Ice Cream Ireland

I wrote this for today’s Irish Times magazine, with the sea salt and sea salt ice cream recipes:

WHEN IT COMES to summer, at least in memory, the days are sunny, lazy and worry-free. This year, we have already had so many sunny days that it feels like a real summer, and it’s triggering memories that have been dormant these past few years. There’s the smell of pollen, cut grass and barbecue smoke on clothes, the tired buzz of insects overwhelmed by abundance, music outdoors, ripples of contented laughter, the slipperiness of suntan lotion, the heat of the skin after a day at the beach, and the softness of truly ripe fruit. The senses awaken.

Of summer tastes, the first that comes to my mind is salt. It’s the salt of sweat, but even more so the salt of the sea; salt dried on the lips and flavouring everything consumed post-beach. We are lucky here in Ireland that the sea is never too far away that we can’t reach it when a day off coincides with sunshine. I am lucky living in Dingle, when even on a busy day I can escape to Bín Bán or Doonshean for a quick, cold dip and return to work within the hour, revived, with feet sandy in my shoes and a thin shield of salt on my skin.

Salt, in moderation, is not only tasty, but it is a vital component of our bodies. We need it to regulate our fluid content, especially in summer, and perhaps that’s what makes salt a slightly primeval experience. John F Kennedy, at the America Cup race in 1962, said: “All of us have, in our veins, the exact same percentage of salt in our blood that exists in the ocean, and, therefore, we have salt in our blood, in our sweat, in our tears. We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea – whether it is to sail or to watch it – we are going back from whence we came.”

I find it strange that most of us give salt so little thought, especially since it is a staple of the kitchen. It’s so varied, and so easy to make if you have access to the sea. Try it. When you’re leaving the beach this summer, fill up your empty water bottles with sea water after you pack away your towels, trowels and that weighty tome you’ve put off reading all year. A litre of seawater should make 40 grams of salt. You’ll find that it’s more complex and more interesting in flavour than anything you can buy in a shop. It will give you a lingering taste of your holiday and a great conversation piece at a dinner party.

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At 3:30 am, on Sunday morning, my partner woke me with a terrified whisper – “There’s a man in the house!”

My first thought was that we were being robbed, and (after checking that little Róisín was safely asleep) I pretended to ring the Gardai (my phone was charging downstairs), telling them in a very loud voice to come around. There wasn’t any sound downstairs, so I  went to the stop of the stairs, switching on the light. There, looking up at me, was a big man, perhaps in his late 30s.

What struck me, with a surge of adrenaline, is how lives could be changed with such a moment. If I hit him and he fell and hit his head, I’d be in serious trouble. If he had a knife, I’d be in serious trouble. Either way, things wouldn’t turn out well. It was soon apparent, however, that he was drunk to the point of hardly being able to speak. That made his being in the house less sinister, but still I had no way of knowing whether or not he was a violent or a gentle drunk. I bundled him out the back door and locked it.

I rang the Gardai in Tralee (Dingle Gardai go off duty at 3:00 am), and they told me once he was outside there shouldn’t be a problem. I’m guessing they had more serious matters to deal with on a Saturday night. Meanwhile, outside, the man started taking off his clothes, and he kept trying to open the door (although not in a violent manner).

Worried that he’d die of exposure or fall and hit his head, I went outside. Again, he didn’t seem violent, but he was so drunk that it was hard to know what he would do. I told him this wasn’t his house, helped him into his clothes, and brought him to the front of the house. I asked him where he lived or where he was staying, for I would have walked him home, but he couldn’t tell me. I asked him if there was someone we could ring, but he shook his head. All he said was, “My wife will kill me.” Finally, he stumbled off down the street toward town.

We had trouble falling back to sleep, but in the scheme of things, we were quite aware that although shocking to have someone come into the house, no harm had been done. I had forgotten to lock the front door, and my partner made me promise I wouldn’t forget again.

The episode made me think about Ireland and drink. Although per capita drinking has fallen in Ireland, we still top the table in terms of binge drinking. It’s the latter that landed the fellow into our house and has been the cause of so many problems with fights, with full accident and emergency wards and heartache for friends and family. We still don’t take binge drinking seriously as a nation, and a great number of people don’t think it’s a problem at all.

I think it’s a problem, and I’ve thought that for a while. I don’t have any answers, and I’m not going to make any campaign on the issue. I’m not prudish about drinking, and in fact had been to the pub myself the same evening for a couple of pints and some conversation. A couple of pints, however, is a very different thing from drinking yourself into a state where you don’t even know where you live.

