GB: Food Art Fair (FAF) is a place to explore what we know about food through new eyes, while bringing together a diverse range of practices from London and beyond, spanning art, design and branding. The two-day show will bring together more than 80 participants across visual art, performance, readings, publishing, objects, food and beverage, and workshops.

What first drew you to the relationship between food and art?

GB: With a background in design and art curation, I began experimenting with food as a medium to guide audiences through a narrative. After a few artsy dinners and small, playful projects, such as crisps fully covered in gold, I set up a studio called Maisongb, which has become the base for all my food-related projects, including FAF. I see ingredients as any other material: they can be used as an interface.

DD: In one sense, the relationship between food and art is something we’ve all known since childhood – playing with food, moulding it, and making splatter paintings is a very universal childhood experience. In another sense, my work in hospitality, particularly in restaurant concepting, has allowed me to witness how art and design can completely change how guests experience food.

What was missing from the existing food and art landscape that made you want to create the Food Art Fair?

GB: A place that brings together a diverse range of practices, connected not only by an interest in food but also by a shared desire to keep experimenting and enjoying the process. Perhaps it can also allow us to showcase work and turn ideas into commercial opportunities.

Why do you think food is such a compelling subject for artists right now?

GB: Is it? I can’t speak for other artists, but I spend so much time in grocery stores and food markets, picking out whatever inspires me. Manipulating ingredients is incredibly fulfilling for me, whether it’s mixing flour or sculpting and peeling a carrot. Plus, you might get to eat it afterwards.

DD: Building on what Giuseppe said, I feel that food has been a central subject for artists throughout history – ancient cave paintings depicted hunts, still life used fruit as a metaphor, and pop art looked at the commodification of food. In the contemporary context, many artists are adopting more conceptual approaches to what food can represent. I think this reflects many things – we are living in an uncertain world, where food security, sustainability and affordability are all being called into question – and rightly so.

What are you seeing in the work of emerging artists that feels particularly exciting at the moment?

GB: That any medium, way of thinking or style can become a very strong artefact. At FAF, we’re seeing that participants are eager to involve audiences in their work, not just to show it but to engage them in conversation. We also hope that conversation will continue beyond the fair.

DD: I am also particularly excited about some of the experiential practitioners, especially in the context of food – opening up art to more senses than just sight, with things you can feel, taste or smell.

Is there a tendency for food-related art to become overly aestheticised?

GB: Something can be relevant only on the surface, and that’s okay if that was the intention or if it simply becomes part of the process of experimentation. There is so much variety and depth to choose from, and we’re not here to patronise it.

DD: In terms of aesthetics, when something like this occurs, it can mirror the workings of modern food-production systems – like imperfect produce being discarded. However, we do see a range of approaches to food being represented in art, and our curation at Food Art Fair aims to reflect this.

What does the fair allow artists to explore that a more traditional gallery or art fair perhaps doesn’t?

DD: In most traditional gallery and art fair settings, there is little scope for non-commercial work – much edible artwork does not naturally lend itself to these settings because of the medium’s impermanence. FAF provides a framework for these transient, experimental works to be visible.

London already has such a strong food and art scene. What do you think is missing from the conversation?

GB: This is one reason we want to strengthen it. There is an amazing community to bounce ideas off and to keep developing the practice, which I believe is still in its infancy. There is a massive gap between chefs working with food and artists using it as a material, and we would like to bridge that gap and create opportunities for food beyond hospitality.

DD: I completely agree. There are so many talented chefs and artists in London, and we would love to foster a stronger dialogue between these two disciplines. For example, we have a few collaborative pieces born from partnerships between chefs and artists.

Is there an artist or creative working in this field whose work you think our readers should know about?

GB: Are we allowed to name a few? At FAF, we are showcasing works by artists such as Gab Bois, Alina Prokopenko and Andrea Ferrero, alongside experiences from design studios such as Agüita, as well as an incredible range of vendors working across the food culture space. Beyond the fair, I am constantly impressed with Laila Gohar and Imogen Kwok, studios such as Bompas & Parr, and communities like Come Together.

DD: We are very excited about all our participants and can’t wait to see how everything comes together at Ladbroke Hall. When you visit, you will see so many distinct ways in which artists are pushing the boundaries of both food and art. From curating the fair, we have also seen a significant growth in collective practices in the world of food art, which can lead to powerful cross-disciplinary dialogues.

What do you hope people take away from the event?

DD: We would love for people to leave the fair thinking differently about what food means. We also have an amazing selection of edible and non-edible items for sale, so you can leave the fair with some special keepsakes, bedtime reading, or things to eat later.

GB: I second that.

GB: On a closing note: I feel incredibly grateful for the opportunity to host the first edition of Food Art Fair at Ladbroke Hall, such a beautiful and eclectic venue, with Emily Simmons, Alex Harley and others who supported our vision. I’m equally grateful to the incredible team behind it, some of whom have made a priceless commitment, contributing their skills, attitude and energy far beyond the time they have spent on the project. Thanks, Guzzle Magazine, for this interview.

Giuseppe Burdo is the founder of Food Art Fair, produced by his studio, Maisongb. With a background in product design and art curation, he brings together curatorial sensibility and design thinking to translate ideas into everyday possibilities.

Dhruv Duggal is the Partnerships Director for Food Art Fair. He is a hospitality strategist, cultural programming director and poet.

The inaugural Food Art Fair takes place at Ladbroke Hall on September 5th and 6th. Find out more about the programme on Instagram or pick up a free ticket to the festival here.

1. Can you describe the inspiration behind your piece for issue three?

Michelle: The New Yorker-style comics! I currently love exploring simple yet intentional illustration. Quentin Blake was a big inspiration for the Disaster Soup piece.

Killian: The aim is always to make basic, recognisable shapes as dynamic as possible. My main inspirations are mid-century animator Victor Haboush, concept artist Mary Blair, and the paintings of Paul Rand.

2. Walk us through your typical process from first idea to finished illustration.

Michelle: I often start doodling in my sketchbook or on random sheets of paper. I find it easier to create organic shapes. I then bring the sketches into Procreate, explore different brushes and textures, and get into colour. I create various layers, so I can scale, rotate and place different assets within a composition.

Killian: Become aware of the obvious direction, twist each element to make it more suggestive. Create rough compositions, refine the chosen one, paint everything only once to avoid overthinking, and fix the parts that bother me. Don’t assess small details until they’re all together; sometimes mistakes made in a rush are the best bit.

3. How does food typically show up in your work, intentionally or otherwise?

Killian: I’m interested in nostalgia, folklore and nature, so food is usually symbolic, particularly if it has a distinctive shape like a pear or pretzel. Food symbolism is way more interesting than what I consider good food.

Roxana: Oranges have appeared throughout my work as a subconscious constant.

4. What other themes would you like to explore in your work?

Michelle: I started incorporating more storytelling into my personal work, which is evident alongside my poetic pieces. I like exploring themes of home and belonging, as well as the everyday. I would love to incorporate more relatable moments and real-life scenarios. I’d also love to add a bit more silliness.

Roxana: One way or another, I always come back to question the meaning of home. But, I would like to find a different thread for this quest of longing, perhaps by exploring topics such as the garden and cultivation.

5. What does home mean to you right now, and has that definition changed over time?

Michelle: Home, to me, is more than one place. I’m originally from Germany but have now lived in Ireland for nearly seven years. Home is where my family is, but also where I’ve built a life. I’m grateful that I can call Ireland and Germany both my homes, each in its own way.

Killian: As a third culture kid, my sense of home constantly changes. Right now, it’s wherever I feel I can be myself without pressure.

6. For issue three, we put forward the notion that home is more about memory than place. What does that idea bring up for you?

