Ómós Digest #50: Island Time. Drop Everything.

A festival, food and tales capturing the spirit of Irish culture on Aran.

Next stop America!

“Go to the Aran Islands, and find a life that has never been expressed.” – W.B. Yeats

As an Island nation there is a deep rooted interest in the sea amongst Irish people. It is a national asset (one we have abused) but it might still be the answer to our ecological redemption, as well as being an incredible engine of opportunity and innovation. But for those who swim throughout the year (and they will tell you who they are), the sea offers itself as a physiological medicine, capable of healing the soul. All things considered, next Saturday we will be cooking on Inis Oírr, the smallest of the three Aran Islands, off the western seaboard of Connemara. What brings me to the Island is Drop Everything, a week-long multidisciplinary residency focusing on contemporary culture. Drop Everything is unlike other Irish festivals centred around costly installations and household names. The festival has become the nexus for aspirant creatives to flaunt, vaunt and interact. It brings together national and international participants from a cross section of the creative industries for a mixture of showcases, performances, lectures and ample victuals. When originally asked what - or more appropriately how - we would like to cook for 200 hungry mouths on a 3x2 km island situated 6km from Galway Bay, the answer was obvious: seafood. On Saturday 28th of May, my team of pirates and I will cook a seafood boil with whatever the ocean offers us on the day - I predict there will be a bountiful array of crustaceans, shellfish and local seaweeds on offer, all to be served on long communal tables en plein air! We’ll also make use of some of the wonderful produce grown via the Island’s traditional methods (see below). The food will be cooked in an aromatic broth inspired by the Cajun cookery of the Lowcountry, and of course you can expect fresh soda bread. For all you vegans, do not fear, there will be a heartwarming alternative and I can assure you it’s not vegan risotto. 

Suaimhneas in Connemara 

What makes these parts so unique, I find, is the mutual respect between the visceral landscape and the hardened people who have chosen to inhabit it. Made up of horizontal sheets of carboniferous limestone, the Island does not have naturally occurring topsoil. The glaciers and ice age cleared the land of any plant and soil material, leaving the bare rock exposed and unforgivable living conditions. Together with the harsh and howling wind that sweeps up over the Island, it would make for an improbable landscape for agriculture if it were not for the ingenious cultivation of the Aran bed - a mix of red seaweed and wrack hauled from the ocean, mixed with sand and manure then spread over the limestone. This self-reliance and the resilience to prosper on such terrain, is also apparent through language. Irish is still today, the primary language spoken on the Island. Walk the back roads of Inis Oírr and you will see teenagers chatting in groups as lán Gaeilge or in full Irish! Although the islands are renowned for their unique way of life, age-old traditions coexist comfortably with modern living. Thanks to ‘H2 Learning’, students can now study a wide range of subjects through remote learning options. For years, the lack of diverse education and subject choices on remote islands like those of Aran, have meant students were forced to travel to the mainland, sometimes never returning. By embracing technology, an alternative has been found. To quote the Irish Times article, “The idea is simple: if there aren’t enough students interested in a particular subject to justify hiring a teacher, different schools can share a teacher by providing that subject either online or through a blend of online and face-to-face learning.” The biological adaptability within the people of Aran explains how a festival like Drop Everything can exist. 

Chatting to the writer Manchán Magan this week, we remarked that of late, we have noticed an optimism for the Irish language among the public. It’s wonderful to see a renewed appetite in a language that for so long was deemed ‘dead’. As a result of this conversation, I have been thinking about the call to action to “drop everything” and how appropriate it seems today. I believe it presents itself as an open invitation to anyone looking to restart. For decades, Connemara has represented itself as a stronghold for our mother tongue, encouraging people who have a willingness to rekindle their relationship with our language, to come out and learn! If we were to interpret the term ‘drop everything’ in Irish, how might that be shaped? Mary Nally, founder of the festival, stated that in the past they have played with the term ‘Scaoil amach é’, meaning to ‘let it out’ or ‘release it’. Rather unfortunately as a child, this phrase referred to ‘letting out wind’ and to my mother's disgust, it was something I was quite good at too… but ‘scaoil’ also means ‘to let go’, which might be appropriate in the sense that the festival offers us solace. Bearing in mind that the Irish language is one of the oldest languages in Europe, rich with mythology and folklore, it more often than not carries a diverse array of meanings that far outweighs direct translation in English. Categorising ‘drop everything’ as ‘scaoil’ might be doing it an injustice. If we dig a little deeper into what the objective is, the beautifully soft sounding word ‘suaimhneas’ (soo-iv-nis) stands out. Suaimhneas translates to peace, however the true meaning when used in this context is one of calmness, composure and contentment. I recall looking out over the Islands with my mother as a kid as she declared “nach bhfuil suaimhneas álainn ann” (isn't there glorious peace and calmness out there?).

