Joe McNamee: Galway eatery Kai's new cookbook showcases eclectic and eccentric fusion
Jess and Dave Murphy of Kai
I first met Jess Murphy in 2013 at Electric Picnic’s Theatre of Food, then, months later, at a rambunctious Lebanese pop-up by restaurateur-activist Kamal Mouzawak in Ard Bia.
But the first time I properly ‘got’ Jess was the first time I dined at her Galway restaurant, Kai.
Generous servings of delicious food spoke of a desire to simultaneously comfort and confound; superb Irish produce reimagined by a magpie mind allergic to culinary proscription.
I ate alone, people-watching, eavesdropping but mostly eating, slowly savouring every morsel, especially exquisite black sole.
A meal of seeming contradictions, ambition and adventure tucked up tightly in bed alongside comfort and bounty, unpretentious and singular delivery of perfectly calibrated textures and flavours to charm a contrary old farmer as much as it would a ditzy digital influencer.
It remains one of my most pleasurable dining memories.
My only regret, Kai is not in Cork, a distance now reduced with (Nine Bean Rows).
Jess grew up in a rural New Zealand township to a mother she describes as a hippie potter, committed activist, social justice warrior and ‘unstoppable ball of energy’ — Jess, though not a potter, apparently didn’t lick it off the stones.
With her father and brother, she learned to hunt, making bullets for duck hunting, even serving as retriever.
She helped kill pigs, shaving them after slaughter. At 15, she could drive a hay truck, crutch sheep, make a hãngi pit oven, fish and dive for food.
In 2000, working grunt jobs in hospitality, living in a trailer park in the gold-mining town of Kalgoorlie, she met Irishman David Murphy.
She was 21, he was 23. Three weeks later, they moved in together, never since parted.
Jess says it proves opposites attract but I’m inclined to think each complements the other; Jess is the kite, Dave is the string, linking her to ground.
In 2003, they moved to Ireland. In 2005, Galway became ‘home’.
In 2010, the economy still blue in the oxygen tent, the pair opened Kai on a shoestring.
Hospitality virgin Dave left his job with an engineering firm and took over front of house while Jess ran the kitchen.
Ireland’s turn-of-the-century flirtation with fusion cooking was mostly nonsensical, novelty for novelty’s sake, what I dub the potato-pineapple era.
Jess’s ‘fusion’ is different. She may scavenge freely from the global repertoire, recipes and ingredients, but cleaves to a bedrock of the magnificent Irish produce with which she is so besotted.
She also has an uncanny ability to render curious combos into singular dishes of incomparable flavour; the first recipe in her book is for spud focaccia with wild garlic pesto.
Murphy’s ‘fusion’ chimes with the current concept of borderless cuisine, reflecting her own extensive travels, modern migratory patterns in a shrinking world, and the multiple nationalities in so many contemporary professional kitchens; several recipes are directly attributed to staff, from Ireland and abroad.
She is equally committed to traditional classics, especially sumptuous baked confections, though invariably supercharged with her inspired originality.
Cakes are royalty in Kai; daytime tea and cake is encouraged.
Vegetarian dishes predominate, flush with pulses and sublime produce; seafood is bountiful, whole fish and even more shellfish, crustaceans and molluscs
Meat dishes are comparatively scant and rather leftfield, eg goat jollof, and pheasant schnitzel.
Recipes are divided into the four Celtic seasons, Imbolc, Bealtaine, Lúnasa and Samhain (each a month earlier than modern counterparts), yet rigid seasonality is not obvious.
Wee Imbolc’s (February, March, April) opening savoury salvo: spud focaccia; Galway-style khachapuri; whipped smoked eel; whole plaice on the bone, cornichon mayo; poached brown trout, watercress cream; roasted spring cabbage, Cáis na Tíre, hazelnut pangrattato; Emma’s einkorn, three-cornered leek and St Tola tart; gunpowder spring green pakora; chicken broth; Kai fish fingers; masala lamb chops, labneh, smashed cucumbers; ox tongue tonnato.
It is an eclectic, even eccentric selection, none of the familiar, formulaic rhythms of other cookbooks.
Then again, there is no ‘formula’ to Jess or Kai other than serving up food that has seen the world yet always remembers Galway is home.
It makes for a truly unique Irish cookbook, set to become a classic.
The Glenbrook Farm Christmas market (December 13), just a 15-minute drive from Cork city centre, promises to be a unique yuletide family-friendly experience, combining entertainment and some judicious food shopping for the big day itself, including Christmas hams. With farmer Peter Twomey’s splendid free-range pork available for sale, there will also be farm-to-fork food, mulled wine, gift boxes, honey, entertainment, a very festive grill, and social media star and food influencer Sunshine Primo dons the Santa suit for the day.
Meeting up over Christmas doesn’t have to be all about 12-pub trails of debauchery, and your mind, body and soul will thank you for instead opting for a festive afternoon tea at Cork’s Metropole Hotel, inspired by its traditional afternoon teas of yesteryear.
The sweet stuff includes scones and pastries, The Met ‘Swiss roll’ with mulled berries, Bramley Apple and Olive Oil Sponge with Five-Spice Mousse, Hazelnut Praline Choux Bun, and hot whiskey paté de fruits. Savoury options include West Cork smoked salmon and Irish trout caviar on Buckley’s Soda Bread, and St. Tola Goat's Curd, Pickled Beetroot and Orange Tart. All will be served in the wonderfully refurbished new lobby, where a real sense of the Christmas spirit abounds, and it is also an excellent pre-panto option before trekking off to scream, “oh no you won’t” in near neighbours, The Everyman, or across the river to the Cork Opera House.
- Pre-booking essential, metropolehotel.ie
Although a chilli fiend of long standing, I must admit to being surprised at how a fetish for the fiery has swept the nation until I thought further of how chilli (capsaicin) prompts the brain to release dopamine. These days, however, my belly rebels at the extreme nuclear heat of the outer reaches of the Scoville scale so, while greatly taken with the Cork-produced Brazen range, I particularly enjoyed the bright, fresh acidity and gentler heat of the Brazen Lime Chilli Jam (€5), made with apple, jalapeno and lime. Pairing especially well with cold chicken or grilled mackerel, it also makes for an excellent addition to mayonnaise, especially good smeared across the carmelised crunch of a fine toastie.