Michelle: I resonate with that a lot. I love the feeling of nostalgia when I’m thinking of my home in Germany. I get so excited about German week at Lidl, or about bringing over different types of bread to Ireland and eating them whenever I feel homesick.

Killian: Home signals safety; it might not be where you grew up. Maybe the home you’ve made is where you feel safe, but that idea of safety is what we nurture in our homes. We don’t want to stay at home, only to be reminded it’s there.

Roxana: I came to the conclusion that home is a moment in time, rather than a place. This means that it’s a fleeting feeling that I’m forever chasing.

7. Are there any recurring domestic objects or spaces that appear in your work?

Killian: My work is pretty connected with the outdoors. I like to zoom out to look at planets, zoom in to look at a garden from an ant’s perspective. I draw a lot of candles and chairs, but they’re rarely the focal point of the illustration.

Roxana: It’s the everyday objects that inspire me the most. Depicting what’s in front of me is an attempt to memorise it.

8. How does your physical working environment shape the mood or tone of your illustrations?

Michelle: I’m working as a designer. I feel that my work influences my illustrations in the way I deal with colour, composition, and texture. I also love bringing typography into my illustrative work, which is highly informed by my work as a designer.

Killian: I like my workspace and work to be a little chaotic. Often, seeing a bunch of unrelated images together sparks an idea for something new.

9. Is there a sense of nostalgia in your work, or do you try to avoid it?

Michelle: A lot of my work has an innate sense of nostalgia. I might not feel nostalgic when I illustrate it in the moment, but I feel it a few weeks later when looking at that piece again.

Killian: I love nostalgia because it’s like a preloaded set of symbols we all understand. It makes communication easier; you can quickly convey the idea of freedom with an image of someone diving into a pool.

Roxana: The very act of collaging, cutting out fragments and piecing them together, has nostalgia at its core.

10. How do you decide when an illustration feels finished?

Michelle: It’s a gut feeling, or the moment of ‘okay, this is enough’ — which can sometimes take between 10 minutes and 5 hours.

Killian: When there is nothing distracting me. If I’m not really focusing on any details, I move on. I’m not into overthinking; overworking ruins more pieces than naivety does.

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Issue Three: A Hunger for Home is available in various stockists in Ireland, the UK, and further afield. You can also pick up a copy from guzzlemag.com.

Whipped Goat’s Cheese Mousse

Ingredients:

• 2 logs of St Tola goat’s cheese

• 700g high-quality yoghurt (Diarmuid used Estate Dairy)

• Zest of 3 lemons

• 15g fresh thyme

Method: Bung everything into a blender and blitz until completely smooth, aerated, and light. Set aside.

Cucumber & Shallot Mignonette

Ingredients:

• 1 cucumber, finely diced

• 1 shallot, finely diced

• Chardonnay vinegar

• A good extra-virgin olive oil, similar to Popoli or other

Method: Mix the cucumber and shallot with equal parts Chardonnay vinegar and extra-virgin olive oil.

Shiso Oil

Ingredients:

• 3 punnets of shiso

• ½ bunch of basil

• ½ bunch of parsley

• Neutral oil

Method: Heat the oil to 85°C. Blend it with the shiso, basil, and parsley until it’s smooth and radiant green, then pass it through a fine sieve or muslin cloth.

Serving Suggestion

Blanch some fresh peas and asparagus. Toss them with the shiso oil and the cucumber mignonette. Spoon a generous dollop of the St Tola mousse onto the plate, then top with the dressed spring greens.

’s whipped goat’s cheese mousse with spring greens was served at Bealtaine, our recent collaborative dinner at The Art House in East London. Subscribe to Guzzle’s newsletter to hear about upcoming events.

Last November, over coffee at a Michelin-starred restaurant renowned for its considered interiors, a hospitality marketer shared plans for a photo book and a photography exhibition to celebrate their restaurant’s 10th anniversary. That same day, the co-founder of a coffee brand, also marking a decade in the industry, described how they were toasting the occasion by channelling their marketing budget into a print publication. Rather than cracking out a campaign to drop prices to 1994 (à la St. John), both brands were leaning into the rise of tactile print. It seems that these once radical magazines are rapidly becoming the storytelling medium of the moment.

I am a sucker for print publications: matte uncoated stock, experimental artistic direction, a disregard for the rules of magazine design, and that fresh whiff of ink, as if it has just been spat off an aluminium press. As the editor of an indie magazine, the positives are aplenty, but are often outweighed by the challenges. With production costs skyrocketing and distributors chomping 50-60% of profits, many media platforms have diverted their spend to digital, yet the trend shows no signs of slowing.

Meanwhile, conglomerate titans like Condé Nast (Vogue, The New Yorker, Wired, GQ, etc.) have made significant losses, dropping from £23.3m in 2022 to £8.3m in 2023. As Jo Ellison, editor of The Financial Times’ HTSI magazine, recently put it: “In time, Vogue might too become a niche publication, a tiny imprint enjoyed by readers with a paper fetish who want a calm distraction in the wash of digital.” The internet might be killing the glossy, yet indie challengers are here to stay — at least for now.

In 2011, viral memes like Nyan Cat surfed across smartphone screens and Instagram amassed 10 million users. That same year, David Chang and Peter Meehan launched their cult publication Lucky Peach, which went on to win a James Beard Award for its avant-garde approach to food writing. Despite widespread acclaim and backing from Zero Point Zero Productions (the team behind Bourdain’s Parts Unknown), it eventually folded in 2017. Proof that even industry stalwarts struggle to survive in a challenging market.

Fast forward a few years, and the internet has swept us into a turbulent shitstorm. Multimillionaire Steven Bartlett has been accused of amplifying pseudoscientific claims on his influential podcast Diary of a CEO; a deepfake infiltrated the last presidential election in Ireland; and parasocial secured its status as Cambridge Dictionary’s problematic word of the year in 2025.

Print media has become a counter-cultural movement that shares stories with substance. Instead of wringing resources from squeezed marketing teams, brands are leaning on creative savants, like The Salad Project’s recent partnership with Studio Hato. This provides writers, editors, and designers with a platform to share their work and (hopefully) ensures they are adequately compensated for it.

In Stoke Newington, a gentrified village in North London, locals responded to the ‘Gailification’ of the area by egging the premises and glueing the front door shut. Frustration was rife since 90% of the businesses on the main street are independent and the chain represents creeping commercialisation. A similar incident occurred in the leafy suburb of Walthamstow. At the same time, Gail’s launched Companion, its first foray into “independent” publishing, edited by Katy Severson, a writer, food stylist, and owner of a wine bar in Leyton. I picked up a copy from that very branch, but couldn’t shake the sense that the mag exists to soften the blow of mass expansion.

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While John Lewis cashed in on a house classic, grocery retailer Waitrose went all in with its newly established Food Content Studio, led by Dentsu Creative. Last November, the team released a fully refreshed Food magazine, tapping into the expertise of tastemakers including Hannah Crosby, Noor Murad and Nicola Lamb. Despite the precarity of print, this level of investment shows that even supermarkets are willing to bend their own rules to harness cultural capital.

So what compels brands to invest in such a niche market? Are they taking inspiration from Clapton Housewives in Goodhood garm or is it part of a broader strategy to enhance visibility? I launched Guzzle because I was tired of living life behind a screen during the Covid era. But print also speaks directly to its audience, increases dwell time by offering readers something they genuinely enjoy, and ultimately connects with an engaged segment. Savvy creatives are tapping into the lifestyle associated with print media rather than shouting into an endless void.

