friends, and kill time.
Our term souvenir comes directly from the French term for “to remember.” Memory is a tricky beast which fades, distorts, and disappears. In building memories around meals, personally, even on the taste of the food, threat of the conversation, and finicky details have vanished, the memory of companionship makes for something worth looking back upon.
