Sunday 3 November 2013

AIN’T NOTHING LIKE THE REAL THING


Lemon Curd Marble Muffins, River Cottage Every Day by Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall

Coffee.  Coffee.  Coffee. Coffeecoffeecoffee. It’s an addiction.  And it’s getting worse.  I don’t know whether it’s the weather, the darker mornings or the cold – or whether it’s just a self-perpetuating addiction.  Given that my poison of choice is a black Americano; this will not delight my dentist – nor me, when I end up paying obscene amounts of money for teeth-whitening treatments (today’s purchase: “Blanx” – panic-bought after three days at the coal face). 
I’ve done my best to kick the habit by turning to other drinks.  My caffeine intake is supplemented with huge mugs of tea throughout the day so that’s simply another vice to add to the list.  I’ve tried hot squash which has only ever results in a sugar rush and my office smelling like a child’s sick-room.  Fruit teas are my nemesis – my stomach is tricked into thinking that a delicious berry-scented meal is imminent and I become so ravenous that I’m ready to eat my own arm before I’ve even finished the cup. 
In sum, substitutes just don’t cut it.  Robinson’s Peach Barley will never deliver the caffeine jolt or flavour of coffee.   Margarine doesn’t even touch butter when spread over hot toast.   Fanta Orange will never best NI’s finest, Club Orange.  And I’m not sure what Special K bars are even supposed to substitute; they’re so vile, it’s not even worth speculating.  Is there anything worse than a Special K bar...?  Answers on a postcard, please.
Having banged on about the hideousness of substitutes; I am now going to confess to having baked a recipe last weekend for which I had none of the ingredients but was grimly determined to attempt.   The only solution was to ransack my cupboards and SUBSTITUTE.  I could, of course, have nipped next door to Tesco but that would have meant braving the torrential rainstorm outside.  No, thank you.   Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall’s recipe for Lemon Curd Marble Muffins (the official title) became Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall’s recipe for Forest Fruit Muffins with a bit of jam mixed through.   Completely unconsciously, they also took on a somewhat healthier aspect than originally intended as the plain yoghurt specified in the recipe was swapped for the 0% Fat Greek Yoghurt languishing in my fridge and I replaced unsalted butter with Stork.   
 


I began by creating two separate mixtures; as recommended by HFW - dry ingredients together in one bowl and wet ingredients in a jug.
 
I added the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients bit by bit.  HFW recommends not over-mixing and, although I am the least technical baker on the block, I would reiterate his recommendation!  I once made the mistake of treating a muffin mixture like cake mix and ended up with very squidgy, damp and flat muffins – and none of the above in any way that could be considered good.  
 

Once the wet and dry ingredients were combined, I stirred through the jam and added my forest fruits.  I used berries from a frozen mix rather than fresh fruit.   Although this decision was motivated entirely by a reluctance to leave the house rather than premeditation; frozen fruit tends to work better anyway because the fruit keeps it shape when baked and the berry juice doesn’t seep through the mixture.  Mmmmm.
 


Baking time for these lovelies is about 30 minutes or just over – just make sure that the top looks golden rather than pale yellow.   

All in, this recipe is a bit of a winner – low time-/cost-investment for a pretty high return.  The muffins look appetising, went down extremely well and don’t require the technical precision usually required by baking.  They were certainly none the worse for the ingredients swap and, most importantly, didn’t taste like a low-fat substitution.

Now – does anyone have a wonder substitute for coffee that I haven’t tried yet?

Recipe below – good luck!

 

Lemon Curd Marble Muffins

Ingredients

·         225g plain flour

·         2 tsp baking powder

·         A good pinch of sea salt

·         100g caster sugar

·         1 medium egg

·         125g plain yoghurt

·         125ml whole milk

·         75g unsalted butter, melted and slightly cooled

·         150g lemon curd

 

Method

1.       Put 12 large paper cases into a muffin tray. Put the flour, baking powder, salt and caster sugar in a large bowl and whisk lightly to aerate and combine.