Besides making me understand the preciousness of one’s family and how much we need the feeling of safety in our homes, the man in our house also helped to clarify thoughts about our own shops.

We’ve talked before about whether we should get a wine license or how cool it would be to serve alcohol over ice cream (vanilla with a shot of Bailey’s, etc). I think now that I’m very happy that we have a safe, alcohol-free, family environment. We’re not going to change anything about Ireland’s difficult relationship with drinking, but I feel good that we can offer a little alternative world, where the only binge will be an overindulgence of ice cream, chocolate or coffee.

Technorati tags: Ireland, drinking, binge, alcohol

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Yesterday, I took a day off, and since my partner had to take photos for the Dingle Film Festival, I had even more time than usual with Róisín. I know it’s been said before, but there is such an awful amount one can learn from a 10 month baby. She has just started to really notice her surroundings, pointing out things of interest, and it’s hard not to be swept up in the wonder of the most mundane objects (see video below).

With food as well, there is such a sense of joy, playing and exploration. Her encounter with a chocolate-covered biscuit (photo above) was quite amazing (although her mother wasn’t impressed), and of course everything, including sticks from the garden (photo right), end up in her mouth.

I think that keeping that sense of newness is always important in businesses as well as life, and even though sleep has been a bit of a challenge, I really have found having a baby has helped in so many ways with work.

Understanding the preciousness of life, responsibility, caring, joy, wonder, love – these are all things I try to carry into my days making and selling ice cream.

Work has its stresses, the news all around us can be depressing, but thanks to Róisín, there is now not a day that passes when I don’t give thanks for what I have.

She truly is precious.

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Here’s my article from today’s Irish Times Magazine:

If the Lord delight in us, then He will bring us into this land and give it to us, a land which floweth with milk and honey. – Numbers, 14:8

In the townland of Tobar na Múdán, just outside Dingle, darkness envelopes everything. Hidden is the view from the reeds and waters of the Short Strand to the dramatic heights of Sliabh Mhacha Ré, for the only light filters out the door of Colm Murphy’s milking parlour. With their black coats, his little Kerry cows are invisible in the yard, and the white markings of the larger Friesians appear as disembodied splotches. It’s early – birds haven’t yet found their voice, and the profound silence outside is hardly disturbed by the gentle shifting feet of the cattle, the soft rhythm of their breathing, and the muted “chuck, chuck, chuck” of the milking machine.

Colm shows me how it’s done – how to open the gate to let in the cattle, how to tie the safety chain behind them once they clamber onto the milking platform, and how to attach the cups to the udders. He has the easy, economical movements of someone with years experience and is gracious enough not to mind me slowing things down. The cows, more interested in their morning treat, don’t take much notice of my fumblings. Milk starts flowing into the tank, and Colm tells me about each cow – this one lost a calf, this one is quite old, and this one might kick if you’re not careful. Soon enough the cows are dry, and we release them to make room for the next batch.

There is nothing glamourous about milking, especially on a dark, damp, cold morning. However, it’s deeply comforting. Perhaps it’s being surrounded by such large and gentle beasts. Perhaps it’s the rhythm of it. Perhaps it’s that we’ve been milking for thousands of years and the process feels timeless. For cows are intertwined with Ireland’s history. We can see it in our place names – “Múdán” in Colm’s townland refers to the inside of a cow’s horn. We can find a cow in Drumshambo, Ardboe, Inishbofin, Lough Bo, and Boyne (from Bóinne, Boann, or Bovinda – the goddess of the white cow). The road that might take you to those places, “bóthar,” is defined in width by the length and breadth of a cow.

Our legendary epic, the Táin Bó Cúailinge (about a cattle raid), is a part of Lebor na hUidre, the Book of the Dun Cow, the oldest extant Irish manuscript. We can go back further, however. Old Croghan Man’s last meal included buttermilk (and milk might have caused his death – a possible ritual sacrifice to ensure the supply of milk and corn to his people). We can go back further still, since scientists radio carbon-dated a cow bone found in a dig at Ferriter’s Cove in Kerry to 4500 BC. Considering that humans probably consumed their first cow milk in the Near East between 5,000 and 7,000 BC, when they developed the enzyme needed to digest it, it seems us Irish were early adopters when it came to this new food source.

