Bloomsday Bangers and Colcannon with Brown Sugar Guinness Gravy
Ingredients
Preparation
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Bloomsday: a celebration of all things James Joyce – and, more specifically, everything Leopold Bloom. June 16 is the day James Joyce first enjoyed a date with Nora Barnacle, who would become the love of his life, and in tribute, June 16, 1904 is the day during which all of the story in Ulysses takes place. I read Joyce at Harvard Extension several years ago, to fulfill one of my ALM elective credits, and I fell in love with his voice almost immediately. Ulysses is a masterwork of English Literature – a simple day-in-the-life-of story, but a complex tapestry of passion, imagination, symbolism, patriotism, spirituality, and erudition. Joyce’s hero, Leopold Bloom, is a lusty, vigorous man fraught with insecurities and obligations — far too human for me to sum up in a few words. But I can say this – Bloom ate with gusto:
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For breakfast, 107 years ago yesterday morning, Bloom enjoyed a pan-seared pork kidney:
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"[he] crushed the pan flat on the live coals and watched the lump of butter slide and melt. … [H]e unwrapped … and dropped the kidney amid the sizzling butter sauce. Pepper. He sprinkled it through his fingers ringwise from the chipped eggcup…. He prodded a fork into the kidney and slapped it over… [later]… pungent smoke shot up in an angry jet from the side of the pan. By prodding a prong of the fork under the kidney he detached it and turned it turtle on its back. Only a little burnt. He tossed it off the pan onto a plate and let the scanty brown gravy trickle over it… He shore away the burnt flesh and flung it to the cat. Then he put a forkful into his mouth, chewing with discernment the toothsome pliant meat.”
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My apologies to James for my clumsy editing, yet this is a food blog – not a literature blog – and it’s Bloom’s breakfast at the onset of Calypso (and not Molly’s awakening, or Milly’s remembrances) I’m mulling over today.
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Yet, dear readers, surely you can see that my picture above is not one of pork kidneys! Alas, neither Whole Foods nor Savenor’s had the requisite innards on hand – nor, to be quite honest, do I relish said innards as much as Bloom does. (Clayton – even less so.) But I had to honor the Irish muse and his Bloom and Dedalus and Molly and Dublin somehow – so I took to the internet to find a recipe for an appropriately themed Irish dinner by which to pay homage to Joyce and his creations. Thank you, Tara, at Smells Like Home for your excellent rendition of bangers and colcannon: your recipe’s beguiling picture (as displayed on the third page of Tastespotting.com’s search engine return for “irish”) simply called out to me, arresting me in my tracks, compelling me to make her — as Joyce’s faux-chapter-heading’s namesake did to her Odysseus. On the plate, Ogygia is represented by a mountainous island of craggy white mas
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My basics tonight were thick cut bacon, sausages, potatoes, and cabbage. Almost everything else I had on hand, so on top of being a celebration of a literary masterpiece, this was cheap enough a meal for even Stephen Dedalus to afford (in today’s economy – relatively speaking, that is). Whole Foods used to carry bangers, but when I asked the butcher why I didn’t see them in the window, he said no one had ever purchased them or even showed any interest — until they no longer had them. But they did have a non-Italian styled “garlic and pork” sausage, which was mild enough to stand-in for the traditional banger, even if they were larger. I purchased 3, knowing I’d split them later.
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I dice my bacon…
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and very thinly slice my cabbage.
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But oh – there’s not enough fat yet! I add a couple tablespoons of butter to the pan, and let it melt and foam…
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Now these are some beautiful sausage. They are a bit understuffed (read: limp) actually, which works rather well in the long run, since they have some steaming room inside the casing, resulting in more tender meat. It also keeps them from splitting open during the cooking process, even after you pierce the membrane to release some of the inner juices.
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See?
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I take about a tablespoon of softened butter, and a tablespoon of flour, and I mash it together to form a paste.
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Clayton O’Fountain and I dig into our bangers and mash with much boisterous toasting and smashing together of our Guinness-filled mugs; we sop our sweet sausages with the savory sugary thick brunette gravy, holding our forks overhand and our knives like spatulas; we spread our hot baconcabbagepotatopulp over our forkfulls and jackknife our loads heartily into our open mouths; we grunt with satisfaction, and dive in again and again and again, only pausing to swig malt beverage and to mutter our full-mouthed approval. Afterwards, we lean back in our chairs, loosen our belts, strokepat our tummies, and sing “The Harp That Once through Tara’s Halls” a few times, remembering Dublin at the turn of the century, remembering Joyce. Ahhh…. Bloomsday!












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