Lucky Peach showed us that independent publishing allows artists and writers to push the boundaries of storytelling, often rejected by mainstream media. Beyond the monotonous churn of content machines lies a hunger for real, tactile experiences. But what happens when large corporates learn to emulate our trade, using economies of scale to undercut our costs? For most indie publishers, making a living from these outlets is already unthinkable. Yet we take pride in pushing against the mainstream. If big brands continue to produce magazines at a lower cost, are the indies forced to drop their prices and their commitment to experimentation, or is it a chance for us to ride the wave as readers quietly retreat from their screens? After all, nothing compares to the sensorial experience of print, taking each page at your own pace.

Jane Gleeson is the founder of Guzzle and a London-based marketer who works with restaurants and F&B brands. As a gastronomy graduate and former cultural producer, her writing flits between the worlds of arts, culture and food.

Thinking about dabbling in print media or looking for a platform to voice your opinions? Our inbox is always open.

Ireland was officially recognised by the European Commission as a wine-producing country in 2023. A statement that would have sounded like satire to many, even 20 years ago and still does to some today. “Internationally, none of my fellow wine professionals believe me when I tell them we make wine in Ireland,” Sinéad Smyth, a wine specialist with a keen interest in Ireland’s vinous revival, told me. “We have, of course, amazing honey wine (mead) and berry wines, but we can and do make grape wine just like the wine you buy from Spain and France.”

“Irish winemaking has been going through a quiet revolution over the last decade,” The Irish Times wine journalist John Wilson told me, “we now have a growing group of producers making very good wines.” Today, vines grow in Cork, Tipperary, Waterford, Mayo, Wexford, Westmeath, Kilkenny, Louth, Dublin and probably gach áit eile (every other place).

The History

Ireland has always taken its time with wine. We drink it, certainly, and seemingly always have. Archaeologists believe fragments found in Ireland indicate that the ancient Celts were importing wine circa 500BC. Under Brian Boru, it’s said we drank more wine than England, Wales, and Scotland combined.

Later, the Protestant Ascendancy imported a London-style wine culture of claret, port, and Stilton, with sherry ‘for the ladies’. But everyday Irish drinkers took the scenic route to wine. First came the ‘blue or black days’, when the choice was between Blue Nun and Black Tower. Sin é.

Then the Celtic Tiger arrived alongside globalisation and cosmopolitanism. With it, people started ordering wine by the grape name. ‘Mine’s a chardonnay.’

This was helped along by the rise of O’Brien’s Wines, an Irish-owned and operated affordable wine chain. Which, in turn, led to supermarket wines trickling into local newsagents, fostering proliferating trends like the Dada craze.

Of course, the internet played a role in democratising wine for younger drinkers. Millennials soon hopped on the natural wine bandwagon and brought countless small-plated-natty-wine bars to Ireland.

Ultimately, Ireland’s relationship with wine has largely been that of the eager consumer. Making wine on the Island of Ireland is new — or newly revived at least.

Fifth-century monks struggled under Ireland’s battering rain, tending small vineyards wherever the climate allowed. St Bede, the English monk and scholar, claimed that Ireland “abounds in milk and honey, nor is there any lack of vines.” Centuries later, the Flight of the Wild Geese dispersed Irish soldiers across Europe, whose descendants would establish a presence in the wine trade in places like Bordeaux. In the 19th century, a handful of landlords dabbled in greenhouse winemaking, a curious but limited pursuit. And a 1970s renaissance came and went like a forgotten vintage. Yet today the roots of Irish wine run deeper, strengthened by the expertise of Irish vintners abroad and anchored by immigrants from wine-making countries.

The New Wave

“People like Dermot Sugrue and Simon Tyrell have paved the way abroad, and the expertise they’ve brought back filters into the community here in meaningful ways,” Sinéad McCarthy, founder of Fíon Eile, told me.

Smyth agrees that expertise flows both ways: “Internationally we have Irish people working in all corners of the globe making world-class wines, but we have it right on our doorstep too.”

Vagabond winemaker Killian Horan, who’s best known for making Le Charlatan and Le Petit Canon, spoke with similar reverence, “I think it’s brilliant that there is a growing community of Irish winemakers both at home and abroad; it takes mavericks to lead the way and plant vines in Ireland.” And mavericks, we have aplenty.

In Wexford, Old Roots is arguably one of Ireland’s most ambitious new vineyards. Four hectares of Riesling, Chardonnay, Pinot Blanc, Cabernet Sauvignon and Pinot Noir stretch over a site carefully oriented for sun exposure. A precious commodity here. Winemaker Esperanza Hernández told The Irish Times in 2024 that Wexford has the “best conditions to grow a vineyard, in terms of climate and soil quality.”

Stephen Whyte’s Irish Wine Estates stands out as one of the boldest newcomers staking a claim in Ireland’s nascent wine era. Nestled in the rolling hills of Offaly at Ballyclery, this estate is being built with grand ambitions to craft méthode-traditionnelle sparkling wines.

Westport has its own story: Daria Blackwell and her husband, Alex, planted 130 vines, dominated by the fungus-resistant Rondo and Solaris varietals, only to lose their first crop to birds. Daria describes herself as “American by birth, Ukrainian by heritage, Irish by choice,” which feels like the perfect biography for someone trying to cultivate wine from Mayo soil.

Fairy Trees Winery is situated on a family-run vineyard in Dunleer, County Louth. Established in 2020 by the Laclie family, who descended from five generations of French Cognac distillers. It aims to be a commercial-scale vineyard specialising in sparkling and dry white wines.

In Kinsale, Thomas Walk, aptly described by Wilson as a "German designer, inventor, and deep-sea yachtsman", planted vines 40 years ago. Today, he works with his wife and daughter, selling multiple vintages directly from his website.

In Waterford, David Dennison produces the beautifully named Nádúrtha Pét-Nat (Pétillant Naturel). He primarily uses organic practices, including teas made from nettles and seaweed, to treat mildew. It’s all part of the Irish viticultural vocabulary now.

Kilkenny’s Triskelion, owned and operated by Séan Kerin and Philip Little, farms hybrids like Regent and Bacchus alongside apple orchards and beehives. With roughly 1,400 vines, they can produce between 1,000 and 1,500 bottles in a good year.

The wonderfully stubborn Carlo Rizzi of Casa Rizzi, who planted six rows of vines with his son: Chardonnay, Muscat, Pinot Noir, and Refosco, all of which failed. But Cabernet and Merlot? “Exceeded all expectations.”

Smyth notes that many of these vineyards are still new even to seasoned professionals: “There’s a mix of commercial and private projects, even some unknown to me. I love finding out about a new project.”

More ventures to get excited about include La Kav Wines near Gorey, which produces a wine called Fada. David Llewellyn in Lusk, who is probably Ireland’s most well-known winemaker. Killahoe Vineyard in County Clare, from the De Barra family, remains Ireland’s most elusive vineyard. And finally, Brown Envelope Seeds, which is said to be laying down vines near Schull in West Cork.

Half a century ago, English wine was in a similar state (albeit without Instagram). Now, English sparkling regularly outperforms Champagne in blind tastings. Could Ireland be on a similar arc? Possibly, but survival depends on myriad factors.

The State of The Nation

So what do wines grown on the Island of Ireland taste like? By happenstance, design or philosophy, many Irish wines are low-intervention, organic-focused projects. The result is wines that align neatly with the ‘new cool' taste: lower alcohol, higher acidity, lots of character and a story to tell.

These wines lean stylistically toward bright, crisp, light, and fresh. Think orchard rather than Mediterranean terrace. They’re wines that zing rather than swaddle.

If Irish wines have a youthful palate, they also carry a built-in quirky charm. The very idea of an Irish wine sparks conversation. A bit of trivia to share in the group chat. Something worth posting on Instagram or making a TikTok about. They’re a you’ll-never-guess-what-I-tried voice note waiting to happen. In other words, they’re a moment.

