Breakfast Countdown – No. 1

1) Carrick-On-Suir – 2009

My Great-Aunt is renowned for being a bloody excellent cook. I’ve been on the receiving end of her pies, roasts and cakes all of which have been second to none.

Then I ate her breakfast.

I went over to Ireland in 2009 with an ex-boyfriend. It was in fact a surprise trip for his birthday – I’m a pretty good girlfriend to be perfectly honest. We spent a day wandering round Cork and then drove down to Tipperary, where a big chunk of my family are from. I’d been meaning to go for years, you know, to find out a bit more about my roots and all that jazz. Marie and her family fed and watered us and kept us up all night with gossip and debate. It was brilliant.

The next morning however, got a whole lot better.

Marie served up a proper Irish Breakfast. It was essentially a platter of meat, with a few nods to healthiness thrown in. Sausages galore, white and black pudding, slices of bacon which seemed an inch thick. Mushrooms and tomatoes, fried eggs and fried bread. Doorstop soda bread to mop up all the scrummy juices. And as ever with Marie, it was considered rude not to accept offers on seconds.

That breakfast saw us right through the day. Right through the drive back to the airport and our flight home. Despite being amazingly delicious, what made it most special of all was eating in the places my Nan grew up and my mum spent her childhood. At the risk of sounding like a complete dick, it was like eating a bit of history. Really fucking meaty delicious history.

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