And adopt it we did. Cows featured in Irish society, from birth to death. As a newborn, St. Brigid (known as ”Brigid of the Kine” – cows) was bathed in milk, as would have been usual; only the poor bathed their babies in water. Boys tended the cows (our Irish word for boy, “buachaill,” comes from “cowherd”), and women milked them. Cows made up all or part of a bride price, poets charged for their work in cows, cows were guarded jealously and raided mercilessly, and when chieftains fell in battle (often on a “creach” or cattle raid), their cows joined the mourners following the coffin to its final resting place. The Annals of Ulster, along with other references, speak of a tradition of calves taken away from their mothers upon a death, so that their hungry cries amplified the keening mourners.

Professor A. T. Lucas, in his book Cattle in Ancient Ireland, says, “It must be emphasized that these thousands of allusions (in Irish manuscripts) are not to cattle in general but specifically to cows and more specifically to cows as yielders of milk. There are no beef-eating heroes in Irish literature; the doughtiest Irish warriors relied on pig-meat for their intake of protein.” Milk provided food, and it also provided strength. In 1596, Sir George Carew reported back to England that the Irish were too powerful in the summertime, when they lived “upon the milk and butter of their kine,” and recommended that would-be invaders wait until the milk-less winter months to attack.

So, how is it that the milk cow, once the highest unit of currency under Brehon law, has little value these days? According to local folklorist T. P. O’Conchuir, the Dingle creamery paid farmers the equivalent of 15c a gallon in the 1960’s. A gallon of milk sold in the shop, ladled out in pint measures with a splash thrown in for the cat, was 30c. A pint of Guinness was 15c, and pints have kept a fairly constant ratio to wages over time. By that measure, we now pay around half what we once did for milk, and farmers receive a quarter. Why? I can’t believe it’s about quality, since I have never tasted milk as good as we have here in Ireland. It seems, like many Irish foods, that milk has become a commodity, something taken for granted.

Perhaps one of the reasons is that for most people milk is no longer a local affair. It’s big business. According to the National Dairy Council, the domestic Irish dairy market is valued at €1 billion, and the foreign market is an additional €2.36 billion or 27% of our entire food and drink exports. This supports 22,000 farmers, who produce over 5 billion litres of milk annually. These are huge figures, but they wouldn’t impress many farmers. Their numbers have fallen from 68,000 in 1984, and more will leave their land now that milk prices have collapsed to unsustainable levels. Jackie Cahill of ICSMA points out that the average cost of producing a litre of milk is 23c, excluding labour, and that most processors pay out a similar figure, leaving farmers with no income whatsoever.

MEP Mairead McGuinness, who serves on the European Agriculture and Rural Development Committee, says farmers are facing the cold economic reality of global markets. European measures will help a bit to ease the current milk crisis, but she sees a future for only some Irish dairy famers, those who “get their cost base in order.” She does, however, point out that milk in Ireland is divided between the milk we drink at home and agribusiness products. We can work on adding value for the former, looking at organics and other niches, but the latter is simply about price. The question is, given the inherent disadvantages of being a small island with relatively small farms, can we compete on price at all? Or, with all the cost cutting, will we lose the very quality that makes Irish milk so special?

On a visit last year to Tokyo, I noticed a statue of a huge black and white cow in swanky Roppongi Hills. On closer inspection, it fronted the Motoyama Milk Bar, a cafe quite comfortable with its surroundings of extreme high fashion and Michelin star restaurants. Inside, you can drink a small glass of unhomogenised milk, from a traditional farm in Hokkaido, for €3.50, or you could sample their other dairy snacks. Japan is not unique; milk bars are popping up around Asia and beyond. A rockabilly version has opened in Berlin. In New York City, at the Momofuku Milk Bar in Greenwich Village, my brother recently handed over more than $10 for a glass of cornflake flavoured milk and a cookie. He also found Ronnybrook Farm’s cafe in the Meatpacking District, where you can buy a pint of milk to take away for $3.

While I don’t think milk bars are the answers to the woes of Irish dairy farmers, I do think it’s interesting that milk has such high value in some of the world’s trendiest urban centres. To me this means there are still opportunities for farmers, and since nine out of ten of them upgraded their facilities last year, investing on average a year’s income in their operations, there is clearly a huge will to survive. Some have focused on efficiency and others are looking at new ways to increase their incomes. Irish farmers have a long tradition of making cheese, and they are now also churning out clotted cream, buttermilk, ice cream (we have a veritable glut of ice cream makers at the moment) and many other milk-based foods. Some are even going back to the practise of selling milk themselves.

