Fine dining on road and fairies in dough

Ballymaloe, a 400- acre estate- turned- cooking school / restaurant in East Cork, ushered in Ireland’s culinary renaissance in the 1980s. Since then, the southwest of Ireland has gone on to annually produce 70% of the country’s artisanal goodies, and cooking schools have become as ubiquitous as purple heather.

In this unpretentious region, you don’t have to dine deluxe to eat well. Small country inns suchas Skibbereen’s West Cork Hotel, where fresh crab cakes melted in my mouth along with locally smoked salmon and mackerel, strive to serve regionally sourced food and even list producers on their menus. And driving through picture- perfect towns with names such as Ballinspittle and Castel freke I came across roadside delis and even gas station lunch bars serving Durrus artisanal cheese and local charcuterie on their homemade bread.

Near the friary ruins of Timoleague, Karen Austin shows off her 1- acre organic garden surrounded by ancient stone walls, part of her 1860 Lettercollum House, a funky space filled with local art.

“We revamped the old stables and dairy into a cooking school using all this,” she said, sweeping her arms from apples to quinoa to free- range chickens. “It’s an enormous day of eating and recipes.” The school is part of her Lettercollum Kitchen Project, which includes a gourmet shop in the nearby town of Clonakilty that sells produce and organic cuisine fresh from their garden.

Over on tiny, foodie Heir Island, Patrick Ryan was a 29- year- old with a law degree he had never used when he decided to follow his bliss, studying with a Dublin chef and setting up the Firehouse Bakery & Bread School down the road from the Island Cottage restaurant.

I signed up for his oneday bread course, hoping it would reveal why my dough never rises and my pizzas are tough as leather.

While we measured and kneaded, Ryan guided us through his creative twists on local Irish soda bread. “When the dough’s in the pan, cut an Xin the top to let the fairies out, then stick a knife in each quarter to kill the rest,” he said, stabbing the loaves.

It’s old Irish folklore, he admitted, “but you never know…”

Despite its remote location, the school, which shares space with the local sailing club, was an instant hit when it opened in 2012 and no wonder, with its wood- fired, clay- oven- baked flatbreads, focaccias, sourdough loaves, cinnamon swirls and killer pizzas. The hands- on class broke my baking curse. Or perhaps it was those fairies.

Almost every village I passed through hosted a weekly farmers market, and on Sunday morning it was Schull’s turn. The lovely foodie fishing town is home to Gwen’s Chocolates, which makes sweet magic, and Hackett’s Bar, a very old, character- rich gastropub. Amid the market bustle I sampled smokehouse meats, craft charcuterie and local cheeses such as Gubbeen, chatting with the cheesemakers at their stall.

As I left the market I spotted a stand of carved wooden sticks. “Unicorn wands,” said the sign. I picked one up. “How do you use them?” I asked. The vendor’s startlingly blue eyes sparkled.

“Nowthat,” he whispered mysteriously, “is entirely up to you!”