2.       Mix the egg, yoghurt, milk and melted butter together in a jug. Pour them into the dry ingredients and mix lightly, stopping as soon as everything is combined – it’s essential not to over-mix or you’ll get dense, cakey muffins.

3.       Spoon a some mixture into each muffin case and top with a generous ½ teaspoonful of lemon curd. Add a final spoonful of muffin mixture to encase the lemon curd and three-quarters fill the cases.

4.       Bake in an oven preheated to 180°C/gas mark 4 for about 30 minutes until golden brown. Transfer to a wire rack to cool. Eat on the day you bake them, ideally while still slightly warm.

 
Variations – all at the suggestion of HFW and in his own words

 Jammy Muffins : replace the lemon curd with your favourite jam, first beating it lightly to soften slightly. Thick, fruity jams work best – a strawberry jam containing whole strawberries is perfect.

Chocolate Marble Muffins: replace the lemon curd with 150g chocolate hazelnut spread (warm it gently first, so it’s easier to marble).

Fruity Muffins : replace the lemon curd with 1 large, or 2 small ripe bananas, thoroughly mashed; or 75g blueberries; or 75g stoned and halved cherries; or 75g raisins or other dried fruit, such as chopped dried apricots. Stir the fruit into the mixture lightly and quickly, just before piling into the cases.


Sunday 27 October 2013

A LONG LOOK BACK

 
GAZE RESTAURANT, ORMEAU ROAD
Northern Ireland, as we are informed by Discover Northern Ireland is the location of “inspirational locations, stunning landscapes and the friendliest of welcomes”; and of course, the Giant’s Causeway.   Everyone remembers learning about the myth of Finn McCool and the Giant’s Causeway in primary school - a myth is so far-reaching that when I was a teaching assistant in Spain, I was gratified to find whole chapter in my pupils’ textbook dedicated to it.
                     

So when I had a friend visiting from London last weekend, a trip to the Giant’s Causeway was top of the “tour-guide to-do” list.  
Perhaps I am a little provincial.   

The beginning of the day was inauspicious – gale force winds and sheets of rain bouncing off the pavement are inhospitable even by our Northern Irish standards.  Nevertheless I donned a mac, the picnic went into the boot of the car and the AA route-planner was on stand-by.  Then, as we were driving down the Ormeau Road – “What is the Giant’s Causeway anyway?” asked my friend.  Emmmm... UNESCO World Heritage site, Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, one of the most breath-taking sights in the world, a rock formation...?  

My friend decided that she wasn’t massively keen on a two-hour car journey to see a rock formation in the driving rain but would love to see where Rhi-Rhi filmed her video for “We Found Love”.   And she didn’t mean the pretty field with the angry farmer.
So it was I found myself spending Sunday driving up and down the Falls Road and the Shankill, past the New Lodge, through Lower Ormeau and up the Black Mountain (where I nearly drove the car into a ditch during a distinctly hairy moment – I thought that we were never coming down).    

After a day spent talking myself hoarse about the politics and history of Northern Ireland, I was exhausted, both mentally and physically.  There is nothing more intellectually draining than desperately casting the mind back to GCSE history lessons in order to flesh out my vague explanations of the Troubles.  When thoughts turned to dinner,  I realised that the hearty home-crafted meal I had envisaged presenting had dissipated into the air somewhere around Divis Flats.
To Gaze it was.  To the uninitiated, Gaze is a Chinese restaurant on the Ormeau Road that allows for both takeaway/delivery and eating in, with several outposts throughout Northern Ireland (check the website).  In the restaurant itself, the atmosphere is relaxed and the service is attentive.   It’s also unlicensed and so is a popular spot to hit before an evening on the razz.  Whether eating in or ordering a takeaway/delivery; the turnaround is incredibly fast and the order is unfailingly ready in minutes.  The only shortcoming of the restaurant is the astonishingly intimidating lady who takes delivery orders over the telephone.  My friend and I actually keep a tally as to whose turn it is to phone her next – and phone calls are always preceded by a deep breath.  