McCarthy observes that younger drinkers are far more open-minded. They’ll try a funky Slovenian orange wine one week, an Irish field-blend the next, and a classic Burgundy afterwards, mixing high and low with aplomb. In this context, Irish wine’s ‘outsider’ status becomes an asset.

Irish wine also dovetails with the buy-local, know-your-producer ethos that continues to grow in strength. Just as restaurants brag about their Irish craft gins and farm-to-table vegetables, having a couple of Irish wines on the list is the new flex. It shows you’re plugged into the cutting edge and possibly saving the planet by reducing your ‘wine miles’.

The Purple Elephant

Ay, there’s the predicament. The very thing that makes Irish vineyards feasible is now threatening wine regions worldwide. That double-edged sword of climate change is reshaping the wine map. Europe’s traditional vineyards are scorching under the sun, uprooting in favour of new climate change-resistant varietals, or harvesting earlier and scrambling uphill in search of cooler nights.

While places like Ireland, which were once too cold or damp for vitis vinifera (the common grape vine), are now suddenly viable due to the Earth's changing climate.

Seeking a silver lining amidst the climate catastrophe is somewhat dystopian, but as is every aspect of reality in 2025. The bittersweet truth is that the same weathering that’s searing vineyards in Spain is coaxing grapes to ripeness on Irish shores. Make of that what you will.

This is felt by the consumer, too. McCarthy loves pouring Irish wine blind during tastings. “It opens up conversations and sometimes a sense of climate doom,” she told me.

Every year, Ireland seems to have a new ‘warmest summer ever’. Ireland’s average temperature has risen about 0.7°C, meaning conditions for crops are now more favourable than 30 years ago. Of course, favourable is relative — Ireland is hardly morphing into Napa Valley.

Still, warmer summers don’t mean easier ones. Ripening is more achievable, but the unpredictability that characterises Ireland’s weather still exists. There’s irregular rainfall, storms, droughts, misty mornings, and a natural damp humidity that invites fungal plagues.

The Money

As Ireland’s vintners will tell you, this remains cool-climate winemaking. A high-wire act where one cold snap or mildew attack can shatter the dream. That, along with the fact that all winemaking machinery must be imported and that winemaking is, as ever, very labour-intensive, means there is considerable expense in making it. “Irish wine will never be cheap,” as John Wilson flatly put it, because it simply cannot be.

Irish winemaking is currently propped up by side-hustle viticulture. As Mick O’Connell MW (one of Ireland’s Masters of Wine) remarked, nobody is quitting their day job yet to become a full-time vigneron in Ireland. O’Connell himself balances a career in the wine trade with making his own Sardinian wine. He tells me that it speaks volumes that people with other income streams manage many Irish wineries: a fruit farmer (Llewellyn), an audiovisual company couple (Old Roots), an apple juice entrepreneur (Triskelion’s Philip Little), and a former sailor (Thomas Walk). If no one can afford to do this full-time, can the industry thrive? Maybe with a bit of structured support.

The UK’s wine industry could serve as a type of cheat sheet or blueprint for Ireland. Across the Irish Sea, English and Welsh producers have levelled up thanks to targeted agricultural grants, dedicated research from institutions like Plumpton College, and the creation of a national body (Wines of Great Britain) that has given the whole industry legitimacy and cohesion.

The UK also supported sustainability and rural diversification through government initiatives. Ireland, still in the early stages of local viticulture, could skip all the dithering by investing in education and research, and by establishing an industry body that connects the dots.

Right now, funding is a patchwork: TAMS grants for on-farm diversification, EU-funded LEADER grants for rural development and agritourism, Local Enterprise Office support for startup costs, and, occasionally, local council support in certain regions. However, it’s a jumble of initiatives and administration for those who want to get their hands in the field. Useful, yes, but not specifically designed for wine.

More than that, the whole ‘alcohol-labelling saga’ is still sucking up political oxygen. You could argue that Ireland is tilting at the wrong windmill, pouring energy into performative regulation rather than investing in social enterprises that effectively tackle the real issues.

Instead of pouring millions into consultations on something as fleeting as this, we could pivot by backing small producers and nurturing the kind of nuanced, European-style drinking culture we keep insisting we want. If Ireland wants to grow a wine industry, now is the moment to lay the foundations.

Will any of this actually come to fruition? Well, that remains to be seen. But the commercial potential is there. Ireland’s own wine cognoscenti have embraced it. Not long ago, the wine press treated domestic wine as a novelty at best. Now respected voices write about it earnestly, even hopefully. The Financial Times and The Guardian have run features on Irish wine, reaching a global audience. With that comes wine tourism, a business that brought an “estimated contribution of around £33 billion” to the UK economy in 2024.

The Potential

Some people compare Ireland’s wine potential to New Zealand’s in the 1970s; a nascent, improbable industry that eventually gained global acclaim. It’s a stretch. Or perhaps it’s prophetic. After all, pioneers rarely know for sure whether they’re planting breakthroughs or cautionary tales.

So is Irish wine truly a ‘cultural phenomenon in the making’ or merely a tiny blip for oenophile hipsters? All signs point to somewhere in the middle. Something fundamental is beginning to take root.

“I genuinely believe the next decade will be an exciting one for Irish wine,” stated Sinéad McCarthy.

Killian Horan said, “If we continue having growing seasons like 2025, anything is possible.”

“I can only see them getting better,” added John Wilson.

Irish wine might not be “the next big thing.” But it could be the next how-did-this-happen-in-a-rain-soaked-field thing. And those, in my experience, are the trends worth airtime.

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Shamim de Brún is a multi-award-winning journalist who writes about drinks as if they are culture (because they are) and enjoys reflecting on the present moment, wondering, “how did we get here?”.

For me, 'home' is a muddled concept — spanning four cities, three countries, and countless addresses, from my grandparents’ house on the North Dublin coastline to my current flat in East London. In Guzzle, this theme recurs in each issue, with writers like Eoghan Flynn capturing the shared experiences of Irish expats in London and uncovering the unlikely spaces that foster a sense of community. I have loved curating these pieces and I’m excited to unpack our notions of home in the next issue.

Open Call: Issue Three

For the third instalment, we’re seeking fresh takes on the topic of home, whether global, environmental, or domestic. Contributions could range from recipes that reconnect us with our roots to stories that challenge stereotypes around the idea. There’s also space to address the complexities, such as how economic and political uncertainties influence our sense of place.

Submission Info.

All formats are welcome, from creative non-fiction to genre-bending explorations. Submissions are open to artists, writers, designers, and explorers of all backgrounds, regardless of gender, race, class, or experience. Whether you’re emerging or established, Guzzle values original ideas and diverse perspectives.

All contributors will be paid for their work. While we continually acknowledge and appreciate the effort that goes into each submission, Guzzle is an independent, unfunded publication with a limited budget.

What? Please submit a 200–500-word proposal outlining your idea. If applicable, attach a PDF of your portfolio or previous work. Submissions should be made via Google Forms, email submissions will not be accepted.

When? By midnight on Sunday, 12 January 2025.

About Guzzle

Guzzle is an independent art and food publication founded in Dublin, Ireland. Over the past two years, we have delved deep into themes that matter, examining them through the lens of food. Despite being managed by a tiny team, Guzzle has earned multiple nominations, secured a spot in Ireland's 100 Archive two years in a row, and found its way onto shelves worldwide, from North America to South Korea.

Have a question? Get in touch at hello@guzzle.ie.

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Some people obsess over their favourite directors, becoming subject-matter experts in their films, while others set out to conquer the world of collectables, from vintage stamps to classic cars. For Jeremy Leslie, the creator of magCulture, printed matter is his holy grail and magazine creators his disciples.

