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According to legend, the majestic River Boyne that weaves its way through Ireland’s ancient east was once a beautiful goddess named Boann. The river rises near the boglands of Carbury in County Kildare, where it was said that Nechtan, King of Leinster and husband to Boann, had a fortress built on a hill.
Within that fortress there lay a courtyard, and within that courtyard there lay a sacred well of wisdom surrounded by nine enchanted hazel trees. The hazelnuts from those trees would drop into the well below and be eaten by a speckled salmon living within it.
Nechtan was extremely protective of this well, allowing only his cup-bearers to visit it. One day, against his wishes, Boann went there, and challenged the power of the well by walking around it anticlockwise or túathal in Irish. Upon gazing down into it, the water surged up, enveloping Boann in a powerful wave that swept over the land before rushing out towards the Irish Sea. Thus, the River Boyne was formed.
The river has always been significant in mythology due to its location, being near to Tara, the seat of power for the high kings of Ireland. It’s said that Saint Patrick entered the Boyne on his way to Slane, where he lit the Paschal fire in defiance of local rulers and druids, an act that is linked with bringing Christianity to Ireland.
Even today the Boyne, and its goddess, seems to resonate in our consciousness. A local distillery that produces whiskey and gin has adopted the namesake of Boann, sharing her story on their website. This could be viewed simply as savvy marketing, or as evidence that food and drink producers seem to recognise the draw of these stories and the power of the river as a symbol.
This makes sense, as a lot of our old tales in this country centre around the power and sanctity of the natural world. The seasons are highlighted, and food often plays a pivotal role, embodying something mystical.
The same fish mentioned in the above story reappears in a better-known one – The Salmon of Knowledge – wherein a young Fionn Mac Cumhaill, future warrior and leader of the armies of Na Fianna, aids his teacher, Finnegas in attempting to catch it. A poet and scholar, Finnegas had spent many years in this pursuit, for it was said that the first person to taste the flesh of this magical fish would be granted all the wisdom of the world.
In Ireland, February 1 also marks the celebration of Lá Fhéile Bríde, Saint Brigid’s Day, and it’s during this time that we celebrate Brigid in all the forms that she has taken over time, including the pagan goddess and the patron saint of our country.
When it came to creating dishes for these events, I was directly inspired by that tale of Boann, as well as the figure of Brigid. I sourced salmon from Nicky’s place in Howth, one of my favourite suppliers in the country. They smoke thick fillets in-house on their barbecues, which allowed me to portion the fish out into bigger chunks.
Brigid is sometimes referred to as The Fiery Arrow, and she has long been associated with the alchemical force of flame, so I ran a bamboo skewer through each of the pieces and torched them. I grated hazelnuts over the top of each skewer, and added some pickled cucumber, lemon aioli, sprigs of dill and carrageen seaweed.
There are many stories that associate Brigid especially with food and nature. It was said that she had the ability to turn water into beer, and that she once gave away her mother’s entire store of butter to the needy, only for it to replenish twofold. Stories like this always prove wonderful for kickstarting my imagination when menu planning.
With this in mind I baked stout and treacle bread as a canapé, topped with homemade butter that I had infused with wild gorse flowers. It is tradition to churn butter on Imbolc, and the festival revolves heavily around dairy, farming and the harvest. The name comes from I mbolg meaning in the belly in Irish, referring to the breeding cycle of sheep.
As another snack, my colleague Kelly made charcoal infused gougères – little choux-pastry balls – another nod to fire and flame, and we piped whipped sheep’s cheese inside to represent the fertile bellies and full teats of the animals.
Written records of the history of Ireland did not appear until the Middle Ages, written down by Christian monks. As a result, much of the early history carries an air of mystery, and it’s unclear how much of what was written is an accurate documentation of oral storytelling and how much was transmogrified through the lens of the new religion.
One of these attempts at documentation is Lebor Gabála Érenn, or The Book of the Taking of Ireland, also called The Book of Invasions. This 11th century text is considered mytho-historical, and was recorded by multiple authors over dozens of medieval manuscripts. In it there is reference to Brigid as having in her band of companions “Torc Triath”, king of the boars of Ireland.
She was also reported to have blessed a wild boar that was terrorising a local community, only for it to settle afterwards. In reference to this we served wild boar, slow-cooked and pulled, and also breaded and fried as schnitzels.
One of my favourite things about folklore involving food is the layers that can be unearthed within them. For an event celebrating Samhain, the pagan festival that begot Halloween, I made a venison tartare. On the menu I wrote that it was paired with “devil’s blackberry gel”, much to the intrigue of our guests.
I explained that this comes from an old rural superstition in Ireland and across the United Kingdom, that blackberries are to be avoided after Michaelmas, or the Feast of Saint Michael and All Angels, which falls on September 29. In folklore, this was the date that lucifer was cast out of heaven by Saint Michael. To add insult to injury he landed in a thorny blackberry bush, and in his rage, spat on and cursed the fruit, making them dried up and bitter.
It’s likely that this date has more to do with the seasonal change of the weather, the coming of the first frost, and the natural life cycle of the blackberry plant, more so than the influence of dark forces, but it’s a great story.
And that’s the thing about folklore. There’s so much ancient wisdom to be found in these tales, whether it’s channelling a more magical way to keep seasonality in mind, or a reminder for us to cherish all that nature provides for us. I will endeavour to keep serving up these stories, as long as there is an appetite for them.