                       

My guest and I decided to sample the Honey Chilli Crispy Chicken, Crispy Salt and Chilli Squid, a portion of fried rice, a portion of chips, a pot of satay sauce, a tub of edamame beans and some prawn crackers.  No I haven’t seen those adverts about obesity, thanks.  The lady at the end of the phone was typically terrifying, our food was ready as promptly as ever and the service in the restaurant itself was as warm as ever when we picked up our food (our mountains and mountains of food).  AND twenty quid for the whole lot – my London friend was completely gobsmacked.  Welcome to life off-shore.
    
                            

The Honey Chilli Crispy Chicken was cooked so as still to retain its juiciness and there was just enough sauce to keep the chicken moist without overwhelming it.  I may be slightly biased as this is one of my favourite dishes but the sauce is light enough that it’s almost possible to pretend that it’s not ridiculously unhealthy.   It was delicious when paired with the fried rice (or thrown on top of the fried rice and then devoured, to be brutally honest).   The squid was also extremely tasty and right up my street.  I absolutely love seafood; and the red and green chillies garnishing the dish give it a real kick and cut through the richness of the batter covering the squid.  For me, the squid was slightly overdone and edging towards chewiness; but given that I will eat all food in as raw a form as possible (disgusting, I know), others may disagree.

A decimated carton of Honey Chilli Crispy Chicken
                           

                            
 
I am a huge fan of edamame beans and Gaze does these particularly well.  They were not overcooked in the slightest – always a danger with beans - and were covered with rock salt.  To be perfectly frank, they were the token green in this show – bravely staring down the barrel of a meal consisting of sugar and carbs and working to assuage our girl-guilt.  They duly fulfilled their purpose.   

Edamame beans - nutritious
 
As for the prawn crackers... we ate on Sunday and I was still wolfing those beauties down by Wednesday.

Gaze – scrumptious, speedy and cracking value.  Just beware the lady on the telephone.  You have been warned.

 

Saturday 26 October 2013

OH HONEY - SUGAR SUGAR

Hokey Pokey, How to be a Domestic Goddess by Nigella Lawson
 
Autumn has arrived.   The weather is crisp, winter coats have been donned and we have abandoned our Summer Selves.  There are three tried and tested antidotes to the October Slumps: excellent jumpers, boots and comfort food.  Having supped of the first two antidotes to the detriment of my bank account; it’s time for comfort food.   
 
As my last post attests, baking is a cruel mistress.  BBC’s The Great British Bake Off lends further weight.  I’ve just watched a grown woman cry over a cake that looked like a brain and can’t guarantee that I wouldn’t have done the same.
Nonetheless when you win at baking, you win hands-down.  And victory tastes sweet (boom).
My latest foray into Nigella Lawson’s “How to be a Domestic Goddess” – not a straightforward endeavour at all by the way – was prompted by a desperate last-minute attempt to bring a decent dessert around to a friend’s for dinner.  Having absolutely no inclination to start down the path of cakes after the previous week’s disaster; Nigella’s recipe for “Cinder Toffee”, "hokey-pokey", or honeycomb to me, was a go-er.    
The ingredients were few (caster sugar, golden syrup and bicarbonate of soda), the methodology looked straightforward and yet my cynicism remained.     
                        

The game begins by mixing the sugar and golden syrup in a large saucepan, off the heat.  The mixture looked decidedly dodgy – I was concerned.  
                                 

I then heated this mixture over a low heat until it began to bubble.  Nigella advised a low to medium heat but I was erring on the side of baking conservatism.  Once the mixture turned a dark golden-brown colour (but not too dark – burnt sugar is no fun for anyone and it's a fine line); I added the tablespoon of bicarbonate of soda and watched the magic happen.  Or rather watched it “turn into a whooshing cloud of aerated pale gold”  as Nigella breathes seductively.  As soon as the bicarb has been completely stirred in and the mixture is looking like the contents of some type of delectable cholesterol-defying cauldron; pour the mixture into an extremely well-greased tin.   

