A Seafood Odyssey in Galway
Jinny Westacott and her partner explore historic Galway – but history soon takes a back seat to the area's extraordinary seafood restaurants.
As the sea mist rolled in over the mighty cliffs of Mohr, we told ourselves this was why we came: for the desolate beauty of the rocks, contrasting with the rolling greenery of Galway's hinterland.
But in truth, all we could think of was our next meal.
The night before we'd taken our seats at Oscar's Seafood Bistro, in the heart of vibrant Galway. Cosy yet classy, Oscar's attentive staff had fed us some of the finest seafood of our lives: the wild prawns in garlic were a revelation, as were the sought-after Marty's Mussels.
We'd finished with the tantalising Crème Brûlée Trio – 'finished' that is, if you don't count the brace of creamy-headed Guinnesses, later consumed by the fireside of a colourfully-painted Galway pub. The energetic band had completed the Gallic atmosphere perfectly.
Now, in the early morning mist, we strolled back to our hire car, our tummies rumbling in complaint: they didn't like all this sightseeing; they wanted to get back to eating.
After checking into Limerick's delightful "Boutique", we gave in to our appetites only briefly (an Irish breakfast complete with peppery white pudding), before completing a tour of the grand King John's Castle.
We tried to feign interest in the rich medieval history. Later, we tried a similar trick at the Hunt Museum, and then again outside St Mary's Cathedral. We aborted the original plan to peek inside St Mary's itself; our stomachs, it seemed, were in the process of affecting a coup.
But the coup would have to wait – our booking at The Curragower wasn't until 7pm.
Strolling the old streets of Limerick, every turn seemed to bring aromas of freshly-cooked seafood, or of fish and chips. From the pubs wafted a heady combination of beer and wood polish – and yes, somewhere in the back of each one, it seemed, someone was cooking up something: sausages, mash, pies, chips.
Mohr's fresh air and Limerick's abundant food made us feverishly hungry.
Finally, 7pm came, and we eagerly assumed our places at The Curragower.
We settled quickly on seafood chowders – ably washed down by a pint of the black stuff. We followed this with a plate of gourmet-level fish and chips – superior to most.
Afterwards we merged with the locals in the bar, consuming more Guinness and picking up more foodie tips, one of which was Moran's of the Weir.
In our beery state we committed to driving back up to Galway in a quest for Moran's and the finest oyster in Ireland – or so we were told.
Atlantic fog made for a moody drive back north. It was carried on cool, fresh air that primed our tummies for the glories to come.
Moran's was more romantic than we'd imagined, yet unassuming. The staff and clientele emanated warmth and friendliness – just as the coastal villages of western Ireland always do.
But even the heights of Irish affability paled next to Moran's oysters. We ate them grilled, accompanied with seafood chowder and crab claws. Tender and baked to perfection, we consumed these unearthly treats in stunned silence.
After squeezing in a slice of heavenly cheesecake, we washed down these delights with Galway Hooker Beer. We chatted with our waiter: it turned out he was a member of the Moran family. They had run this oyster mecca since the 1800s.
His nuggets of local history were fascinating.
But nothing compared to his oysters.
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