stanleyrumm.com

Y’know when you are walking down the street and pass an old one-armed one-eyed chinaman in traditional garb, smoking from a long pipe who nods his head and walks away down a dodgy-looking backalley and you wonder if you should follow him for some big secret revelation beyond your imagination or turn and run in the opposite direction asap?

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Well discovering Ivory Tower Restaurant, in Cork, Ireland, for the first time is a little like that.

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The outside is somewhat… unassuming, to put it mildly, downright frightening to more accurately describe it.

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This is as good as it gets outside. See that golden angel thingy overhead? It looks dangerously perched over the doorway. It feels like walking under a (spiky) ladder passing through the doorway and the bad-luck feeling stays with you as you proceed.

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Truth be told, I love the ramshackle style. It’s like old New Orleans or a mishmash of clutter that Major Johnny Brit might have brought back from his trip round the world “to see the Empire an’ all that”.

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Up the stairs and through the door on the right and you’re into the main room (no further photos I’m sorry to say -the rest you’ll have to see for yourself!)

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If you had doubts up to now, they may be brushed aside when you catch a glimpse of the menu (sample here), but all misgivings are definitely tossed out the [large] window [overlooking the street below] once the food arrives.

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Three of us called there last night. As a ‘surprise taster’, we each got the same small, meaty Octopus salad.

Two of us lashed it down.I can only remember tasting octopus once before, and I didn’t like it -it was rubbery and it had tentacle suckers. The cuts in this salad though were soft and meaty and very tasty. Mrs. Rumm couldn’t eat hers (don’t worry -everything else was self-selectable), but I dare say if the owner, Seamus, had called it ‘chicken surprise’ instead she’d have loved it.

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I had a ‘wood-pigeon with beetroot’ starter. I’ve never been a big fan of beetroot, but again, here the beetroot tasted like meat -it was thickly cut and melted in the mouth like a moist tender slice of beef. In fact at times it was difficult to determine which was the beetroot and which the poor, dear, dead and tasty wood-pigeon. Dear dear wood-pigeon. I loved your meat, though we never met.

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My brother had a sushi starter, consisting of crab wraps, sea bass and one or two other bits. My wife had the duck (could well have been the main course in another establishment, if served with a few dollops of potato). It had a lovely-looking crispy skin that I was tempted to grab from her plate when I saw her slice it away to reveal the tender meat within, but by then I was lost in the delights of my own dish.

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Next, for the “between courses” course, we had a choice of three dishes. The two males chose the lobster bisque, Mrs. Rumm again took the non-marine route and went with the sorbet.

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I had expected a little shot-glass fishy aperitif. Instead I was presented with a bowl of soup (with newly-replenished bowl of delicious bread). I have no doubt the lobster was running around that morning because the bisque had quite the kick. In truth, this was the closest I came to disliking anything: The dish was peppery and tangy and ‘alien’ tasting. Somehow, after dipping a slice of (raspberry) bread into it however, it began to transform: The bread I could understand, and now the alien taste blended well with this understandable taste and so I found my taste buds accepting it. By the end, do I need to make clear? -each of our ‘late course starter’ dishes was completely demolished.

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Onward and ever-upward to the main course!

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I had the Sea Bass. Nothing amazing in the description, but the taste was delicious I’m sure I don’t need to say. It was served in a sauce similar to the lobster bisque I had just eaten, but without the extra kick that would’ve knocked the bass out of the plate. Instead, this sauce had an ‘added lightness’ feel to it, much the same way lemongrass does for asian cooking (if that makes sense?)

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My brother had the duck (very tasty looking too) and Mrs. Rumm had the undeniable steak.

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For dessert, two of us had the Selection of Irish Cheeses (“Served in a right state”) and the other had the berry tart with olive oil ice cream.

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Let me say, for the record, I haven’t tasted every Irish cheese by a long-shot, but I can admit that I’d never had a ‘delicious’ Irish cheese before. In Ivory Towers, however, I loved all of the 5 or 6 cheeses on my plate. Maybe it was the mix, maybe it was the salty crackers or the rich Rioja red wine, but I particularly liked the blue (Bellingham) cheese and the nutty/seedy one -’Killeens’ I think Seamus told me it was. Each available from On The Pigs Back in the nearby English Market.

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Overall, the evening was an adventure as much as a meal. I had been there a number of years ago and can vouch for the consistency and quality of the food.

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The total cost wasn’t cheap, but well worth it.