                       
  

I really do mean well-greased – this one is a clinger.

                          

I would also like to comment at this point as to the eye-watering heat of the sugar mixture.  CAUTION - scorchio does not even touch this.     
I left the mixture to set for a couple of hours – three is probably the optimum – and then set to bashing it up into mouth-watering honeycomb rubble.  It is impossible not to eat a few pieces (or half the batch) at this point but the end product creates a suitable impression if you can manage to restrain yourself and share it with friends. 
                               

                               
  

We choose to eat ours with Cornish ice-cream and toffee sauce – health food this is not.  Baking therapy, it is. Delish.  

                                


Recipe below - good luck!



Hokey Pokey


Ingredients

·         100g caster sugar     
·         4 tablespoons of golden syrup     
·         1 ½  teaspoons  of bicarbonate of soda

Method

1.       Put the sugar and syrup into a saucepan and stir together to mix. You mustn't stir once the pan's on the heat, though.
2.       Place the pan on the heat and let the mixture first melt, then turn to goo and then to a bubbling mass the colour of maple syrup - this will take 3 minutes or so.
3.       Off the heat, whisk in the bicarbonate of soda and watch the syrup turn into a whooshing cloud of aerated pale gold. Turn this immediately onto a piece of reusable baking parchment or greased foil.
4.       Leave until set and then bash at it, so that it splinters into many glinting pieces.




Saturday 28 September 2013

DRIZZLE SHIZZLE


Lemon Drizzle Cake, BBC Good Food

Freshers, freshers everywhere , leaving not any drop to drink.  It’s “Welcome Week” and the little greenhorn are rife - pouring out of off-licences clutching their swall of special-offer Glen’s Vodka, sitting outside pubs during the day  and all the while looking like they quite literally can’t believe their luck. 


Meanwhile my walk to work is now littered with the plastic glass-debris of the Night Before and my lunchtimes are spent dodging excited young things hopped on the highs of Topshop student discount (twenty per cent!!) and possibly the after-effects of that Glen’s vodka.  Boo hiss.  Having left my heady student days on the other side of my twenties; and having learned from experience that theage-old adage “if you can’t beat them, join them” will only lead to catastrophe, I turned to cake for comfort.  And opted for the most delusional variety of guilt-free gluttony – baking.  Everyone knows that the efforts expended whilst baking negate any calories consumed (both during the baking process and in the aftermath).

I turned to an old friend and my one and only failsafe recipe – lemon drizzle cake as published by the BBC Good Food website (click here).  I have never fudged this recipe; and I have fudged many a recipe in my time. “My drizzle is the shizzle” I once announced to all and sundry (or rather to my numerous siblings).  Which bears witness to another age-old adage: “pride comes before a fall”. 

It started so well.  I followed Nigella’s top tip to bring all ingredients to room temperature and Jamie’s entreaty to have all equipment to hand. 
 
 
My mission was two-fold – to create one cake to gift (risky) and one for my family (much less risky, they’ll eat anything).  This, unfortunately for the shirkers amongst us, is not a simple matter of doubling the ingredients but requires two separate batches of batter.  I usually use a special tin for this particular recipe because I find the quantities so vast – one that I like to call “The Beast”.  The Beast (pictured here languishing in the oven) can be purchased at Ikea and will feed a small family. 
 

 
 
 
When using a normal-sized loaf tin, you will find that there is usually enough batter for a few cupcakes on the side.
 

 Method: I creamed my butter and sugar and beat in the eggs one at a time – whereupon I read the recipe that I have been using for four years – for the first time and noted that the eggs are actually to be mixed in.  I can only comment that I recommend a beating but I’ve never tried it any other way.  

