The English Market, Cork

When returning home to Cork I always like to go for a leisurely stroll through the English Market. Whether I am buying produce or not I am perpetually drawn to those victual-laden passages; I do not feel as if I am home until I have fulfilled this ritual. This could be due to the fact that it has been around since 1788 – a constant part of Corkonian life, surviving famine, revolution, fire and all the other events we have had to endure in our enthralling history – or just because I like good food. I am often asked where the name comes from; a question I cannot answer. It has had various names over the centuries, from Princes Street Market to Root Market; however the origin of the current name is lost in history.

I often come to the English Market on a Saturday in pursuit of ingredients for our family’s traditional Sunday fry up. I always begin at Landon’s, who specialise in bacon and have more varieties than one would think possible. It is a hard choice to decide the type of bacon you will want the following day, but one I enjoy making. It would make sense to get the eggs next, seeing as they are in the next stall, but I never do. There is no purpose in the direction I take, I walk aimlessly stopping when I please – perhaps this is why I find the market so relaxing.

For sausages there’s only one place for me and that’s O’Flynn’s. Again the variety available is immense, another difficult decision; oh, it is a hard life. When I have been away for a while I always choose the Cork Boi; a mix of pork, beef and Murphy’s Stout. The Murphy’s, a Cork stout and in my opinion far more sophisticated than Guinness, makes me feel at home. An Irish fry up wouldn’t be complete without black and white pudding and I often buy these here too unless another butcher’s appeals to my senses more.

The smells from the Alternative Bread Company (ABC) always lure me to their stall in the middle of the market; there is something about the smell of fresh bread that I never tire of. It reminds me of my favourite thing about church during my childhood – the end. Apart from finally leaving, the baker across the road perfectly coincided taking his bread out of the oven with the last words of the priest, blessing me with butter melting into hot bread. I like a crusty white bread with breakfast; a sour dough loaf usually taking my preference.

Everybody has their favourite greengrocer in the market, mine being Super Fruit probably because my Mother always brought me there. Here I buy my tomatoes, mushrooms and herbs; touching, smelling and eyeing out the freshest ingredients. I always end up coming home with more than I set out to get, but it never goes to waste.

Often the unsung heroes of a good breakfast are the eggs. Not when you go to Moynihan’s. They sell traditional buttered eggs, a flavour to be enjoyed and sung about indeed. Buttering eggs was used for preservation before refrigeration was invented; melted butter is poured over the eggs, closing the eggs pores and giving it a rich flavour. I have great memories of Sunday morning breakfasts, all the family together enjoying carefully crafted local food. These memories begin with my wander through the English Market and sure, I would have them without the market, but they wouldn’t be as special.

I habitually find myself in the English Market come lunchtime, where I take advantage of the delectable culinary crafts on offer. When time is of the essence I frequent Joup; their hearty soups reminding me of those my Grandmother used to make. When time is on your side there can be no better place to pass it than the balcony seats of the Farmgate Café. I love sitting up there with the view of the market below, watching people shop, guessing what they will make with their purchases and what I would create if I were them. Pair this with the traditional food they have on offer, sourced from the market below, and you have the makings of a great lunch indeed. There is no better place to try traditional local food than one with a view of the market, the place that has kept this tradition alive.

When the weather looks fondly on our city I look to the market to procure a quick picnic, which I enjoy in the Bishop Lucey Park opposite the market, on the Grand Parade. The ABC is again the provider of my bread and for picnics I generally choose one of the new loaves they are experimenting with. Then it’s off to On The Pigs Back for cheese and charcuterie. Here I find myself gazing at what is on offer, battling with myself not to choose Gubbeen, my favourite local cheese. With the cured meats it is easier to persuade myself to try something new, but harder to stop myself from buying everything. Olives installed a fear in me when I was younger, one that no food should be capable of. I can’t recall when I overcame this fear, but I am glad I did. Now the Real Olive Company, with its wooden staved half barrels loaded with these delights, brings me more excitement than sweetshops ever did during my childhood. It is a hard decision which olive will go best with your bread, cheese and charcuterie, but one that is made easier by the tasters they have on offer.

