Bernard O'Shea: There are five things you need for an Irish picnic, including a flask of tea
The Irish weather rarely allowed for the luxury of eating picnics outdoors without getting wet.
I’m not a fan of picnics. Picnics inhabit different visual territories. In movies, they are often romanticised. A couple on a date is feeding each other strawberries, laughing giddily. On Instagram, perfectly laid-out plates on a checkerboard ground cloth and the pièce de résistance is the achingly cool wicker basket strewn down with perfect, polished cutlery. Beautiful people are clinking flutes of prosecco in unwrinkled, brilliant white linen. However, the reality is quite different, particularly in Ireland.
My first memory of going for a picnic was my school tour as a junior infant. We went to the local woods in Durrow, and I remember my mother made me ham sandwiches with no butter and rich tea biscuits wrapped in tin foil. What I remember from it was thinking, “Why is it raining?” My thought process was that while we were eating outside, the weather would surely be polite enough to put on a beautiful day for us.
This thought continued, especially when we would go on our annual holiday to Kerry. My mother would make a picnic for all of us. But we would only get as far as the next village before we wanted to eat it. There was something fun about eating outside on a blanket, and there always seemed to be MiWadi, which we didn’t usually get. However, we would always eat it in the car with the heater on full blast.
The rationale behind it back then was cost. For seven of us, eating in a restaurant would have been out of the question if it wasn’t essential. It is only in the blink of an eye that the only time you ate out was on a special occasion. Thankfully, as I love eating out, it's more of a regular occurrence. But with kids, it's getting costly. It’s come full circle, and the news cycle is full of economic analysts comparing the rising cost of inflation to the 1980s. For those who remember it, it wasn’t pleasant economically, and I’m only now coming to terms with how difficult it must have been for our parents.
On a recent trip to the beach last month, my wife and I decided to make a picnic for two reasons. Firstly, we didn’t want to make a simple day out into an expensive one, and secondly, the kids don’t always eat what they order. I have that gene that can’t stand to see food being wasted. So inevitably, I’ll get it put in a doggy bag to take away or eat it myself. This way, I can blame my big belly on being conscientious about food sustainability.
But the biggest thing I noticed on our way down the Kerry coast was that all the areas with picnic benches were full-up. For years you’d see the odd car, but now they were jam-packed, populated with families just like ourselves.
The most obvious thing I noticed is that there is most definitely an “Irish Picnic” and it is almost law that it has to contain the following items:
- Ham sandwiches on white bread squished to death with cling film.
- A muti-pack of Taytos, where all the salt and vinegar packs are the only ones left over.
- MiWadi orange or Capri Suns. Often accompanied by the trauma of trying to get the new cardboard straws into them.
- A gigantic breeze block-sized packet of custard creams.
- A flask of pre-mixed tea.
However, because I’m the nosiest person in the world, I noticed that on the beach, the average Irish picnic has entirely raised its game. One family had outdoor dining set with a portable fridge. I felt like calling over for a cup of sugar. Another clan had built a shelter, and the wafts of a barbecue flowed over it. But they were all outdone by the one couple who had turned the boot of their car into a small restaurant, fully equipped with a Nespresso machine. If they had a trading licence, they could have made money. Meanwhile, we munched away greedily on Taytos, and the traditional ham and sand-filled sandwiches in a tent shelter, one of the ones you know you will never be able to get back into its pouch.
But no matter how much the kids enjoyed it, I couldn’t get on board. For me, an Irish picnic is a lot like an Irish barbeque. An excellent idea until you have to bring it inside. But I can’t get comfortable eating on the ground. I move around constantly, eating, standing up and looking at everyone.
I also love eating out. I love restaurants. I love long lunches. I love saying, “Ah, sure, we’ll have a look at the dessert menu.” I don’t have to cook or prepare the food, and people bring the food to your table, mainly with a smile. I was a waiter and barman for 10 years. I also love having shelter and heat while I munch. But like our workplaces, I have gradually become a hybrid foodie.
I am now definitely more conscious of the price of eating out. You have to be. It was one of the luxuries I allowed myself, but now, like my parents in the 80s, it gradually got crossed off the luxury list. Last week on a trip up to Dublin for work, I decided to bring a packed lunch to negate the fuel cost. The kids thought it was hilarious. “Daddy, you look like you are going to school”, my son quipped. It did remind me of it, to be honest.
As I pulled into the resting area, three other cars and their drivers were doing the same thing, eating a motorway picnic. Like synchronised swimmers, we all got out of our vehicles simultaneously to stretch our legs. As the cars flew past, I looked out onto the road and thought that all those people had no idea we were changing the course of the gastronomic future. We were the new hybrid foodies, reinventing the picnic. As I got back into the car, the only thing I missed was a freshly brewed coffee. Next time, I’m bringing my coffee machine.
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