I first reached out to Jeremy a year ago with an email that now makes me cringe. Thankfully, he saw potential in our young magazine and has since become one of Guzzle’s stockists. Besides selling publications in their thoughtfully curated store in Farringdon, magCulture supports the indie publishing community with a podcast and an events programme that inspires and connects creators.

After travelling along the Elizabeth Line to Bond Street, I edged through the glass doors at the Vitsœ furniture store in Marylebone, feeling a mix of first-day nerves and weariness from my role as magazine editor. I’ve hinted on Insta that managing an unfunded publication alone is tricky but despite the challenges, the work is incredibly rewarding.

Jeremy opened the event by stating that "magazines are in a strong position creatively" and went on to introduce the 2024 theme: the two-page spread. After attending magCulture Live, I feel like I'm finally getting back into the rhythm. If you're craving a similar boost, here are a few nuggets to help you get back on track.

Nothing compares to tangible storytelling

Print media offers an experience you can't replicate on screen. Lucy Rober likens the quality of lithograph printing on the pages of Erotic Review to a work of art. While Shira Inbar, creator of the A24 Zine, captures this sentiment perfectly, saying, “you’re invited to stop for a moment… and just dive in.” The tangible nature of a magazine allows readers to appreciate form in ways that digital editions will never achieve.

Allow worlds to spill into one another

Many speakers emphasised a common theme: the creative crossover between mediums, from moving image to print, written word to audio, and so on. This is central to Shira Inbar’s work with the A24 Zine, and also to Mubi’s print publication, Notebook, led by creative director Davide Cazzaro. Neither publication aims to recreate a story; instead, they build on the cinematographic experience, blurring boundaries to create something that resonates across formats.

Your role isn’t linear

, the strategist behind Stockholm’s Playground magazine, reflected, “when you’re neither an editor nor a designer, you are an architect of it all and also of nothing.” Transitioning from another field into indie publishing can feel daunting. Liaising with distributors, selecting printers, and everything in between. Inbar describes this liminal role as “being an and, not an or.” For those of us wearing many hats, it’s a reminder that our role can be as complex as the work we produce.

Step into your reader’s shoes

Good design requires empathy for the user but things can sometimes get in the way, be it form over function or ego over soul. Clarke Rudick, editor of the fashion and culture magazine Crosscurrent, believes in curating the reader’s experience, visualising what they think and feel when they peruse each page. This reader-centric approach serves as a reminder: without the reader, a magazine is just paper.

Embrace chaos

I remember reading James Joyce’s Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and grappling with his stream-of-consciousness style. NGL, it was a bit of a headfuck. Chris O’Leary took a similar approach, channelling the loss of his mother into stream-of-consciousness cooking, which he documented in Fatboy Zine. For graphic design guru Richard Turley, a magazine’s human side emerges when it lets go of rigid consistency. Sometimes, disorder creates beautiful chaos.

Channel grief into something great

While Chris’s work shows one way of processing pain, others, like Nina Carter and Anna Morrissey, turn angst into powerful new narratives. Carter took inspiration for the title of It’s Freezing in LA! from Donald Trump’s infamous climate-denial tweet 🤦, while Tummy Ache speaks to Morrissey’s experiences with mental health, exploring how “the language I needed was outside my emotional vernacular.”

To learn more about the incredible work Jeremy and the magCulture team do daily, visit magculture.com.

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Around a decade after my first (and only) bottle of Buckfast, I enrolled in a Master’s in Gastronomy and Food Studies at TU Dublin, where I explored the surge in nostalgic foods emerging during the pandemic. While brands went out with the new and in with the old, consumers began to crave comforting classics like rice pudding baked by their grandmother or Lara Hanlon’s reminiscent piece about potatoes in Issue One: Mementoes of Food. Food writer Grace Dent even turned the rise in comfort consumption into a book and podcast.

While these comfort foods can offer solace during times of unease, as repeatedly observed in our first issue, they can also be a bit of craic. For The Dough Bros and Kai, the nostalgia trend materialised in the form of a pizza collaboration made with lamb shawarma, tahini ranch, and Buckfast hot sauce. The partnership proved to be a big hit for the hyped pizzeria, prompting owners Eugene and Ronan to raise the stakes by packaging their at-home kits and offering free nationwide delivery across Ireland. The regular menu items remain consistent, but each month, the duo rejuvenates their offerings with a monthly special edition kit.

Following the success of their initial venture, The Dough Bros has once again teamed up with Jessica Murphy from Kai to evoke memories among Galway's youth, though that generation has since matured and bottles of Buckfast have been replaced with unpleasant hangovers and the responsibilities of adulthood. In anticipation of this inevitability, the brothers joined forces with illustrator Stephen Heffernan and Tipple to provide a light-hearted hangover cure alongside their internationally acclaimed pizza bases topped with Connemara lamb slow-cooked in Dutch Gold, Bucky hot sauce, and extras like Middle Eastern spices and pickled mayo.

The Dough Bros x Kai Home Pizza Kits are available here throughout the month of May, with optional add-ons such as dips and drinks. Don’t forget: they offer free nationwide delivery.

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Among them are Axel McHugh, one half of the Pigs Can Fly supper club; Ian Ryan, the pintman behind the Shit London Guinness and Beautiful Pints social media pages, now a published author; and Anna Haugh, chef-owner of Chelsea restaurant, Myrtle. In our conversations, we recollected our food memories, laughed at poorly poured pints, and, most importantly, shared an immense grá for Ireland and its countless comforts.

Celebrating Ireland abroad

A playful patriotism fuels the immense popularity of Shit London Guinness, which points out London's many badly-served pints of Guinness. According to Ian, in pointing out London’s failings, "we take our wins against the English, in a jokey way rather than anything super serious". On the other hand, Beautiful Pints is "a celebration of places where you can get a good pint, whether it’s London or Dublin".

"I come across a rogue one from Japan or wherever, and I think, 'Jesus, that looks nice!'" he says. Identifying London's perfect pour is an ongoing (often futile) quest, but Ian believes, "If you asked a hundred Guinness drinkers in London where the best pint can be found, I reckon The Auld Shillelagh would be the most common answer".

The Irish local is widely viewed as a Guinness hotspot – a reputation proudly maintained since its opening in 1991. As Jamie says: "It's something that the owners built the pub on".

A traditional boozer might seem to have little in common with supper parties featuring DJs and natural wine. But Axel, a Dalkey native, explains that the London-based Pigs Can Fly food parties he co-organises are also "100% influenced by being Irish, and the idea of community and being a welcoming nation".

Anna, who opened her upscale West London restaurant in 2019, still exudes pride for the ever-evolving Irish food scene back home. "When I left Ireland, there were many unknowns or things that 'didn't exist'," she recalls, "whereas now, when I return, there's fire in the country – there's passion and curiosity".

Family cooking

"You give a piece of yourself when you cook," Anna reflects. "Cooking is all about love – love for yourself and the person you're cooking for".

Growing up in Tallaght, Anna's mother crafted everything from scratch – a practice that "little Anna" protested. "This is the worst!" she remembers exclaiming. "Everyone else buys strawberry jam from the supermarket, and I'm eating this luscious and delicious brown gooseberry jam, but that's beside the point".

Anna soon realised its advantages: by spending more time in the kitchen, her parents "didn't overvalue their time" and consequently "valued themselves more". She held onto this lesson as she navigated the restaurant scenes in Dublin, Paris and London. "My parents shaped my approach to food as a child, and they continue to do so to this day".

In contrast to Ian's "mammy cooking" – "several types of potato with some meat smothered in gravy" – or Jamie's nostalgic familial fare, including hearty stew, spaghetti bolognese, sausages, eggs and chips, mealtimes for Axel were "a way for our family to experiment with different flavours and have fun together".

Axel's love for food ignited during the Leaving Cert as an unexpected form of self-care. The step-by-step processes demonstrated by chefs on Food Network helped him unwind, and he "just became completely hooked, not necessarily on food, but on the feeling of cooking videos and food content".

