I work in a restaurant back at home, so cooking is something that I know how to do, so imagine me, cooking various irish meats for around 20 people, it’s a pretty image right? I was right back into my element in the kitchen of Django’s Hostel, Pa, the owner and my Sous-chef for the night was giving me pointers “not too long on those sausages, you don’t need them burning” “the bacon will never be crispy, when it sizzles it’s finished.” I was back in my domain even if I was an ocean away from my normal stomping grounds. The heat from the oven and stovetop may have been unbearably hot to others, but felt like nothing to me, I was a man on a mission, and my mission was to cook over 100 individual pieces of meat for everyone, ranging from irish bacon to the ispíní (sausages) I couldn’t afford to mess up even a single piece of food. I was cooking foreign food in a foreign kitchen using a oven that I had no clue how to control, yet the whole group was relying on me, and my amazing skills at cooking sausages.
One pan after another went into the oven I had to remember all the small things, my mind was racing. In the end everything went off without a hitch, even after cooking the black pudding, something that surprisingly has nothing to do with what we would call pudding, but would be much more akin to sausage patties, and surprisingly didn’t taste half bad, but then again, to quote a irish proverb “Is maith an t-anlann an t-ocras.” (Hunger is a good sauce)