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One bonus was when we discovered that the set-price menu had been reduced from 60euros to just 50, which is a steal for food of this quality. To celebrate we had a little more wine than we may have had, which went down very well, but did cause costs to leap of course.

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Peace and Brotherly Love are the by-words that certain correspondents would have us believe most effectively sum up relations and mood between the peoples of Northern Ireland.

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But under the surface (and even clearly on the surface at times) old hatreds and prejudices boil and bubble, resulting in an annual eruption of violence you could set your watch by. Old Faithful is alive and well and gushing through the streets of Northern Ireland every 12th of July.

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THE PROBLEM: ‘Orangemen’ see it as their right to hold parades along routes they have always marched each 12th of July. Unfortunately, certain areas on certain routes do not want these marches. People in these areas see them as an imperialist and triumphalist finger to the wishes of the majority (in those areas).

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Every year this results in a stand-off between both peoples, usually with the police in the middle (literally) keeping them apart.

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THE SOLUTION: Allow the orangemen down the road (each contentious road I mean), one person at a time.

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These roads are lined with police and army vehicles that keep the ‘locals’ from attacking marchers as the almost-inevitable parade progresses. Orangemen are usually told not to play their instruments during these times.

These men wish to “walk down the queen’s highway” as they put it and frankly they have a point.

Catholics/locals in these certain areas do not wish a horde of “ignorant loyalists” to trample through their patch, and frankly they have a point too (even though the idea of catholic and protestant ‘patches’ itself is ridiculous, however that’s how it is).

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So anyway, after a flurry of protest & violence, usually the orangemen eventually march, amid a flurry of protest & violence on the other side of the barricade.

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Imagine now the scene if orangemen were allowed march one-at-a-time. Such a ‘march’ could no longer be interpreted as a triumphalist cock-a-snoot to the locals, but instead would be laughed-off (loudly) from behind the barriers. The glass bottles and angry threats would be replaced by jeers and mocking laughter. (OK, ideally this should not occur either of course, but I’m trying to be real here).

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The result is the orangemen have their march, but it could not be interpreted by ‘locals’ as an annual triumphalist invasion of the area.

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Of course this won’t be adopted because: The underlying problem is the traditional communities themselves, divided along sectarian lines. It’s understandable why people huddled together in these ways during the troubles, forced to rely on each other in times of need. Now these huddles (in certain areas) are themselves as problematic as a mass of marchers. They will likely take a couple of generations to disperse naturally, as people find they no longer need to live and define themselves along strictly religious lines.

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I read and re-read the email sent to me by the organisers of the Your Country Your Call competition, trying to figure out what it was saying. Maybe I was too excited to concentrate on the multiple paragraphs.

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It read like a kiss-off/ thanks-and-tough-luck email, but I couldn’t find where it was actually stating that.

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…Then I spotted it on my third-time round. Why these people don’t put “Dear Sir/Madam, You didn’t make it” as their first line instead of burying it in side-mouthed form-letter compliments I’ll never ever know.

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(It reminds me of people in a cinema opening a packet of popcorn slowly instead of quickly out of misplaced, pathetic sympathy.)

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The list of semi-finalists is posted here and mine isnt’ on there. Aww.

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Best of luck to the winner I say, but at a glance at least, it looks to me like the same old “corporate vested interest” notions that crop up time and again rather than a proper decent, simple, original thought.
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“Ireland should be a hub for online gaming” …Now why didn’t I think of that??
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“Green Ireland – a new brand for developing Irish Food and Tourism” …wow this is cutting-edge this is!

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“YEATS INSTITUTE OF LANGUAGE AND CULTURE” -well we must make it look like we at least give a damn about these things I suppose.
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Shoulda known.

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Now, I realise good ideas can sometimes come across as ridiculous or ill-considered when given a quick description, so there’s a possibility some or all of the above aren’t as stoopid and uninventive as they look.

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With that in mind, I’m not going to divulge my grand idea in a 1-line descriptor, but if anyone is interested you can read my proposal in full here.

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No comment.

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In this series I posit some unconventional/ will-never-be-tried solutions to problems of our times.

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THE PROBLEM: Greece is going bankrupt and needs money.

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THE SOLUTION: Have a holiday!

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Instead of giving/loaning Greece billions of euros, European governments should commit a certain percentage of their populations to take a holiday in Greece each year for the next X number of years.

eg. 10% of the Irish population will holiday in Greece over the next 3 years.
2% of Germans will holiday in Greece over the next 3 years.
3% of French people will holiday in Greece over the next 3 years.
etc.