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Although his culinary skills developed slowly (his first dish gave his siblings food poisoning), Axel's enthusiasm had been passed down through generations. His grandparents were avid travellers and often returned to Ireland with new-to-them ingredients that his grandmother shared with other women in the community: "She used to tell me that no one had tried curry until she brought back curry powder," he laughs. "They made a curry, and everyone tried it together".

Redefining Irish food

When Anna launched Myrtle, she always had "Mam's cooking" in the back of her mind. By elevating her mother's cuisine within a fine dining setting, she curated a modern European menu with an Irish influence. However, she soon realised that "the 'modern European' part was the least interesting to people".

"My mother didn't know that she'd be the catalyst for a new cuisine," Anna reflects. "She played a role in evolving our culture, and that's quite amazing".

The name Myrtle uplifts Irish produce – the cornerstone of the restaurant's menu. "Myrtle Allen was the first chef to proudly champion Irish produce. Because of her actions, I can build upon her legacy. Naming it Myrtle was an obvious choice – it's a powerful name".

Through her cooking, Anna aims to preserve and represent shared Irish histories and cultures. Her “Taste of Ireland” menu showcases seven courses, each highlighting a county in Ireland. One of the restaurant's dishes – yellow meal cake served with Silver Hill duck and endive – commemorates the generosity of the Choctaw, a Native American people. During the Famine, the Choctaw donated corn to Ireland to help feed its starving population.

"Irish people, for fuck’s sake, should eat yellow meal at least once a week to remember who saved their lives”, Anna argues. "Caramelised duck on polenta might not sound very Irish, but when you understand its origin, you'll think, 'Yes, that's modern Irish cuisine'".

Irish welcomes

"Our goal is to have fun, make people feel welcome, and provide a place every few months where people can come and feel at home away from home", Axel says of Pigs Can Fly. Whether addressing dietary needs or ensuring affordability for guests, the emphasis is on being as accommodating as possible.

Anna also celebrates the quintessential 'Irish welcome': "It's magical because it's subconscious. Irish people make others feel welcome and like they belong. We understand the feeling of not belonging and don't want others to feel like that". She notes that visitors to Myrtle are greeted with a warm "hiya!" instead of the grand, often alienating display of hospitality expected at fine dining establishments. "Irish communication doesn’t feel like business, it feels like warmth".

Of his stout-fuelled pub crawls, Ian says: "If some generic bar in Shoreditch had the nicest pints of Guinness in the world, I wouldn't drink in there as much as I'd drink in an old, unpretentious, real pub for real people. It's not trying to sell you the dream of a pub; it's an actual pub because that's where people go to drink".

The Auld Shillelagh "hits that sweet spot in the middle" notes Jamie. "It's not shit and dingy, and it's not flashy and varnished". With its traditional mahogany bar, "dusty ornaments", Irish paraphernalia and "nooks and crannies", "it feels like it's been transported from Ireland", For Jamie, this pleasing slice of home creates "an environment where you can feel comfortable being yourself".

"What's a pub but a communal space?" he asks. "It's your extended sitting room".

The taste of home

The comforting feelings inextricably associated with food and drink propel our appreciation and grá for Ireland. "If you're being pedantic," says Ian, a beautiful pint feels like "the perfect taste of home".

According to Jamie, "we're not Italy, so I think it's more about the sentiment than what you're actually eating, you know? If your mother cooks you food, there’s no better feeling".

Meanwhile, when Anna crafts an Irish-inspired dish, she knows how she wants the guests to feel before she creates the meal. "Is it summer? Is it light? Is it rich?" she asks herself.

Axel sums it up: "How I tap into my identity is more attached to emotions and feelings, rather than physical objects or cooking 'Irish' food. It's more about how that makes people feel and translating that into the setting and environment in which I live".

Despite leaving Ireland, we all still hold feelings of Irishness close to our chests. As we navigate the streets of London – or anywhere, in fact – we continue to forge new, yet familiar, home comforts.

‘Home Comforts’ features in Guzzle issue two, pick up a copy here.

About the writer

Originally from Waterford, Eoghan Flynn is a London-based writer and researcher. Armed with a Master's in Fashion Communication from Central Saint Martins, he delves into trend analysis at Stylus, focusing on the ever-evolving worlds of food, beverage, hospitality, and leisure. Alongside his day job, Eoghan is an accomplished freelancer, contributing to publications such as 1 Granary, Numéro Berlin, and Fräulein Magazine. Eoghan's love for "picky bits" gives him solace but he finds his happiest moments nursing a pint of plain in his local.

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Hello, it’s Jane Gleeson here. I'm currently in Berlin, where International Women’s Day isn't just a media campaign but has evolved into a literal public holiday, marked by peaceful protests that advocate for the rights of those who identify as women. While I may not be able to spark a movement to launch another bank holiday in Ireland, each issue of Guzzle strives for parity by championing diverse voices. Below, I'm sharing a summary of editorials authored by our female contributors as featured in Guzzle issue two.

'I Regret Not Eating That Cake' tells the story of a woman who rebelled against the classic grandmother stereotype. Although the writer, Ophelia Keane, expresses regret for not fully appreciating her grandmother Katie during childhood, the piece symbolises her admiration by recognising that not all women need to cook well and not all food memories need to be saccharine sweet. Ophelia closes by sharing her version of Katie's ideal recipe: “Go to the shop. Buy a cake. Eat it all. Live your life”.

South African writer Robyn Paterson reflects on her time living in Dublin during her Master's degree, recounting the challenges of communal living and cooking for one. In ‘Single Serving’, she describes the struggle of adapting to limited space and resources, with witty anecdotes like drinking Pinot Grigio in a sauerkraut jar to stumbling upon her housemates building a fort in the kitchen.

At the launch of Guzzle issue two, Sian Conway did a heartfelt reading of 'Delicious Irony', celebrating survival and regaining a love of food after battling an eating disorder since teens. Sian bravely explores her relationship with eating, gradually navigating the lingering effects of the disorder. As someone deeply ingrained in the food industry, Sian crafts a poignant personal essay infused with humour.

In Molly Garvey’s piece, 'Dinner Parties, Silence and my Granny', the writer toasts the concept of silence during meals while listing her granny's tips for successful hosting, from keeping the room at the perfect temperature to avidly avoiding guests who don't engage in conversation while eating. Despite their differences, Molly presents a witty interpretation of transitioning from 1970s dinners to today's more modern approach.

Butter, a staple in nearly every Irish household, occupies a significant role in Rose Madders' family kitchen, where its absence never goes unnoticed. In her piece 'For The Love Of Butter,' Rose describes butter’s comeback tour, citing contemporary references such as chef Thomas Straker’s All Things Butter series, along with the origin story of Ireland's iconic Kerrygold, which initially launched in the UK and even has a German town named after it.

Coincidentally, Mother’s Day is approaching, and it’s worth highlighting the courage involved in motherhood. In ‘Breastfeeding for Survival’, Caroline Hennessy offers a candid look into the physical and emotional tolls linked with childbirth. Despite these obstacles, she embarks on a host of adventures with ‘Little Missy’ breastfeeding in tow.

The pandemic forced many of us to reassess our life paths, with Maeve Scully prompted to pivot from a career in the corporate world to pursuing life as a baker. However, career shifts are rarely straightforward. In 'Rising Above', Maeve describes the challenges she faced training in bakeries abroad but has since found her stride at the newest iteration of Scéal.

'My Community, Mo Chroí' expands on Laoise Dempsey’s Hidden Spaces Instagram account by detailing her meanderings through the streets of Dublin to cherished spots like Simon's Place (RIP) and Catherine's Bakery in the Liberties. Eschewing modern menus and minimalist aesthetics, these eateries may seem basic but are essential to Irish culture and community.

