I'm from a generation for whom ice cream meant something simple: a block of HB Neopolitan, in its glorious three stripe suit of white, pink and yellow. Remember it, the one your ma would slice up and put between two wafers and you'd lick the sides before biting into the crispy bit? The ice cream tasted sweet as icing sugar and somehow had an airy texture. You didn't know it then, but it tasted totally artificial, and delicious with it (and you were raised on Angel Delight, packet Erin Oxtail Soup and Super Noodles so artificial was good as it got. Yum.).
Remember, then, what it was like when Haggan Daas hit the shelves here for the first time? How we all thought we'd died and gone to heaven, and to hell if eating the stuff meant families re-mortgaging their homes, because who was going to argue with that taste? No one, that was who. And so the posh ice cream phenomenon was born on these shores, and has continued apace, recession or no recession, with Ben and Jerrys and all those other imported brands whose names I can't recall but which I've sure as anything tucked into, sometimes regrettably as I've gazed into the scraped-clean tub bottom and felt the stirrings of the tummy-brain-full connection that, let's face it, can be painfully slow to kick when it comes to eating the stuff.
Posh ice cream. Not a native Irish phenomenon, despite our love for the stuff, so it's no surprise, perhaps, that an American, even of the Irish- variety, was the one to create the second wave of ice-cream-to-remortgage-your-home-for here, in the form of Murphy's.
Cards on the table, I'm wary of gourmet food and the types that go with it. I regard it with a slight head tilt and sceptical gaze. I think lots of the time it costs too much money, and isn't really that good - or as good as it says on the non-tin eco-cool box it comes in.
So it took me a little while to dip my toe into these chilly waters, detecting signs of that rarefied mentality about the project. And there's no doubt but that they are there - Murphy's take the making of frozen custardy stuff very seriously indeed. And who's to say they shouldn't?
Not I, for one, as the results are simply expletive-inducingly unbelievable. It's just possible that Murphy's is ice cream is worth dying for, so noble pure and good is the stuff.
I saw the guy who owns it, or one of them, on telly doing a demo. He made - wait for it, be prepared not to believe it - rain ice cream. Yes, you heard me. Ice cream flavoured from the stuff that falls from the sky in way too much abundance here, the stuff that's the source of Irish people's number one complaint. The IMO may come and go, but we'll always have rain. Specifically, he made West Kerry rain ice-cream. The sheer audacity of the man would make you sit up.
I've come to believe there is not only talent but cunning in these guys. As, when I refocused my gaze after laughing my head off, typically Mr Murphy convinced me that without a shadow of a doubt rain ice-cream was the best invention ever, upstaging sliced bread and even casting doubt over the assumed predominance of the wheel, and making me want it at all costs.
He described the Kerry landscape, the smell that emanates from a freshly wet heather-filled mountainside, the texture of the air. He turned weather into flavour. Ridiculous, yes. But true, true, true. I'd been there, I knew. I was back there now in my mind, wandering the mountainside, dreamy with rain-lust. He put heather and clover and other stuff that grows there into a pot, did that custardy thing, and I could practically smell and taste the bloody stuff as he stirred it up and conjured food that I'm still dreaming of. Last meal food.
Murphy's, you have won the heart of a gourmet-sceptic. You know that food should be fun and serious, and how to strike that balance. You had the vision to see something that I'm not sure a native Irish person would - that despite the drawbacks of our weather, people would want to eat delicious cold stuff in dedicated shops all year round. You pick great staff and train them really well, and they share that infectious enthusiasm for the fun serious thing of ice-cream. And they offer tastes of it to the undecided (and those of us who are pretending to be). And they pretend not to know we're pretending.
Consider putting rain ice cream on the menu. Never again let mint fall off it, even for a second. Issue health warnings if there is ever a scarcity of raspberries and don't imagine for a moment anything else will replace that sorbet. Continue being ridiculous and inventing ice creams that don't make sense but taste incredible. Sea salt, anyone?
Keep doing what you do. Because God knows, we've enough cows in this country. Yet we might still be waiting if you guys hadn't brought ice cream home. read more