SALADE NIÇOISE

Things have been hectic around here, what with all the work we have had done.

On top of that we have to completely empty the ground floor in preparation for the tear out of the staircase and the rebuilding of our kitchen in January.

With all of that (and a lot of cleaning - BIG thank you ReyRey) we simply have not kept to our regular schedule of cooking and eating at a decent hour.  So tonight, we made a brave effort to get back on track.

I saw an article on David Lebovitz' blog about how to go about making a salade niçoise "correctly" and thought I would give it a go.  I used both canned tuna and noix de Saint-Jacques, as well as tomato, boiled potato, haricots verts, boiled egg and mâche.  I made the dressing with garlic, finely chopped onion, lemon juice, red wine vinegar, olive oil, and mustard (Amora brand in the Spiderman glass.  I'm collecting a set for my nephew Ruaidhrí).  The one key ingredient I was not able to find was the anchovies.  French supermarkets have a great choice of canned fish: tuna, mackerel, trout, sardines - but not anchovies.

Maybe I should be looking for the French Waitrose.

Playlist:

Na Prátaí Dubha
Nioclás Tóibín


Amhrán na bPrátaí Dubha
Máire Ní Dhroma

Na prátaí dubha do dhein ár gcomharsana a scaipeadh orainn,
Do chuir sa phoorhouse iad is anonn thar farraige;
I Reilig an tSléibhe tá na céadta acu treascartha
Is uaisle na bFflaitheas go ngabhaid a bpáirt,

A Dhia na Glóire fóir agus freagair sinn,
Scaoil ár nglasa agus réidh ár gcás,
Is an bheatha arís ó Do Chroí go gcasair orainn,
Is an poorhouse go leagair anuas ar lár.

Más mar gheall ar ár bpeacaí claona tháinig an chéim seo eadrainn,
Oscail ár gcroí is díbir an ghangaid as;
Lig braon beag de Do fhíorspiorad arís chun ár gcneasaithe,
Is uaisle na bhFlaitheas go ré ár gcás.

Níl aon chuimhne againne oíche nó maidin Ort
Ach ar ainnise an tsaoil ag déanamh marbhna,
Is, a Íosa Críost, go dtógair dínn an scamall so
Go mbeimis dod amharcadh gach am den lá.

Tá na bochta so Éireann ag plé leis an ainnise,
Buairt is anacair is pianta báis,
Leanaí bochta ag béiceadh is ag screadadh gach maidin,
Ocras fada orthu is gan dada le fáil.

Ní hé Dia a cheap riamh an obair seo,
Daoine bochta a chur le fuacht is le fán,
Iad a chur sa phoorhouse go dubhach is glas orthu,
Lánúineacha pósta is iad scartha go bás.

Na leanaí óga thógfaidís suas le macnas
Sciobtaí uathu iad gan trua gan taise dhóibh:
Ar bheagán lóin ach súp na hainnise
Gan máthair le freagairt díbh dá bhfaighidís bás.

A Rí na Trua is a Uain Ghil Bheannaithe,
Féach an ainnise atá dár gcrá
Is ná lig ar strae Uait Féin an t-anam bocht
Is a fheabhas a cheannaigh Tú é féin sa Pháis.

Nach trua móruaisle go bhfuil mórán coda acu
Ag íoc as an obair seo le Rí na nGrás;
Fearaibh bochta an tsaoil seo ná fuair riamh aon saibhreas
Ach ag síorobair dóibh ó aois go bás.

Bíonn siad ar siúl ar maidin, ar an dóigh sin dóibh,
Is as sin go tráthnóna ag cur cuiríní allais díobh,
Níl aon mhaith ina ndícheall mura mbíd cuíosach, seasmhach,
Ach téigi abhaile is beidh bhúr dtithe ar lár.