Stacy Miyoung Kim reflects on a journey of self-acceptance in ‘My Body Loved Me Before I Could Accept It’. After a decade of relative stability, sudden physical changes shake the writer’s sense of self, revealing trauma that had long been suppressed. By prioritising self-care and reconnecting with her favourite foods, Stacy learns to once again care for her body by embracing its resilience.

Last but definitely not least, heartbreak goes hand in hand with love. Chef and gastronomy student, Áine Budds’ poem ‘Scenes From A Breakup’ employs vivid imagery and evocative prose to capture the bittersweet nature of romantic relationships, from the separation of shared crockery to soup that eases the soul.

Pick up a copy of our second issue, The Intimacy of Eating, here.

And in more recent news: I had the opportunity of being featured in the latest issue of Image Magazine alongside a league of women making waves in the Irish food industry, with words by Ali Dunworth and photography by Mel Mullan.

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A whole thirteen years later, I received an invite to curate a culinary experience as part of Body & Soul’s Food on Board area. Of course, I revelled in this opportunity. Behind the scenes, Tom Hayes, Tom Arnold, and I had been dreaming up ideas for an al fresco dinner that would showcase Ireland's bountiful produce. We pictured long tables furnished with simple ingredients and thoughtfully paired wines, diners sharing dishes and conversations, and the sun setting in the height of summertime. Body & Soul’s invitation ticked all our boxes.

Chefs Tom Hayes and Tom Arnold encountered each other at the helm of Ruth Rogers in London’s River Café. Since then, they have gained experience in some of the most recognisable restaurants in the city, including Flat Iron, Hawksmoor, and Brat, with Hayes recently relocating to work at Øens Have, an open-fire restaurant on Scandanavia’s largest regenerative urban farm. They believe that you never need to look far to source amazing produce, allowing each ingredient to speak for itself with the aid of simple cooking.

In the spirit of community - Body & Soul’s festival theme - the three of us have reached out to the people that produce the foods we consume in Ireland, with an emphasis on creating a menu as seasonal and local as possible. Our chefs are preparing a feast over fire with ingredients including saltwater clams and vibrant chard, complemented by a wine flight from Brian’s Wines.

Guzzle Presents A Feast Over Fire will take place in the Food On Board area in the walled gardens of Ballinlough Castle, with a late lunch kicking off at 3pm on Saturday, June 17th. We invite festival goers to join us in a celebration of food and community at one of Ireland’s leading cultural events. Tickets starting from €65 pp can be purchased here, please note that ticket sales will finish at 18:00 on Wednesday, June 13th.

Contact Jane at hello@guzzle.ie to find out more.

Potatoes and Irish people are a cliché, I know. Yet as an Irish woman living in New York City during the pandemic, potatoes and Irishness took on a whole other, more profound, meaning.

I moved to New York in 2019, just ten months before the first Covid-19 lockdown. If you’ve ever been to NYC, you’ll know that every type of food is available within minutes of your doorstep. If you were to dine at every eatery for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, it would take over 80 years to sample each restaurant in Manhattan alone! Suffice it to say, dining out and ordering in is (or was) par for the course of New York living. As someone who loves to cook, my affinity for the kitchen was put on hiatus within my first year in the Big Apple.

Alas, lockdown. When we were stuck inside — missing home and forced to cook for ourselves — I turned to potatoes as a staple for dinner after dinner. Of course, this was brought on by a longing to be with family and friends during a terrifying and unpredictable time — to make our new home feel and taste like our actual home: a place of comfort and familiarity.

Ironically, I rarely cooked potatoes in Ireland before moving to the USA. Eating them was reserved for trips back to the family at Christmas or a cheeky bag of chips after a night out in Dublin City. Then all of a sudden, amid a global emergency, I found myself searching for the perfect potato in New York City. I tried every supermarket, variation, and recipe but could not replicate the fluffy, golden Irish spud.

Nothing about my potato dinners resembled home. Not the colour, not the texture, not the flavour.

So it got me thinking. Are potatoes in America just "bad"? Are Irish potatoes really blessed with the drops of 250+ days of rainfall? Or was it all in my head? Did my Brooklyn home-cooked spuds disappoint because they weren't cooked by my own mother on a Sunday, and so they missed that extra sprinkle of TLC? Whatever it was, it sent me into a rabbit hole of documentaries, books and social-media threads. I deepened my knowledge of the soil and of America's industrial agriculture industry, the Irish famine and British rule in Ireland during the 1800s, and the connection between food, people, and culture.

After all my digging (pun intended), I realised that the humble potato is the perfect example of how important food is to our economies, communities, health, and well-being. A simple spud is part of a massive system that spans the entire world. Simultaneously, a potato symbolises wealth and poverty, health and malnutrition, past and present. A potato, alongside other whole foods, is the foundation upon which our food systems are built but what exactly is a food system?

According to the brainboxes at Oxford, a food system “is a complex web of activities involving the production, processing, transport, and consumption” of food. The food we consume daily goes through a lot to get to our plates. From the moment our food is sown in the ground to when it’s harvested, washed and packaged to when you buy it in the grocery store, food interacts with a long list of people, machinery, environments, and sometimes even chemicals. Our food meanders through this web – or system – it often changes. The nutritional value, visual presentation, and cost are just some things that can be impacted along the way. This is because the conditions in which our food is farmed, processed, and sold hold a significant influence on its final manifestation. Likewise, our perception and cultural association with food can change over time.

Let’s take the potato as an example.

For the typical potato consumer, a potato goes through a lot to get from farm to fork. First, the soil needs to be prepared and planted, and the plot needs to be tended to and harvested. In a series of events requiring considerable time and energy, the potatoes are transported, sometimes washed, packaged, distributed to retail, labelled, shelved, purchased, and finally consumed. Each stage in this food supply chain has its own eco-system of operations, procedures, rules, and concerns — all affecting the final product.

In Ireland, we have a profound (and painful) connection with the potato tuber. Having once relied on this tuber as the sole giver of nourishment, the Irish people have come to respect the potato for its god-like ability to feed millions or render them destitute. Even after the Great Famine, we did not abandon the potato.

From a nutritional perspective, a potato provides all the good stuff in one: fibre, carbohydrates, vitamins and minerals. It is filling and relatively easy to cultivate, given the suitable climate and soil which Ireland luckily possesses. From a historical perspective, Irish people — in general — love what potatoes stand for; fortitude, hardiness, and abundance. Although potatoes are not native to Ireland, we treat them with respect and pride, as if they were one of our own. 

Yet, regarding Irish trade, official reports state that almost two-thirds of fresh potatoes sold in Ireland are imported from the United Kingdom. You might think this odd or ironic if you know the history of the Great Famine. Still, the point is that even a vegetable easily grown on our lands and considered part of our national identity is smothered with political and economic ties.

And that is true for every kind of food. Whether it’s avocados and Mexico, pasta and Italy, or tuna and Japan, the food we eat tells a story of its home and people. The value we place on food is not just monetary but also cultural and personal. But for these global delicacies to reach millions of hungry and curious mouths in all corners, they must survive a rigid and nebulous system of trade, legislation and regulation.

If we critically analyse the potato, we might recognise its legacy and familial qualities. Still, on the whole, we know very little about its place in our vast and complex food system. Perhaps the next time you make a Sunday roast or pop to the chipper, spare a thought for those golden potatoes and their role in our modern world and why they taste the way they do.