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This brings money to the people of Greece themselves, who then spend it and it filters up the chain to banks and governments.

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EU countries can offer incentives to their own people to go to Greece, thus ensuring the numbers -eg. “Buy a holiday in Greece and we won’t charge you VAT on the purchase!” …this can also boost businesses in their home countries, by encouraging ‘local’ travel agent holiday purchases rather than internet sales so as to verify the deal.

Also, it lends confidence to the financial market as it is a verifiable income to the country of Greece for the next number of years.

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Greek people get money and goodwill. Other Europeans get a holiday in a lovely part of the world.How bad? It sure as hell beats forking out a fortune and praying it comes back some day.

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If the Greek infrastructure isn’t up to the influx of travellers well they’ll just have to build more infrastructure -and how bad will that be?

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Of course this won’t be adopted because: It’s unconventional. It doesn’t directly involve single vested interest groups (eg. “The banks”, “The government”), but instead relies on individuals throughout the EU.

It seems obvious to me that the banks and the governments are the last ones to fix these problems (on their own at least), but who the hell listens to me?

Huh?

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I’ve just entered the Your Country Your Call competition. It seems like a genuine attempt to collect mold-breaking do-able ideas to help lift Ireland out of the doldrums it (not to mention everywhere else) finds itself. So I thought I’d give it a bash. Who knows, one of these days someone might listen to me.

I’m not sure what I should say about my idea at this stage, but the proposal is listed here. I’m quite positive about it’s chance of success actually, but I’ve resolved to put the whole thing out of my head for now until finalists are announced -in September or so I think.

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Here’s the ‘blurb’ for my submission if you don’t want to click the link.

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Ireland -A New Way (Sli Nua)

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The title might appear to imply some sort of idealised political movement, but nothing could be further from the truth. This is a new way for the people of Ireland (and the world at large) to look at Ireland and see it as it has never been seen before.

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It’s radical, yet very simple. It requires a little effort from people throughout the country, but will soon transform every area -for the better.

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It’s economically practical. It creates jobs and skills throughout the country (not just in certain areas), increases tourism everywhere, vastly improves the physical and mental health of the people, makes the country a safer environment, is Environmentally-friendly, brings communities and its people closer together (in non-political, uplifting and positive ways), teaches skills to those who want them -and also brings a boost to local businesses the length and breadth of the country.

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It also brings some comforts of city-living to people of the countryside and gives city dwellers a greater taste of country living.

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This proposal benefits everyone in practical, realistic and non-cynical ways. No vested interest wins over other sectors.

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1 billion = 1,000,000,000 = 1,000 million  (in European terms)

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1 billion seconds = 11,574.074 days = 31.79 years (start counting now)

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1 billion inches = 15,782.83 miles (roughly the distance from Dublin to New York, then back to Dublin, then back to New York, then back to Dublin, then back to New York)

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1 billion people = roughly the population of the USA x 3

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1 billion acres = roughly seven-and-a-half times the size of France

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D’ya know when you’re hiking across a mountain and you come to an isolated village where the people welcome you with open arms and have a party to celebrate your visit and as the golden sun sets across the valley you think to yourself you have at last found Shangri-la, then the moon comes out and everybody turns into werewolves and try to eat you?  …That’s what staying at The Ross Hotel, Killarney, County Kerry is like.

In fairness, I would rate it among the best hotels I’ve stayed in terms of helpful staff, overall appearance & decor and top-class food, but if you’re not planning on staying in the bar until 2AM the chances are you won’t get much sleep.

The first night of our stay we couldn’t turn the volume on the TV up louder than the noise coming from outside (we were on the third floor, overlooking a courtyard that had at least three pub beer gardens -the window was closed, but the unblockable window vent kept all the noises flowing through.)

The next day we meekly enquired if there might be another room that was slightly quieter. The ever-helpful staff obliged -they moved us to a room two doors down. It was a slightly quieter to be fair. This time we did manage to turn the volume on the TV up louder than the outside noise.

Of course, we were being somewhat dry by being in our room before pub-closing hours, admittedly, but both nights we had gorged ourselves on top-class cuisine in the Hotel restaurant and weren’t fit for more alcohol after. Add to that the fact we were two parents deliriously happy to have escaped the clutches of our beautiful and demanding children for a whole weekend. We were already exhausted when we got there. The forced late nights didn’t help much. Everything else was perfect.