When I am not too hungry I just buy coffee and a pastry, which I also relish in the park. I buy the coffee in Coffee Central, where at first the multiple of questions on how I wanted my coffee irritated me, however the resulting beverage placated this. For the pastry I scrutinize all three shops, Old Mill; Heavens Cakes and MK Cakes, to see who has the best on offer that day.

Shopping for dinner is when I truly appreciate the market and what it has to offer; going there with no idea what to cook and letting the ingredients inspire me. My Mother is a pescatarian and a woman deserving treats, so when I visit home I like to cook her something special. For this I visit O’Connell’s; a truly spectacular fishmonger with a well deserved reputation of international proportion. There is always a scurry of action behind the counter; where fishmongers gut, fillet and package fish for their eagerly awaiting customers. I pace the tidily arranged counter checking the stiffness and eyes of all the fish before beginning with the banter of haggling. I buy local sustainable fish that are in season, which always guarantees a good price. When samphire is available I buy this, the ‘asparagus of the sea’, a perfect accompaniment with any fish.

My Grandfather loved tripe and drisheen, both Cork culinary traditions, and when I cook these together I think back fondly of him. O’Reilly’s sell this and nothing else, making them unquestionably a specialist craft butcher. Tripe is cattle stomach that has been washed and boiled several times and drisheen is a sausage made with mixed beef and sheep blood that has been inserted into empty beef intestines and boiled briefly. This is a dish that exemplifies to me how food has the wonderful ability of bringing back memories. Another of my Grandfather’s favourites, and one I have affection for, is pig’s feet, known as crubeens. I like them boiled in a stock till falling off the bone, then served with mustard and buttery potatoes, picking the meat off with my hands just like my grandfather used to. I do not satisfy the fondness I have for crubeens often enough, but when I am home I try to, always buying them in Noonan’s.

I have travelled vastly and always like to introduce the new flavours I have discovered into my cooking and for this I am grateful to Mr Bells who makes this possible. I take pleasure in scouring the shelves for some ingredient I have never cooked with before and finding ways of utilising it. I have recently developed a passion for Thai and Vietnamese cuisines and with Mr Bells I get the chance to buy authentic products.

A sumptuous meal is easy to produce with ingredients as outstanding as those available in the market, but a good meal needs a fine wine to accompany it. This is where the Bubble Brothers come in with their expansive collection of well-selected wines. Like all the stallholders in the market they are extremely knowledgeable about their products and willing to give advice when needed, which can be useful when pairing wines with the food just acquired.

Christmas is a time for family and feast so I always make sure to be back home in Cork for it. I have been upgraded over the years from a mere prep cook to head chef. The result being that I now await with more anticipation the time for Christmas food shopping, rather than that of opening the presents. The English Market at Christmas time is what I imagine an ant colony to be like, everybody marching around with purpose. I find turkey dull and boring and wonder how prosperous this creature would be if it weren’t for its relatively recent introduction as a Christmas staple. Our Christmas is a traditional affair, in the true sense of the word. I customarily buy a goose from O’Sullivan’s Poultry where they also sell more exotic ingredients like ostrich and crocodile, which I plan to one day buy and experiment with. I prefer a large local goose with an abundance of fat that can drip on my roast potatoes. All the butchers in the market sell spiced beef at Christmas time, made to their own secret recipe. Spiced beef is usually made with top or silver side and is preserved in a mixture of spices. A couple of days before Christmas I inquire with all the butchers to see who has marinated theirs the longest before purchasing one for my family. We boil ours and serve it cold on both Christmas and St. Stephen’s Day (Boxing Day). The vegetables are the most important part of a roast dinner because they are the largest proportion of the meal; I source these carefully, usually at Super Fruit but using the other greengrocers for anything that is not up to my standards. Christmas dinner is a momentous occasion in our house and I am honoured to be chosen as the one to cook it. Together with the help of the English Market we have produced some long-standing memories on this day, which outlast any gifts received.

If it were not for this market in my fair city we would have lost a lot of our culinary history, especially with that Celtic tiger who fed on tradition as if nothing else could satisfy its hunger; with increased wealth the Irish identity, largely based on poverty, began to disappear. Despite all the exotic destinations I have travelled to, the English Market is one of my favourite places to visit in the world; for the joy, memories and calm it brings me, and not forgetting the meals it has provided. You can keep your beaches, mountains and other sights of beauty; this market is my area of tranquillity – and long may it continue, for another 200 years at least.