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For my inaugural pub review, I’m visiting McCafferty’s, an Irish pub situated between Crouch End and Hornsey in London. The Irish are deeply rooted in the history of London. Generations before myself came to flee the famine, the recession of the 50s and 80s and the archaic Catholic church, finding work as labourers building the place back up after World War II. London bears an Irish mark from the towering skyscrapers and the Victoria tube line to the Irish butchers and pubs dotted throughout the city. Irish immigrants coming over these days are a lot like myself - young professionals in their 20s and 30s arriving in search of greener pastures from a country where young people don’t seem welcome, only to find out it’s pretty much the same here and the greener pastures are probably down in somewhere like Australia. Nevertheless, we are here now - working for English banks and critiquing pints of Guinness in foreign lands. 

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Enda: I take my tea with a lot of fresh milk, hot water and a small quick dunk of a Barry's teabag. For me leaving the teabag in any longer than 15 seconds ruins it. 

Jane: When did you start drinking tea, and who inspired you to drink it?

Enda: I started drinking tea when I was at least two years old. My granny taught me to always dip a folded slice of bread and butter into the tea. This process was called “Dippity-do”. I haven’t tried the dippity-do technique in at least ten years - I might need to change that soon.

Jane: In your personal opinion, is there anything more comforting than a warm cup of tea? 

Enda: Finding a family pack of Barry’s tea on offer is the closest I can think of. 

Jane: How does a cup of tea make you feel?

Enda: A good cup of tea is like Jesus giving you a warm cuddle, especially vital in wet and cold Galway. 

Jane: What would you do if someone gave you a cup of tea that has been steeped for too long?

Enda: I’d put on my best Karen face and ask to speak to the district manager. 

Jane: You have lived abroad on various occasions. How did you survive without Barry’s tea? Is it the same without Irish milk?

Enda: When I lived in Spain, all the cafes would give you hot milk in the tea, which is a crime against humani-tea. This one time In Germany, I asked for black tea, and they gave me Earl Grey, which ruined my holiday. 

Jane: How do you think tea represents Irish culture?

Enda: Sometimes it can be a bit of overkill, e.g. Mrs Doyle. That said, tea is a national treasure in Ireland and rightly so. You can see the bitter debates about which brand of tea is better with Barry’s v. Lyons.

Jane: If you could have a cup of tea with anyone (dead or alive), who would you pick?

Enda: I would like to have a cup of tea with Mr T in Barry’s Tea HQ. 

Jane: What would you do if you entered an Irish household and weren’t offered a cup of tea? 

Enda: I usually bring an emergency teabag in my pocket for situations like that, so thankfully, It hasn’t come to that yet. 

About the Artist

Enda Burke is a photographer from the West of Ireland who builds vintage sets with kitsch-style furnishings to create a body of nostalgic and humorous work. His work has been featured internationally in media, including The Guardian, Rolling Stone, and The Observer, and he has been nominated for the 2022 Zurich Portrait Prize in the National Gallery of Ireland. Aside from a milky mug of Barry’s, Burke takes respite from the wild Atlantic weather with a bowl of Neachtain’s famous chowder.

Read: The Gourmand’s Egg - A Collection of Stories and Recipes - Indigo & Cloth, Temple Bar

The Gourmand has been championing art and food since its inception in 2012 and I have been ogling over it ever since. Despite the fact that I deplore eggs, I devoured each page of The Gourmand’s Egg - A Collection of Stories and Recipes and urge you to share the experience. The book traces the portrayal of the ovum in art through the ages with essays by leading writers from the worlds of art and food including Jennifer Higgie and Ruth Reichl. 

Experience: The Scéal Sourdough for Beginners Course (limited availability)

Us humans are suckers for attempting to replace bad habits with good at the beginning of the calendar year. Encourage someone to get into the swing of sourdough bread making by gifting them a beginners course with Scéal Bakery. Homemade bread is fresher, more affordable and I can’t even begin to mention the aroma that will fill their home (the fresh bread, not the sourdough starter, of course). 

Wear: Ferm Living Rose and Bright Blue Apron - Industry & Co, Drury Street

Ok, this one isn’t strictly Irish but Vanessa and the team at Industry & Co transform houses throughout Ireland with their curation of contemporary homeware. Industry & Co stock international favourites HAY and HK Living alongside Irish brands including McNutt and Bean and Goose. I adore the Ferm Living glassware but their apron is the perfect gift for that pal who saunters about with flour sprinkled on the surface of their clothing. 

I also love Enrich and Endure made in Northern Ireland but get your order in before it’s too late. 

Frame: Another Day, Another Shop - contact hello@guzzle.ie to arrange collection 

I couldn’t write a listicle about art and food without a nod to our commissioned photography series by Rudy De Souza. Of course, this would be the perfect opportunity to promote the mag’ but stocks are low and prints are aplenty. I love Another Day, Another Shop and Milky Orange and think they would spice up any boring magnolia kitchen.

Learn: What I Know About Running Coffee Shops - online and from 3fe

In 2017, Colin Harmon shared his tips of the trade by revealing insights from the 3fe coffee conglomerate, beautifully encased in a hardback cover designed by Conor and David, who previously ran WorkGroup. Though my copy is worn from decorating a coffee table rather than being read, I suggest What I Know About Running Coffee Shops for anyone who has toyed with the idea of launching a food business. However, the book could be due a refresh considering staff shortages and escalating inflation costs for businesses.

Subscribe: Ómós Digest - Substack subscription

Cúán Greene has been hotly tipped as one to watch in the Irish food industry after a stint cheffing in Noma, Copenhagen, and previously heading the kitchen in Bastible restaurant, Dublin. More recently, Cúán has explored the landscape of Irish food through the makers and growers behind it in his regular newsletter Ómós Digest. Readers can subscribe for free or upgrade to paid memberships from €5 per month to an annual subscription of €50 per year. 

Cherish: Jennifer Slattery’s Mistletoe embroidered Irish Linen napkins - Benburb Stree, Dublin 7

Tablescaping is all the rage these days but what’s the point of decking the table with kitsch imports when Ireland produces soft and sustainable linen domestically? Jennifer Slattery’s embroidered napkins will spruce up the shabbiest kitchen table while becoming an heirloom to pass down from generation to generation.  

Support: Irish food publications Bia! Zine, Scoop and Guzzle (ofc) - in stockists across Dublin

When I concocted the idea for Guzzle, it didn’t occur to me that the stories of Irish food would be printed in various publications in Ireland by 2022. Victory Nwabu-Ekeoma created Bia! Zine, a digital and print publication that celebrates migrant food culture in Ireland while food writer Dee Laffan launched Scoop, platforming the people behind contemporary Irish food. If you’re reading this, then chances are you’re already familiar with Guzzle, which is an independent publication that connects with readers by telling stories through the lenses of art and food. It’s clearly been a fantastic year for female-led food publications in Ireland.

Visit: Breac House - Dunfanaghy, Co. Donegal

Ireland’s rugged landscape has garnered a reputation worldwide but we inhabitants often forget the treasures on our own doorstep. The distance from Dublin to Donegal might feel far but Ireland is a tiny island and the trip to Breac House in Dunfanaghy will quickly remind your nearest and dearest of its wonder. Having fled from the world of finance, Cathrine Burke and Niall Campbell created a retreat that houses Irish art, design, and food on the Northwestern seafront of Horn Head, Co. Donegal. 

Guzzle: Warehouse Food Christmas Hamper - Greenmount Avenue, Dublin 12

Rather than popping into the local offie for a bottle of plonk, visit the Warehouse Food Market and purchase a gift that supports Irish producers without even having to head into town. In addition, Warehouse’s small Christmas hamper is beautifully packaged so you won’t even have to whip out the sellotape. 

Jane Gleeson is a writer, event manager, and art college graduate who pivoted into the food world after completing a Master’s in Gastronomy and Food Studies at TU Dublin. As a former gallery worker, Jane blends a background in art and design with a passion for Irish food culture.

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