Everything I Ate While I Was Home in Ireland
When I visited my family home in Meath in January, my Irish mother dropped a bomb on me: the coddle I grew up eating (and often fiercely defended to strangers online) wasn’t the traditional version at all. Apparently, the rich, brown broth I swore by—made with oxtail soup—was never part of the classic dish. Indeed, I’ve since learned that a proper coddle should have a clear broth. Discovering this at 30 felt like the ultimate betrayal. I’d spent years arguing about the "right" way to make it, convinced my mother’s and grandmother’s version was the gold standard. Some will say there should be carrots. Others still wrongly call for barley. Read More >>
When I visited my family home in Meath in January, my Irish mother dropped a bomb on me: the coddle I grew up eating (and often fiercely defended to strangers online) wasn’t the traditional version at all. Apparently, the rich, brown broth I swore by—made with oxtail soup—was never part of the classic dish.
Indeed, I’ve since learned that a proper coddle should have a clear broth. Discovering this at 30 felt like the ultimate betrayal. I’d spent years arguing about the "right" way to make it, convinced my mother’s and grandmother’s version was the gold standard. Some will say there should be carrots. Others still wrongly call for barley.
