We had a cracking meal at Lunya last night. It was early doors before a walk up Wood Street in the rain to watch Zero Dark Thirty at Fact.

The highlight of the meal for me was the stuffed squid. One clean white squid body stuffed with a mixture of porcini and prawns, cooked, and then cut into four neat slices with the tentacles at the end. The slices were served on a small bed of rocket leaves and some sauce. When ordering it I had been concerned as to whether one stuffed squid would be enough for me. But it was just right and I would have been really stuffed if I had had anymore.

I also had a plate of Pedron Peppers, none of which were hot, a plate of BBQ’ed Iberico ribs slathered in a hot romesco sauce and a couple of skewers of duck, pig and preserved fig.

I drank a pint of Estralla and we shared a bottle Barbadillo Blanco because it came from Cadiz and was made from the same grapes as sherry. As did our waitress who was here to learn English. You could taste the sherry in the wine and I want to go back there, to Cadiz, and sit outside and eat a plate of pescaditos fritos watching the world before getting up to walk down some more of its streets, through the buildings that are still slowly collapsing back into the sea.

Thank you to Elaine & Dan for asking us to join them and saving us from a houseful of teenagers.

As we allowed our pints to settle he asked me a question; ‘Do you ever see out there the colour of water when you are catching the fish?’

I looked out through the door and the garden of The Tin Pub which ran down to a small beach and then Kitchen Cove the water was silver and bright in the sunlight and I shook my head and replied; ‘Its blue isn’t it. Or whatever colour the sky happens to be that day.’

‘There’s more colours than blue. You watch carefully next time you are out catching fish and look at the difference. You spend enough time out there you will see which colour works best.’

‘The water on a day like today will look blue but thats the colour of the sky. If the sky started to cloud up it will change more to green. Either is transparent so you can see through it clear. But green and blue aren’t the best to catch fish.’

‘And there will be days when the water is grey and it has a smell to it. Feck knows where the stink comes from. if you’re sat in the pub there will be someone that will tell you the stink comes from whichever man has been out on the water that day.’

‘But the best water if you are wanting to catch mackerel is yellow water. You will get it sometimes when there are squid in the bay. The mackerel feast on them. Watch as you gut them and sometimes you will see one there in its belly. I hear the Romans knew about it and they said the water was like sulphur if the mackerel were in. You can catch mackerel most times but the best catches are when the water is yellow.’

We took our first taste at the pints. Two greedy gulps wiping our mouths with the back of our hands.

‘Its their shit that turns the water. They are greedy fecks and if the squid are in they will stuff themselves until they can’t eat anymore and they shit and they eat some more and shit again. Now you’ve seen the colour of mackerel shit when they are sliding in the bottom of the boat and you’re trying to grab hold of it to give it a nip on the back of the head so you can carry on and catch some more.’

‘Its the squid as well. There’s something in a squid that turns a mackerel shit yellow. Feck knows how it works but they get together and they will stain the water yellow.’

He took another drink from his glass.

‘But the most beautiful colour is if you go fishing at night. Go out there when its dark and the light of the moon is still well down behind Mount Gabrial. Take your boat out to where you know the mackerel roam in their waters. Turn off the engine and sit yourself still for a while. Then stand up tall and look down deep into the water. If you are lucky you’ll see them down there. You won’t see the fish of course but the silver trace of them as they stream through the water. Its the phosphorescence they give off down there. On a good night it can seem as if your boat is being carried along on a river of silver light.’

‘You’d expect a fish that tastes as they do to be ugly. But they are a beautiful fish be it light or dark.’

He finished his glass and nodded goodbye before walking out onto the road. He put his head back through the door ‘Tell Patrick I’ll pay him this evening’ and he was gone.

I wasn’t sure what to buy at the Farmer’s Market this morning. I would get a chicken but given the recent complaints from the children that would go in the freezer to be had for lunch next week on Sunday.

I thought about some lamb but as I walked around none of the butchers seemed to have what I wanted. Then I spotted on top of the counter of the Welsh butchers who sell Welsh Black Beef two dark packages wrapped in clear plastic. One was marked Ox tongue £3.50. I picked it up to feel the weight of it and then put it back. I had read recipes for the cooking of tongue and had vague memories of it being served for dinner at school. I was not sure how good an investment it would be.

Next to it the package was labelled Ox heart £2.50. This was more like it. Again I picked it up. It  was  heavier than the tongue and dense with black blood. As I looked at it a sharp voice over my left shoulder said “That’s mine and I have paid for it!’

I looked around and there was a smartly dressed lady stood there pulling a plastic bag out of her pocket.

The woman behind the counter said “That’s right I’m afraid she’s paid for it and all.’ I put it back onto the counter. I wasn’t sure about what to with it anyway.

As the smart lady took it to put in her bag I asked her “How are you going to cook it?’

“I’m going to stuff it and roast it.’ She said it with such certainty that I was instantly sorry that it was not me who was going to be doing the stuffing and roasting. What could be as straightforward as that and I was sure the kids could be talked round.

I carried on my walk around the market but still did not see anything. As I walked past the Black Beef counter again there was another Ox hear on top. I’ll have it I thought and I forked out my change and bought it. If anything it was heavier and darker than the first.

It is now sat in the fridge downstairs ready to be stuffed and roasted tomorrow.

There are two pubs in Ahakista. Most of time is spent in Arundel’s. It is closer and close enough for us to be able take the odd few pints back down the road 100 yards to the Cottage. In fact quite a lot more than a few pints head down that way. All you need is to be careful of are fishermen on the pier who will eye your pint greedily as you walk past and you might be compelled to hand one over.

Christy Moore spotted me one year. He was driving past in a black Lexus and I was carrying a tray of pints. He slowed down, put his head out of the rolled down window and told me to be careful with my precious load.

The other pub is another few hundred yards up the road The Tin Pub next door to Ahakista House. It does what it says on the tin seemingly knocked together with pieces of corrugated iron and wood. It has been given a lick of paint over the last few years but it can still be a dangerous place late on a Saturday evening when there is singing going on in  the the corner and dancing outside.

I was in the bar one mid afternoon in summer. It was hot outside and the front door was open to the road. The pub nestles amongst trees and their shade kept the bar cool. I was by myself apart from the dog. Patrick had been working behind the bar  but he was outside now sorting bottles from the night before.

The man with a black bear walked in. He nodded at me shortly before putting his arms on the bar. We waited a few minutes and listened to the clink of bottles outside.

‘Patrick’ he shouted ‘I’ll get one myself.’

He went behind the bar and took down a glass and started to pour. ‘Do you need another,’ he asked me. Before I could answer he’d taken down another glass and started to fill that. The glasses were almost filled and he left them to settle. As they did that he went to the corner and put on some music. He then went back to the glasses and filled them until the white head started to spill over. He wiped at the drips with his fingers before lifting the pints up. He put one on a mat in front of me and the other went to where had been standing at the bar.

“You leave it a while’ he said. ‘Let it quiet down. It’ll be better for a few minutes more rest.’.  He came back from around the bar and stood next to me.

‘You need to leave it to settle. Its been in that silver barrel and on the back of a lorry from Cork. Now its out in the air give it some time to breathe before you drink it. It will be gone soon enough and then we can bring out some more to air a while.’

He put his arms back down on the bar and set down to wait.