To Force Oysters

For an island-dwelling nation, over the centuries, the Irish didn’t really embrace fish the way you might imagine. I think in many ways, it was just too much of a good thing. Fish and seafood were everywhere, fast and cheap, so it was food for poor people, and in fact servants’ agreements from the nineteenth century sometimes included clauses that they didn’t have to eat salmon more than a certain number of times per week. (Rich people ate beef, which isn’t that surprising when you consider cows were used as a measure of wealth in ancient Ireland.) It took awhile for us to realize our salmon was (and admittedly, I’m biased) the best in the entire world. It’s so rich and flavorful, moist and curdy—today when I’m home, I gorge myself on salmon, fresh and smoked; when I’m in New York, I spurn lox, because it’s got nothing—and I mean nothing—on Irish smoked salmon, which has a freshness, delicacy, and distinct lack of oiliness that puts other smoked fish to shame.