In Mullingar, Gerry and Mary Kelly bottle their own, and their Moon Shine Dairy milk took home the top prize at the 2009 National Organic Awards. They are also the reigning “New Cheese” champions at the British Cheese Awards. I drank their milk recently amidst the bustle of the Dublin Food Coop in the Liberties and found it surprisingly light and beautifully smooth. The Kellys decided on organic certification in 1999 as a way of adding value so that they could continue farming, and they started selling their own products in 2006. They use biodynamic methods, although they are not Demeter certified, and treat their Ayreshire herd with herb’s, homeopathy and flower essences. Mary has just a completed Level 1 Bach remedy course and hopes to be a trained practitioner for animals by the end of this year.

“It’s a bit demoralising to see a litre of water dearer than a litre of milk,” she said, when I asked her how the business was going, “but we are still here. One has to integrate and juggle sales, paperwork, trade events and parenting. I’m a great believer that when you still yourself, your inner voice has something to say. That helps great deal.”

Of course it wouldn’t make sense for every dairy farmer to start bottling milk. It would, however, make a lot of sense for farmers to start thinking about how they can work with their local dairies to add value. We as a nation need to think about how we can elevate the perception of Irish food, both at home and abroad, to reflect its excellence. Vincent Cleary of Glenisk Ltd., believes Ireland is uniquely positioned to be the natural home of good food in a global context and strongly advises all farmers to look at the organic option. He pays his farmers a top price for milk and says as long as farmers watch their inputs, manage their grassland, farm in as environmentally friendly a manner as possible and comply with legislation, the future for organic milk production is bright.

Back at Colm Murphy’s farm, we’re almost done with the milking. The sky has brightened, and the green fields and old stone walls take shape around us as we release the last few cows back into the yard and visit the new calves. One, a skinny creature with huge eyes, latches onto the end of the bottle of fresh, warm milk I’m holding, and suckles away. Colm, a bottle in each hand, manages two calves at once, and he says he loves being a part of the natural cycles of life; the microcosm that is his farm. He says he is a sex therapist, midwife, vet, bookkeeper, handyman, manager, driver, purchasing officer, and cook, depending on the time of year or the time of day. I’m relieved to hear the last, because I’m hungry and ready for breakfast. Colm has put aside a bucket of delicious, raw Irish milk. As soon as we’re done, we’ll drink it.

You can read the on-line version here.

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I’ve been working on an article on milk, which I think will be in next week’s Irish Times magazine. I did a fair bit of research, including reading a fascinating book, Cattle in Ancient Ireland, by A.T. Lucas. It’s amazing how intertwined milk cows are with Irish history, and our literature and historical tracts are full of cows. Professor Lucas writes, “It must be emphasised that these thousand of allusions (in ancient literature) are not to cattle in general but specifically to cows and more specifically to cows as yielders of milk. There are no beef-eating heroes in Irish literature; the doughtiest Irish warriors relied on pig-meat for their intake of protein.”

The importance of both cows and milk in Ireland is the basis for the article, along with my belief that we have the best milk in the world. Since there were far too many interesting tidbits in the book (and that was only one part of my research!) for a relatively short piece, I thought I’d put some of it here.

10 Things You Might Not Know About Cows and Ancient Ireland

1. The milk cow was the highest unit of currency under Brehon law, and Lucas writes, “The cow was the measure of everything: it was the unit of value; the ultimate in poverty was the man with only one cow; the wealth of the richest consisted of vast herds of them.”

2. There was a practise of bathing new-born infants in milk. St. Brigid was the daughter of a bondsmaid, and her mother was sent out to get milk, then “the maidservants washed St. Brigid with the milk that was still in her mother’s hand.”

In 1171, Henry II arrived in Ireland and insisted on reforms including that babies be baptised in churches. From the Chronicle of the Reign of Henry II: “For it was formally the custom in various parts of Ireland that immediately a child was born, the father or some other person immersed it three times in water and, if it was the child of a rich man, he immersed it three times in milk.” There us no suggestion that this bathing was a Christian baptismal rite.

3. It seems there was a tradition of not letting the calves go to their mothers after the death of an important person, so that they, missing their mother, joined in the keening, or wailing. In Cogadh Gaedhel re Gallaibh, describing the death of Brian Boru’s brother, it states: “Calves are not suffered to go to the cows, in lamentation for the noble Mathgamhain.”

From the Annals of Ulster, under 737: “Cernach, son of Fogartach, is treacherously slain by his own wicked associates, whom the calves of the cows, and the women of this lower world in long continued sadness bewailed.”

