Food by Breda Murphy

There is a place in County Cork, Ireland that Gordo has always wanted to go. It’s called the Ballymaloe Hotel. It is a magical place, that has trained many cooks. Not chefs, cooks. There is a difference and generally it’s about taking the finest ingredients from the land, sea or air and cooking them beautifully, with little mucking about.

It sent him into mental rhapsodies not equalled since telling all his school pals about Jackie Laughton's snogging techniques many, many years ago.

There is a place in the Ribble Valley that Gordo went to before Christmas. It’s called Breda Murphy’s. It isn’t as magical as the Ballymaloe Hotel, but, blimey, Gordo didn’t realise that Breda, a delightful woman and sublime cook, had trained at that magical place over the water.

The first time he tasted Breda’s chicken liver pâté, he realised that the title of the dish wasn’t a bit of Irish blarney. It was utterly fabulous. Smooth and buttery with a string quartet of gentle seasoning tickling the palette in the background, Gordo realised the description, ‘Ballymaloe chicken liver pâté with Cumberland sauce and toasted bread’ (£5.95), was an absolutely faithful and honest facsimile of the Ballymaloe recipe, cooked many times during the eighties by Gordo for his dinner parties.

Salmon, etc.

Breda’s place is a small villa tucked in next to Whalley’s railway bridge, painted white. It isn’t a restaurant, it’s a bit like a very smart café which doubles as a lively deli with the hustle and bustle of a cookery school with, finally, an outside catering section hanging onto it’s britches. With all this going on in a space the size of a small detached house you can be forgiven for marvelling at the utterly precise, pleasant and prompt service from the staff. Breda herself would be an easy shoe-in for Mary Poppins with an improved voice: those County Carlow silky tones could be listened to by Gordo for a number of hours.

Magic mushrooms on parmesan and almond croustade. Cracker.

Gordo’s cat botherer meets its end

Breda’s turkey

Now, it ain’t never going to be as good as Gordo’s truffle-stuffed Norfolk bronze that has been arguing with Mrs Broadfeather’s cat over the leftovers she leaves outside the farmhouse back door for the previous three months, but this one did a good job. The stand out moment was the citrus stuffing. Gordo is going to beg for the recipe and might let you lot have it. Not too keen on the ballontine, mind you, a bit ‘loose’ to Gordo’s taste

Parkin – barkin!

Black forest ice cream etc.

Breda Murphy’s is well worth the visit. The place is charming, but a little harsh in a way. Given everything that Breda herself has achieved in her career Gordo wonders why she doesn’t get a bigger and more comfortable place. But then, she would have to step into the pockets of the bankers in a big way. That would strangle her. Forgive the lack of table linen people, Breda needs you to come in, close your eyes and taste this beautifully simple food. You will be charmed and, you will go back. Gordo has three times.

A Gordo Go

That Ballymaloe Mackeral Pate? Click here

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