Walking along Athlunkard Street in Limerick, I heard an American twang ask a passing citizen: “What is that weed-covered ruin there?”
“Oh, just an old bakery,” came the glib reply.
I sighed. Has Limerick really forgotten Tubridy’s bread?
People came from far and near to buy the cottage loaves that came up in steaming hot rows to the counter. The buff-coated assistants wrapped it in tan-coloured tissue paper and tied it with twine. I would watch in amazement at the way they could break the twine without cutting their fingers off.
Some times on my way back home, the tissue paper split and temptation got the better of me. I’d peel off one sliver of the hot bread to nibble on. And you know how it is: one sliver leads to another.
Often there was a hole right through the bread before it finally reached our table. And Tubridy’s bread had crusts to die for.
Once upon a time, while studying domestic science, I was making sandwiches for company at home. So I sliced off all the crusts and served a neat plateful to the guests.
There was an outcry. “You’ve destroyed the best part of the bread,” my uncle accused. “And thick. You don’t cut Tubridy’s bread thin.” So much for domestic science.
Our parish had its culinary specialities, to be served with said bread. Treacy’s packet and tripe was always our Saturday dinner. My mother made a sort of stew with milk , onions and some spice – cloves, I think. And she thickened the whole thing with breadcrumbs.
We’d dip a thick slice of Tubridy’s black-crusted cottage loaf into our bowls and, as my father would say, “You wouldn’t call the queen your aunt”. It was that delicious.
My favourite Tubridy’s bread treat was the blackberry jam. October had us out at Gillogue picking the juiciest blackberries in the world and carrying them home in milk cans.
My mother would cook them immediately and we ate the jam hot, piled up on, yes, you guessed it, thick slices of Tubridy’s bread. The juice would run down our chins and our faces and fingers were purple for days afterwards.
Tubridy's Bakery is not just a crumbling building in Limerick city – it is full of memories, and is part and parcel of our lives. We would love to receive your family memories, anecdotes, traditions, mishaps and triumphs. Email 400 words and a relevant photograph to familyfortunes@ irishtimes.com. A fee will be paid