4. Buachaill, the Irish word for boy, comes from cowherd.

5. It was believed that a cow deprived of her calf would retain her milk. There are many stories about calves being separated and what had to be done to get the mother to give milk (in one miracle, the wolf who killed a calf allows the cow to lick it as she would her calf, at which point the cow gives milk). So, much of dairying had to do with keep the calf close by and yet not letting it drink all the milk. Stuffed calf skins were used later on.

6. There was a strange tradition, recorded on the Iveragh Peninsula, that when cows became ill after calving (reducing their milk), women blew three puffs of their breath into the cow’s vaginia as a therapeutic treatment. This is echoed in Herodotus talking of the Scythians: “…they insert a tube made of bone and shaped like a flute into the mare’s genitals… and while one blows, another milks.” It’s also echoed in Al0’Ubaid, from 2500BC, where milkers are shown in profile sitting behind the cows with their mouths adjacent to the genital region of the animals.

7. Cattle were brought to burials. There is a reference in Annals of Connacht to Domhnall O Conchobhair, who was killed in 1307 and buried at Boyle Abbey, Co. Roscommon: “He was taken to the Curlieu hills, and never in that age was there brought with any corpse so many droves and flocks of cattle and companies of horse and food and mercenaries as we brough with him to his burial.”

8. Cows not only defined wealth, but they were used as currency. They made up all or part of a bride-price. When a king of Tara married the daughter of the King of Offaly, he promised four score cows, two score at once, and two score not later than the next May Day.

9. Poets charged for their work in cows. The law tract Uraicecht Becc details the payments due to various grades of poets for their poems, ranging from one cow to ten cows (which tells you how valuable poems were at the time!).

10. Cattle raiding was common place. After all, our great epic, The Tain, is about a cattle raid. Creach, a word said to have originally meant marking or branding, is used as a reference to both the raid itself and for the intended prey.

Oisin, lamenting the quiet life says:

No courting or hunting, the two crafts we looked forward to
no fighting no raiding, no learning of athletic feats.

Gan bheit ag suirghe ag seilg
in dá cheird le a raibhe ar súil
gan deabaidh gan denamh creach
gan beith ag foghluim cleas luith.

Even the saints shared the plunder of raids. St. Caillin of Fenagh is depicted as insisting on a fat cow from every prey from each son of a king and chieftain.

Technorati tags: Irish, Ireland, cow, cattle, milk, ancient

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As we head into Lent, here’s my third “Things to Give Up” list.

As anyone who has followed this blog knows, I’m very fond of chocolate and feel it’s not really the best thing to give up, especially since the Vatican made a pronouncement in 1662, specifically allowing it (at least in drinking form – more here). Besides the panic I feel at the thought of being without chocolate, I think, in general, that there are far more creative uses for Lent.

So, here’s my Top Ten Things To Give Up For Lent this year:

1. Complaining. There’s far too much of it around. I know things are bad in many ways, but complaining wont help that one bit. Better to try to change things and take a bit of positive action.

2. Eating cashews when I’m starving. It’s my rather odd binge habit.

3. Staying inside when it’s sunny out, whenever possible.

4. Worrying about the state of the Irish economy, NAMA, and what the year will bring. In fact, make that worrying in general. Like complaining, worrying doesn’t change anything.

5. Going to Tesco, even when it’s extremely handy. They don’t deserve my hard-earned euros.

6. Arriving home late for dinner with my beautiful little daughter and partner (especially annoying for them since I generally do the cooking).

7. Any restaurant that serves a dish with sweet chili sauce. Time to figure out something a little more interesting!

8. On-line shopping. Better to meet people face to face, support local shops, and spare the credit card.

9. Watching the news. Perhaps these days, ignorance really IS bliss.

10. Anything that gets in the way of friends and family. After all, it’s February, and things will be much busier soon in the world of ice cream!

I’ll let you know how I get on.

Technorati tags: ice cream, Lent, chocolate, Ireland

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 Last night, on RTE’s Frontline program, there was a discussion of whether it made sense to buy Irish foods, or whether it made sense to shop in the North, which is cheaper. John McKenna spoke up for supporting Irish foods and used some strong language in making his points. There were some angry farmers, an amazing number of regular people saying they wanted to support Irish (including some on the dole), and of course there was the usual retail bashing. Eddie Hobbes mocked the notion of buying Irish, saying the best thing for the economy was for everyone to buy in the North so that prices would come down further here. It seems his logic is that with no customers, everyone will be out of work, and then stuff will get really, really cheap in Ireland. As happens on so many of these programs, the discussion devolved into price, price and price. Were retailers ripping people off? If not, who was ripping people off? Were prices too high?