The flour, lemon extract and lemon zest is then stirred in.  Having a preference for beating the living daylights out of any batter, I then tend to cream the entire mixture at top-speed for a couple of minutes with the idea that the end result will be all the lighter for it.  This recipe does not require baking soda!  The sharp-eyed will note that it’s prettily pictured with the rest of the ingredients above but it’s a red herring (I’m just a bit keen on baking powder).

The recipe states that the cake should then be baked in a preheated oven for 45 minutes – I ‘ve never known this cake to bake in less than an hour (and an hour and fifteen minutes for The Beast).  The cupcakes are a different matter and will take fifteen to twenty minutes as they’re only wee; which unfortunately makes them all the easier to devour in one mouthful.  

Once the cakes are safely parked in an oven pre-heated to 180 degrees Celsius;  the chef can sit down with a cup of tea watching the Great British Bake Off.  Usually.  For me, this is where the wheels came off.  It appears that both my abode and my cakes are the victims of a vicious confection-hating poltergeist.  When I had finished my cup of tea and my Mel and Sue-induced mirth had slightly subsided; I was horror-struck to see that the temperature of my oven had quietly surged to 245 degrees Celsius – hotter than the surface of the sun. 

The long and short of this is that The Beast took a bit of a battering (BOOM), the cupcakes look somewhat unleavened BUT somehow the gift cake was left unscathed.  It’s the miracle of Welcome Week.   


I was very tempted not to post all photos illustrating the Baking Disaster of 2013 but have concluded that honesty is the best policy.  I will postpone editing reality until something truly humiliating happens - I probably won’t have to wait too long. 

Recipe below – good luck!

Lemon Drizzle Cake

Ingredients

  • 225g unsalted butter, softened
  • 225g caster sugar
  • 4 eggs
  • finely grated zest 1 lemon
  • 225g self-raising flour
 
For the drizzle topping
  • juice 1½ lemons
  • 85g caster sugar

 

Method

1. Heat oven to 180C/fan 160C/gas 4. Beat together 225g softened unsalted butter and 225g caster sugar until pale and creamy, then add 4 eggs, one at a time, slowly mixing through. Sift in 225g flour, then add the finely grated zest of 1 lemon and mix until well combined. Line a loaf tin (8 x 21cm) with greaseproof paper, then spoon in the mixture and level the top with a spoon.

2. Bake for 45-50 mins until a thin skewer inserted into the centre of the cake comes out clean. While the cake is cooling in its tin, mix together the juice of 1 1/2 lemons and 85g caster sugar to make the drizzle. Prick the warm cake all over with a skewer or fork, then pour over the drizzle – the juice will sink in and the sugar will form a lovely, crisp topping. Leave in the tin until completely cool, then remove and serve. Will keep in an airtight container for 3-4 days, or freeze for up to 1 month.
 
 



Wednesday 25 September 2013

RUMBLE IN THE CRUMBLE


Rhubarb Café, Little Victoria Street, Belfast.  25th September 2013

Lunch-time in Belfast city centre.  Twelve months have passed since my return to our fair city and I never fail to be foxed by the eternal question – “where to today”?  The problem lies not with a lack of eateries but rather with the plethora of options currently showcased by the capital.   Options that can prove bewildering to the sustenance-deprived and occasionally listless office-worker, leading us to plump for The Usual.  The Usual varies widely from person to person and can be anything from a ham sandwich to a vile-looking cottage cheese, celery and tuna mix followed by a protein bar (to be seen to be believed).  Anyone who works in an office or any communal place of work will attest to the dizzying distinction between one person’s “usual” and another’s.      

 
Today, Fate intervened and I received an invitation to lunch at Rhubarb Café in Little Victoria Street.  I had eaten there once, in the past few weeks actually, but admittedly prior to that I had always overlooked Rhubarb.  In terms of location it has the misfortune of competing with Ginger Bistro (amazing) and the reptile shop (creepily fascinating).  My meal, however, had been very pleasant and the restaurant is unlicensed (“Bring Your Own” is encouraged) - which led me to believe that I had perhaps been missing a trick.  And who turns down a free lunch?  
 
