Part of any trans person's journey is putting the pieces back together after transition - the same pieces that were always there, just not in the same order as before. For me this is a constant delve into my past, and that of my family - thinking about the formative years, and in some ways, like Proust 'en recherche du temps perdu'.
One of the things I've always loved doing is cooking - partly because I like food, which is sadly all to obvious, but gives me the opportunity to share that I've lost 55lbs in the last 7 months.
But also the process, the social action of sharing food with family and friends. It's also nice to eat fresh food - one of the things that being stressed and depressed makes you do is eat rubbish - takeaways and processed food and then it becomes a vicious cycle
In my efforts to lose the pounds I have fallen in love with Spanish cuisine, and get lots of ideas for bean heavy dishes from a youtuber called Albert Bevia at a site called 'Spain on a Fork'. Oh and doing 25k on my exercise bike every day - which I am sure is only coincidental. But it's not Spanish roots I have and have been thinking about, it's my Irish ones. I am proud to be Irish - a good deal prouder every year as my country of residence continues to torpedo its' international reputation. So here's your soundtrack. My favourite of all Irish tunes, sung by the much missed Sinead O'Connor. Wait for that smile at the end!
My mother is Irish, which is why I am Irish, some 30 years ago I decided to formalise the point by acquiring my Irish Passport, not then knowing how valuable it would later become, and the value to my daughter of having asserted my citizenship early enough to pass to her as well.
I spent many of my summers in Ireland with my lovely Grandparents, and in earlier years also my Great Grandmother, born in the reign of Queen Victoria and an example of the strong Irish Woman that is now so much of a role model to me (even though sadly we never really got on!)
Granny and Grandad buy me a drink in Athy
My fierce Great Grandmother
My summers in Athy, Co. Kildare entailed a lot of 'mooching' - long walks in the countryside with the dogs, a picturesque view across the canal at the Asbestos factory and running errands for my Grandparents - which usually involved some sort of treat. Athy to me feels like another home, and I'll be honest, I have my moments where I seriously consider moving there. I have memories of my first pint of Guinness in the 'Bridge House' with my Grandfather and Dad, of seeing Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom and the 'Care Bear Movie' at the old Grove Cinema. Of trying fishing and realising I hated it, of mushroom hunting with Grandad and realising the best mushrooms grew closest to the Cowpats. Of Red Lemonade, Tayto Crisps, Chef Sauce and most particularly the tea we had after a very long walk of bread, butter, tea and Teabrack. The bread had to be Brennan's Sliced Pan ('Today's Bread Today') - which I still hanker after, Lyons Red Label Tea [Tea choices used to be VERY political in Ireland] and a Teabrack, either made by Gran or more likely purchased from Rachels or Bradbury's in town - a job usually entrusted to me or my brother.
I often go down memory lane on Google Street view and was sad to see that Rachels is now gone, but that Bradbury's (Founded 1938) is still there and looks exactly the same.
I taught myself to read and write in Gaelic from a book I bought in 'The Gem' which was next to Rachels - but the thing that has stuck harder than that is the memory of Teabrack, an Irish fruit loaf made with sultanas and fruit steeped in very strong black tea. Rachels did a lovely one, and if you timed it right it would still be warm to take home, where the tea would be waiting in a stainless steel pot (Gran worked in some of the biggest Hotels in London - so I suspect that may have originated there!)
Teabrack has a power well beyond its ingredients then, and as Ireland calls me very strongly to go back and at least visit (I haven't been back since transition) I decided to make one today - well yesterday, as you have to soak the fruit for a day first. I often wonder how I'd be received in Athy today - there are signs it would be OK - Clancy's bar, which I saw on this streetview picture from last June tells a happy story
and I am also proudly a member of TENI (Transgender Equality Network Ireland) - so I have some contacts to speak to before I head back.
Here's the recipe, taken from the excellent Michelle Alston's #TheLastFoodBlog:
Ingredients
350 ml cold strong Fairtrade tea
200 g sultanas
150 g mixed fruit
230 g plain flour
1 heaped teaspoon mixed spice
2 level teaspoon baking powder
2 level tbs dark brown , soft, Fairtrade sugar
1 large egg
Butter for greasing the tin
Instructions
Soak the fruit in the tea overnight or at least for a couple of hours.
Pre heat the oven to 160 degrees C, I use a fan assisted electric oven, please adjust according to your own oven.
Grease a 1 lb loaf tin liberally with butter.
Add the flour, baking powder, spice and sugar to a large mixing bowl and stir together, make a well in the centre then break the egg into the well.
Add the fruit, keeping the tea, and mix well using a wooden spoon. You should have a wet sticky dough, if it's too dry add some of the reserved tea.
Spoon the dough into the prepared loaf tin and bake on the middle shelf of the oven for 50 - 60 minutes. The brack is done when it is a rich golden colour, you can test it by piercing it with a metal skewer, it should come out dry.
Leave to cool in the tin for a few minutes then transfer to a cooling rack to cool completely.
I have also to credit a conversation had during the Trans in the City Director's Strategy day with my lovely friend and wonderful ally to the Trans Community Arlene McDermott - Arlene is from Dublin and as far as I know, she didn't have the privilege of looking out over an asbestos factory from her house - but we got chatting about the the things we loved to eat from 'home'
The very lovely Arlene
Ireland is unrecognisable from the country I knew so well in the 80s and early 90s, when frankly it had a lot more in common with the Ireland of the 50s that my mother knew. It's a country at ease with itself, open (yeah I know it's not perfect), outward facing and proud of its' place in Europe and the world. which leads me to the thoughts that really get into my head. What would my family who never got to meet the real me make of me? Would they still love me? Would they even be proud of the woman I have become and the things I do. Would their fierceness have led them to be part of organisations like 'Mammies for Trans Rights' who stand up proudly for their trans kids and grandkids? I like to think they would - but I'll never know.
And I often think of my very stylish Grandmother - style she passed to my own Mother and whether she'd have taken me shopping in Shaws (with the hilarious slogan 'Almost Nationwide') or into Dublin to the 'big shops'. It's a nice daydream, and a thought I keep coming back to.
Oh, and the Teabrack? A triumph - not 'quite' Rachels' standard, but pretty bloody good. Or aiobhinn as my old textbook would have told me to say.