I found it all very depressing. During the Celtic Tiger, so much public discussion focused on prices and money. House prices, food prices, salaries, etc. Now, we’re in a recession, and the discussion hasn’t changed a bit. It’s still about house prices, food prices, salaries, etc. When can we leave this behind and have discussions of all the other things that are important – family, trust, truth, love, beauty, honour, leisure, heritage, caring etc? One would think, now that the Celtic Tiger and the myth of money = happiness has been exposed, that we could focus on other issues besides prices and money.

The fact is that we buy for all sorts of reasons, even if we’re constrained financially. Price becomes important if we see the item as a commodity or don’t really care about the quality (toilet roll would be an example in my case. I’d buy the cheapest and save my money for other things, but my partner violently disagrees). But for many of our purchases, price is only one of many factors. Do we buy the cheapest shoes, regardless of style or quality, or do we rather buy the best and most stylish shoes we can afford on our budget?

We make choices all of the time with our purchases, and those choices can define the society we live in. If we bought more organics, organics would grow (which they have, by the way – 13% growth last year, defying the notion that price is everything). If we support a restaurant we love, that restaurant will probably pull through these tough times. If we hate a shop, we can simply shop elsewhere and it will probably fail. We, as purchasers, have great power. We can decide who survives and who fails with the money we have to spend, even if our budgets are shrinking.

To show that price isn’t everything, here are 10 other, perfectly good reasons that I buy things:

1. Because I know and like the person. For example, I have a jumper I bought from a friend who knits them. I actually make a lot of purchases this way, and for me this category also encompasses local.

2. Because I simply love it. My camera would fall into this category. There are loads of cheaper cameras, but I love my Nikon D300. For food, think Glenilen’s clotted cream or Llewellyn’s apple juice.

3. Because it’s Irish. Knowing how hard it is for farmers these days, I wouldn’t feel right buying potatoes, eggs, fish, milk, etc. from abroad. You can mock me, but I feel better buying Irish when I can on products that matter to me. Saying that buying Irish is xenophobic or anti-free trade is a nonsense – I am all for free trade, and I love certain products from abroad. However, I also have a sense of community and understand that my purchasing decisions matter.

4. Because it’s stylish and/or very cool. My iPhone fits in this category. I don’t make a lot of these purchases, but they sure make me happy.

5. Because it’s ethical or Fairtrade. As long as the quality is good, I feel much better supporting companies with this ethos.

6. Because it’s natural/organic/Biodynamic. Always important to me, this has become much more important after having a baby. I simply couldn’t feed her junk or dress her in synthetic clothes. I’d rather put off my visit to the dentist, put off buying myself new clothes, etc.

7. Because it supports a cause I believe in – for example, my Chernobyl Children’s Project sweatshirt. Not the cheapest, but what a good cause, and I always feel good wearing it.

8. Because the quality is good. This, of course, is one of the most basic reasons we decide to buy anything, and we all know about the false economies of buying cheap shoes that fall apart in a month, cheap food that you end up throwing out because it’s awful, etc. etc.

9. Because I trust the person or company. I don’t think this needs any explanation, and it an important reason for me.

10. Because I need a boost and/or need to feel better. Chocolate. ‘Nuff said.

I’m sure there are many more reasons you can think up, and again I’m not saying price isn’t important. I know that people don’t have unlimited budgets, and I believe that is precisely why we need to change the debate.

So… can we please, please stop talking incessantly about money and prices now that the Celtic Tiger is over? We all need to live within our means, whatever they are, but there are so many other important things in life.

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 Running a business, especially in these times can be a challenge. There are always stresses and worries – what will the future bring? For us, our customers have always been the rock upon which everything is based, and they bring us so much joy (and hopefully we reciprocate!) 

Reading something like this from Imen over at Married an Irish Farmer gives us all here at Murphys such a lift. Never under estimate the power of a compliment and how good it can make everybody feel, especially on a rainy winter’s day. 

The rain will lift, the cold will pass, the days will lengthen, and I’m actually quite excited about the coming year. I can’t wait to meet up with customers again, feel the buzz again of a busy shop, and I think we’ll have some small and some big improvements and that we believe will make people even happier. 

Thanks, Imen, for a bit of light in January!

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