The restaurant seemed to be doing a brisk lunch-time trade.  We arrived and were welcomed and seated very quickly.  I had, as usual, scoped out the menu in advance and knew exactly what both I and my dining companion would be eating.  I opted for the “Salt and chill prawns with Asian-slaw and chilli mayonnaise” and my dining companion had the “Steak burger with cheddar, bacon, chunky chips and BBQ sauce”.  I honestly have yet to see a male resist a burger on a menu.  If someone has ever witnessed an exception to this rule, please tell me.  Really, seriously, please.

While we waited for our meal (which actually arrived very promptly) we were treated to the sounds and smells of cooking from the centrally-situated kitchen, which was a welcome addition to the cafe’s ambience.  The café hosts an interesting variety of clientele – certainly a larger cross-section than some other restaurants in town which tend to draw in professionals only and can represent a post-script to the meeting you’ve just fled.    

When my dish arrived I was arrested by the liberal serving of prawns – an immediately cheering sight and a rare surprise.  So much so, that I almost didn’t clock that the “Asian-slaw” was a rather loose interpretation and was probably more of a leaf-less salad.  It was slightly lacklustre and could have been jazzed up quite simply with a bit of dressing or a few more exotic (even Asian) ingredients.  Nonetheless the flavour of the prawns was superb.  The light coating of spiced batter complemented rather than overpowered the seafood; and the chilli mayonnaise was a tasty pairing.       
 

 


I’d love to comment on my dining companion’s meal.  Nevertheless not even on a single chip from his plate passed my lips.  As you can see, it looks enticing.  It smelt enticing as well.   The only testimonial I have is “Uh-huh.  Lovely”.  I will comment that I’m not sure that the portion size was quite as substantial as the picture suggests - which is borne out by the fact that we had to stop in a newsagents’ on the way back to the office for a packet of McCoys (and they weren’t for me).  Although, by way of full disclosure, I should point out that my dining companion once ate half of my lunch after polishing off his own.  


 
Rhubarb offers an excellent alternative to the common or garden city-centre lunch and has very recently branched out with a new outpost on Wellington Place, very close to Pure Running.   The menu is varied and adventurous, the service was both friendly and highly efficient and, with the bill coming to a grand total of £14.00 for two meals, the value for money was exceptional.

 Of course, everything offers exceptional value for money when it’s free.
 

Sunday 22 September 2013

A GAME OF TWO HALVES


Meeting at Menin Gate, The MAC Theatre.  21st September 2013

I’m currently watching the X Factor.  Like many of us across the country, I can’t shake my fascination with it.  Nor The Voice.  Nor Come Dine with Me (on which I have a long-held and not-so-secret desire to appear).  I live my life to music, I love books and I’ve probably managed to sit through ten whole films in my lifetime - but from time to time, I suffer from the uncomfortable feeling that I’m suffering from a perilous cultural deficiency.  

This week, my dear madre threw me a rope by way of an invitation to accompany her to Meeting at Menin Gate at the MAC Theatre, a play by Martin Lynch.  By her own admission it would be heavy going.  Given that my mother’s holiday reading tends to consist of biographies of local politicians (“Man of War, Man of Peace” anyone?), this did not bode for a lightsome afternoon.  Nonetheless I accepted the invitation, took a deep breath and prepared to immerse myself in enough political commentary to erase the guilt of the entire season of this year’s X Factor.

The MAC Theatre is a significant enhancement to the ever-expanding Cathedral Quarter.  Its modern and distinctive architecture add to the vaguely European atmosphere of Saint Ann’s Square.  Before Saturday’s performance I’d visited the MAC on several occasions, for work rather than pleasure, and can confirm it bears out as a theatre even more convincingly than it wears its corporate mask. 
 
