Beautiful Affair. Mike Hanrahan

ground-breaking Bothy Band. Tommy’s playing was on another level, from a different place, sometimes dark, sometimes melancholic, but always exciting and performed with such panache. He was an introverted character and, in those days, insisted on taking me along to play guitar at all his gigs. I was only a novice with very few chords, but he said he loved my rhythm and the way I accompanied tunes. That meant more than I could ever express in words, and unfortunately he’ll never know the effect he had on my confidence as a young musician.

      Next to Tommy is Christy Barry, who played concert flute and whistle from morning to the late hours, regaling tourists with countless tales. When a crowd had gathered, Christy dipped the flute in his pint, proclaiming to the young ladies gathered round that the Guinness was very good for his flute. Christy had a glint in his eyes that could woo a stone. I hear he still plays wonderful music at house concerts around the county. I also hear the Guinness has been replaced by large pots of tea.

      THE THREE AMIGOS

      I scan along the wall and stop at three delightful characters. I immediately break into laughter. It’s the formidable Donegal/Dublin trio of Skippy, the Sheriff and Rory O’Connor. They arrived in Doolin in the late 70s and held court daily at McGann’s, entertaining the masses with their wit and beguiling charm, snaring many tourists for free drinks and food. They easily passed a day’s drinking without spending a penny. Tony ‘Skippy’ Reid had that acerbic Dublin sense of humour delivered with impeccable timing, sparing no one in the process. One day a customer enquired about McGann’s ‘world-famous Irish stew’. The barman talked up the stew, explaining its popularity among locals and tourists alike. ‘Some say it’s the best stew in the world,’ he boasted. At the time Tony McGann ran the kitchen and he was very proud of his stew, and with Tony well within earshot, Skippy stood up from the stool, turned to the customer and said, ‘Stew me arse … they should have called it Aran Islands stew, ’cause it’s just three small pieces of meat surrounded by fuckin’ water.’ He may have been barred on that occasion but his expulsions were never long served. On another occasion Skippy hurt his knee and was walking around on crutches. The locals organised a benefit dance to cover medical expenses under the banner ‘The Needy Knee’ at the Hydro Hotel in Lisdoonvarna. As the evening wore on, the music got the better of him and he rose to his feet and started dancing. The Sheriff grabbed him and sat him back down: ‘Will you sit down, you eejit, we’ll get lynched!’

      He is literally part of the furniture at the Hydro, where a bar stool engraved ‘Skippy’s Seat’ stands proud in his preferred position at the end of the bar with a full view of all proceedings.

      Whenever I stayed at McGann’s, I mainly played music and when required, I served beer, made the sandwiches, soups, stews, swept the floor, collected glasses or carried out whatever task was presented. There was no question of any kind of demarcation, which was in total contrast to my job at Shannon Airport. Everyone just got on with it. On occasion when customers wished to speak directly to the chef, Tommy chose whichever one of us looked the most respectable, and urged us to say by way of an opener that we were trained as chefs at the Ritz in London and gave it all up to live the life here in Doolin.

      McGann’s world-famous Irish stew

      Serves about 4 to 6

      I often cooked their stew, and in later years included it on several of my menus. I like a simple stew, but good meat, veg stock and herbs are essential. I use lamb neck or shoulder pieces, but I have used gigot chops. I like to use lamb stock if I have some stored in the freezer, though chicken stock is fine too. Fresh thyme is essential.

      Olive oil

      1 large onion, peeled and finely chopped

      1kg neck of lamb, chopped into bite-size chunks, lightly salted and set aside

      2 large carrots, peeled and chopped

      2 celery sticks, peeled and chopped

      1 parsnip, peeled and chopped

      500ml well-seasoned stock (see below)

      1 dsp fresh thyme leaves

      I tsp chopped fresh rosemary

      1 bay leaf

      2 large potatoes, peeled and chopped into bite-size chunks

      Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

      Extra fresh herbs, finely chopped, for garnish

      1 In a medium-sized pot, heat a little oil and fry the onion gently for about 3 minutes.

      2 Add the lamb pieces and let them get a slight colour, about 6 minutes.

      3 Add the carrots, celery and parsnip and mix.

      4 Add the stock and herbs and bring to the boil, then lower the heat and simmer for 40 minutes.

      5 Add the potatoes and cook for a further 25 minutes. Taste for seasoning. Serve garnished with the chopped herbs.

Lamb stock is easy to make yourself. Get a few lamb bones with a little meat on them into a large pot with 2 litres of water, a carrot, some celery, thyme, a bay leaf, an onion and a few black peppercorns. Boil for about 2 hours, stirring every so often, then strain and return to the heat until reduced to about half. When cold, remove the layer of solid fat. You can freeze what you don’t need, ready for other recipes later.

      McGANN’S EQUALLY WORLD-FAMOUS TOASTIE

      Under the mantelpiece by the old kitchen I spot a photo of a very young Davy Spillane with his long, flowing curly hair, taken just before he conquered the folk world with his incredible piping and innovative, modern and progressive approach to writing and arranging music for the uilleann pipes. We played many sessions together back in the day, and we both practically lived on the house toasted sandwich special of ham, cheese, onion and tomato. The hams, or occasional corned beef, were boiled in large pots in the kitchen, we sliced the red Cheddar from a massive block, the onions and tomatoes were either sliced or very roughly chopped according to the skill set of the appointed ‘chef’ on duty. The ham caused us the most trouble, as we tended to eat more than we filled, and on top of that our slices were always very thick. ‘Ah, for fuck’s sake, lads!’ Tony would moan, followed by a lecture on the values of portion control. But the trick to the toasted special was the magic toastie bags: two slices of liberally buttered bread filled with fresh ham, onions, cheese and tomatoes, wrapped in a special heatproof plastic bag and toasted on a double-sided grill. The bag blackened in the intense heat, causing the cheese to caramelise at the edges. You had to allow a minute for cooling, to avoid second-degree lip burns, before cutting through to a waft of warmed ham, tomato and onion soaked in the burnt liquid Cheddar. A sensorial symphony filled your nostrils, a symphony like no other from our fine-dining days at McGann’s.

      The toaster is still in operation today, and I was brought into the kitchen to say hello. The chef says it has acquired a mind of its own in old age and only works when it feels like it. I think it has earned that right.

      THE STINGER

      It was in McGann’s pub in 1976 where myself and cousin Paul discovered the joys and tribulations of alcohol. I was reared in a teetotal house, so the only time we ever saw whiskey was at Christmas, when in the name of a festive welcome, Dad unwittingly attempted to poison guest after guest with tumblers filled to the brim. It took deft skill to get glass to mouth. In Doolin I tasted stout, beer, lager, shorts and all sorts of fancy drinks, all for the first time. Steve Birge, a friend of Tommy’s from Vermont, introduced us to his list of exotic American cocktails, including the Sombrero, a mix of Kahlua, crushed ice and fresh milk, and the Killer Stinger, a potent mix of brandy and crème de menthe poured into a glass of crushed ice. The Doolin twist was to crush the ice by taking a tea towel full of it and battering it against a wall. Paul and I settled on the Stinger as our drink of choice, and I can safely say it is firmly etched in our hangover memory.