Would I stay at The Ross Hotel again? Gladly -but preferably at a time when the weather isn’t so good, when people are content to stay mostly inside the bar instead of outdoors all night long -or at a time when I am physically able to join them.

Speaking of Two Lovers the other day reminded me of an unrelated event from a few years ago…

I asked Mrs. Rumm what she would like for Christmas. She told me a plain white gold wedding band. The one she already had was the standard gold type. She wanted a white one to go with different outfits. Or something. Who am I to question such things?

I recall buying the wedding rings with her first time around. Both of us wanted nothing other than “a plain ring”. Nothing fancy. As a result, the two rings we bought were each in the region of £40 (Irish punts). Our taste in jewellery hasn’t changed.

Now it was maybe six or seven years later… 2004ish. We had a new currency (the Euro). We had gone through an economic boom. Prices were higher. So adjusting for currencies (bring it to, say 55 euros), inflation (80ish?), a bit of greed (90ish), some more greediness (100ish), gold price fluctuations (….?) ..and a bit more on top, I estimated the absolute maximum cost such an item could possibly be would be 130 – 150 euros.

“OK,” I said. “No problem.”

Next day I entered a Jewellery Store (this sentence seems odd to me, but if I said “entered a Jewellers” it’d have a whole different connotation to my dirty mind).

“Can I help you?” enquired a pleasant-looking, well-presented male assistant in a calm voice that sounded like melted chocolate flowing over a lush carpet.

“I’m looking for a plain white gold ring for my wife,” I informed him, “Nothing fancy.”

“OK,” he smiled softly and lead me to the counter. He pulled a tray of rings from underneath. The first thing I noticed was the lack of prices.
The second thing was all these rings had something fancy about them -diamond studs, ridges, fancy engravings, etc..

Instead of jumping immediately to the vulgar issue of price, I hummed and hawed and finally asked if he had anything plainer.
“I’m really just looking for plain white gold -no decorations or anything.”

He considered this quietly and carefully before selecting one of the more plain bands from the same tray. It had only a few small indents here and there.

“Yeah, it’s not too fancy, I suppose,” I had to concede. “How much is it?”

“That one is 600 Euros,” he said as though his voice was massaging my temples.

Shocked, I couldn’t help myself.

“Six hundred!!?” I gasped.
“I told you it was for my wife,” I said, “not my girlfriend!”

Without batting an eyelid, the assistant creased his brow and nodded as though this made complete sense to him.
“I think we may have something more plain in store,” he confided. “I can ring them and have it here by tomorrow.”

“A simple, plain white gold ring?” I enquired, slowly turning towards the door.

“Yes yes,” he nodded.

“And how much roughly would that cost?”

He waved in the air and shook his head as though conjuring a nominal amount between old friends.

“Pah -no more than three-fifty,” he informed me, his voice having lost some of the chocolate softness.
“Come back tomorrow I’ll have it for you,” he smiled.

In truth, I almost felt bad not going back there the following day. It seemed a breach of trust somehow that instead I went down the road and bought the first one I spotted for less than two hundred -and that was difficult to find too let me tell you!

I still don’t see how it could be possible for something like that to jump to more than four-times its price in a few years. Madness I tells ya!

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Full disclosure: I can’t say for certain if the “I said wife, not girlfriend” line is truly original. It’s possible I heard it somewhere before. It sounds like something Rodney Dangerfield might have said. Either way it was fun using it. …A little disconcerting that the guy didn’t even flinch, but fun nonetheless.

I urge you to heed what I’m saying. This is serious people. The world is on the brink and we all need to row together and prop each other up where we can.

That is why I am leading a campaign for an informal whip-around for one very special person. I’m sure you have a leaky tap you were looking to replace this year or were intending to buy a steak or some lamb chops this month or maybe you felt flathulach and thought you might splash out on a new pair of shoes (?)

But before you spend those coppers in your pocket, please please please spare a thought for the chairman of the Bank of Ireland, Mr. Brian Goggin, who I just heard on the radio. He expects to earn under 2 million euros this year.

Surely we can’t let this happen to a man who took home more than 2.9 million last year. I mean, that’s a 33% paycut!!

So, if any of you are rich on redundancy or were suddenly paid part of an invoice due to you two years ago, perhaps you could mosey on over to your nearest Bank of Ireland branch (if it hasn’t been closed during the streamlined Celtic Tiger years) and put a little something in an envelope for Mr. Goggin. You can trust Bank of Ireland to know what to do with it.

Give a little now. It will help a lot.

(They’ll be back for the rest later on.)