 

Meeting at Menin Gate is the third part of the “Ulster Trilogy” staged by Green Shoot Productions and directed by Matt Torney.  I had slight trepidation that as the final instalment of a series it would lack the punch of a single piece of standalone theatre - however my fears proved to be unfounded.

The lights go up on a bare set with the two lead characters Terry (James Doran) and Liz (Andrea Irvine) seated in two chairs facing out towards us, the audience.  The genius of both the unassuming set and understated beginning is that the audience is immediately invited into the action.  The first act bypasses the sense of disconnect that can often divide actors and an audience.  Terry is a reformed ex-Republican who was detained at Her Majesty’s Pleasure for the murder of two soldiers serving in the British Army.  Liz, a Unionist whose father was a member of the RUC, hails from Hillsborough.  The pair convincingly represent two sides of the same coin and are instantly both recognisable and likeable.  They’re thrown together on a trip to Belgium and a love story begins to develop. 

Against the backdrop of this romance, we are cunningly shown brief snapshots of the Troubles as recalled by the characters’ individual flashbacks or narrated to the audience.  The play is also wickedly humourous – the most notable moments of levity being brought to the action by Marty Maguire and Maria Connolly with both playing a multitude of characters and bringing something fresh (and potentially scene-stealing) to each role.  Maguire’s most memorable contribution was as the Paul Weller-loving older brother of Liz’s youth, and Connolly’s as the foul-mouthed yet convincing Cara.

The play’s elegant title certainly lent itself to the simple beauty and subsequent tension of the first half and as we left for the interval on a “cliff-hanger”, I reflected that this was possibly the most emotionally-charged piece of political drama that I had seen since the Lyric staged Frank McGuinness’ “Observe the Sons of Ulster Marching Towards the Somme”. 



Nonetheless as the second half began, it became clear that we were watching a different play entirely.  The stage had been dressed realistically (rather than symbolically) and Liz and Terry were no longer facing us; but on their feet and absorbed in their own story.  At this point I should comment that, given the development of the plot, the significance of this was probably appropriate.   There was a noticeable departure from the familiar atmosphere created in the first half - the context being that Liz is forced to face a terrible truth about a traumatic childhood event that ultimately turns her relationship with Terry on its head.  Although initially disappointed that the earlier intimacy we had enjoyed had been lost, I settled in to enjoy the second act.   And then things took a turn for the surreal.     

The MAC Theatre’s listing for this play had warned that an audience should expect “strong language, moderate violence and partial nudity”.  Neither my mother nor I had a problem with any of the above.  Nonetheless we hadn’t anticipated how difficult it is not to laugh in a hushed theatre when a grown man is lying prone on the stage with his trousers and boxers around his ankles, being smacked with a piece of foam disguised as a wooden stake.  I could feel my most inappropriate and high-pitched giggle coming on (which was stifled in the nick of time).  I felt as though we had descended into theatre of the absurd - made even more shocking by the stark contrast with the elegantly-crafted first act. 

The second half continued largely along the same vein of rather unpersuasive and borderline puzzling low-level violence.  At no point was it gratuitous or in any way difficult to bear; but it did feel unconvincing.  Nonetheless the plot continued to develop throughout the second act and it became apparent that this was not a romance, nor a commentary on the differences between Republicans and Unionists, but rather a story of victim and perpetrator.  It was a tale of unresolved anger that documents the difficulties of moving on from the horrors of the Troubles and voices the impotency felt by those affected by “empty chairs at the dinner table”. 

Despite the interludes of violence leaving me somewhat incredulous, the message that I carried away from yesterday’s performance has stayed with me.  The theme of victims and perpetrators is not familiar to my generation.  We are the new wave and (mostly) ready to move on and start afresh.  The truth is that it cannot be any other way; nevertheless Meeting at Menin Gate is a poignant reminder that the aftershocks of our troubled history can still be felt by some.