Irish Salmon

Salmon.  The beautiful fish that plies the rivers and coasts of Ireland and lives in its legends as the source of all knowledge.  I’m not sure that all the salmon we ate was locally sourced – or wisdom inducing -- but it certainly was the most available main dish of our journey.  The single most delicious we found through the Bridgestone Irish Food Guide and so we went out of our way on Erin’s birthday to visit The Burren Smokehouse in the small town of Lisdoonvarna.  

On a road that further west along the County Clare coast, we passed the smokehouse to pull into the car park.  A river tumbled just beyond the unprotected edge of the tarmac.  Passing the giant-sized stylized salmon statue at the Visitor Centre entrance, we entered the richly dark room.  Bulletin boards and brochure racks spilled over with information about the local foods movement in Ireland.  

A woman from Arkansas – “I married a native” – was preparing small samples affixed with toothpicks.  The swallow wasn’t enough for me to actually gain a taste but it was for Erin.  She knew she wanted more.  We skipped the five- minute video on the smoking process, offered in lieu of an actual tour, made use of the restroom, as all road trippers should at any opportunity, and perused the items for sale, all of which were of higher quality than typical.  Seeking a respite from the unsatisfying radio stations, I purchased two CDs of music, one a compilation as a fundraiser for the Doolin Rescue Patrol.  Erin purchased the fish. 

The salmon is from two farms that they operate on the coast, one on Clare Island.  This was a good omen as Clare Island is the home of Ireland’s pirate queen, Grace O’Malley, a legendary figure who had caught Erin’s imagination months before. Two varieties of the salmon were available: hot smoked or cold smoked.  They are smoked with oak for a soft mellow flavor, the hot at a temperature of about 80 C to result in a firmer flesh, sometimes flavored as if barbecued.  Erin wisely chose the more traditional cold smoked. 

We ate the salmon at a picnic later that day, our backs leaning against a round tower at the disappointingly overdeveloped Cliffs of Moher.  Settled out of the wind, I sliced the plastic open with my penknife and we used it to draw out each thin slice.  The color was deep coral pink and the flesh melted in our mouths.  Erin quickly declared, “This is the best salmon I have ever eaten – in my life!” A sage judgment.