An ode to the region  

During the long and occasionally hot summers, I was often bribed into painting my Uncle’s sailing boat - typically with a bottle of Cidona, a packet or two of Tayto and a couple rounds of pool in the local pub ‘an Chistin’ (an adequate compensation for a 12 year old). The ‘Star of the West’, moored in a small inlet just outside the small fishing village of an Cheathrú Rua (meaning ‘the red quarter’ or ‘Carraroe’ in English), is a 34ft long and 9ft wide Galway Hooker with beautiful crimson red sails. The boat itself was crafted by my uncle's neighbour, Micheal Staif, one of the few remaining Currach makers left in the region (a currach is a traditional handmade and lightweight Irish fishing boat). Daytime voyages for line-caught mackerel was a pastime that few ever turned down, but painting a black boat black, seldom had many takers. Though a tedious task, while painting, I recall looking out into the horizon thinking about what it must be like to live on the Aran Islands. What life must be like as an Islander and whether there was somebody looking back at me (we mysteriously referred to the inhabitants of the Aran Islands as Islanders, despite coming from an island ourselves). 

Those summer afternoons remain fond in my memory and are made all the more sweet by what approached come evening time - Is maith an t-anlann an t-ocras (hunger is the best sauce). Following a quick post-work swim and a pint (or cidona), we would arrive home to a black bin bag rattling about on the doorstep. Molly, our red setter, immediately alerted by the bag's sudden movement would leap and yelp at the sight of what was inside. Filled to the brim with what we knew as ‘portáin, gliomaigh agus muiriní’ was a fisherman’s pick-and-mix of live brown crabs, lobsters and scallops, all caught near Aran by Johnny Jimmy Mac Donnacha and John Bhaba Jack Ó Conghaíle. Johnny Jimmy’s hands are like shovels, worn from years of grappling ropes in and out of the water. To this day, they are capable of swallowing up mine. Although intimidating at first sight, there is nothing but kindness and knowledge found within this venerable pair. I'm blown away by the connectivity they have with the land. Johnny Jimmy could tell you next week's weather just by looking at the sky. He recognises which bogs will provide solid turf and knows the name of every indigenous plant found in the region in Irish, where they are located and what's best to do with them. He polishes off pints faster than any man I’ve ever seen, dwarfing the glass with those monstrous hands. It is these kinds of skills, traditions and knowledge that makes this part of the world so special. Over the past few decades we have allowed them to dissipate. It's my opinion that with a recent resurgence in national pride, we have narrowly intercepted the extinction of much of our cultural identity. It’s people like Johnny Jimmy, Michael Staff, John Bhaba Jack, their families and the people of Aran, who make up the very essence of “an Ghaeltacht”. Therefore when it was proposed to me to cook at Drop Everything, it was these evenings eating shellfish smothered in garlic butter with my family, that conjured up the rather obvious idea that all I really wanted to do was to cook the food I have been eating my whole life.  

There are a handful of tickets remaining for the festival which can be purchased by sending Mary a DM. Tá súil agam go feicfidh mé sibh ann. 

Dublin Gastronomy Symposium 

If you are interested in further exploring Irish culture, there is an open invitation to the sixth biennial Dublin Gastronomy Symposium held in TU Dublin Grangegorman Central Quad on the 31st May and 1st June 2022. The theme is ‘Food and Movement’. Be sure to check out the provisional programme and registration details.

This exciting event will include a Keynote address from Carolyn Steel on food and movement in the modern city as well as the presentation of the DGS Fellowship Award to Liz Erraught and Professor Stephen Mennell. On Wednesday 1st June, there will be a special plenary session with talks from the incredible Dr. Claudia Kinmonth, Professor Finbarr Bradley, Professor Anna Davies and Nanphun Srakhunthod. I will be attending Wednesday 1st June, so hopefully see you there. 

Le meas,

Cúán.