Five Tipperary ice cream spots to hit during weekend heatwave
Grogans of Cashel
Grogan's Café and Ice Cream Parlour in Cashel offers a large deli range, fine barista coffee, and artisan ice creams. If it's a 99 or a few scoops in a tub with a big selection of flavours, check out Grogan's. It's also a great spot to sit outside and do some people watching in Lower Gate with outdoor seating nicely shaded under an awning.
Cibo Fresco in Clonmel
Italians know how to do ice cream better than anyone on the planet. At Cibo Fresco, tucked away in 31 Mitchell Street, Oldbridge, Clonmel, diners can tuck into desserts of the day, served up with chocolate.
Up Eats Café in Nenagh
Located at 16 Silver Street, Nenagh, Up Eats Café serves healthy breakfasts, lunch and coffee. Who doesn't love a dessert though? Check out the cheese cake and ice cream here for some fine dining in the sun.
Le P'tit Cafe and Bistro in Thurles
Step inside this charming establishment on Old Baker Street, adorned with rustic décor and bask in the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee and tantalising aromas wafting from the kitchen. Enjoy your dessert in an outdoor seating area as if you were in Paris.
Oh Sugar! Coffee and Bakehouse in Tipperary town
Oh Sugar is an independently run café in Kickham Court, Davis Street, Tipperary town open seven days a week for all your coffee, acai and treats fixes. The pancakes are popular, but we recommend the Biscoff iced latte or iced Matcha. Yum.
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Irish Times
16-07-2025
- Irish Times
Róisín Ingle: I roar at my daughter so loudly for not wearing a bike helmet, a passerby asks her if she is okay
Feckin' açai bowls. Or acky bowls as our relatives in the North call them, because in fairness you'd never know how to pronounce the word if you hadn't heard it spoken out loud. At this stage my daughters are made up of one-third açai bowl, one-third iced coffee and one-third matcha (green drinks young people queue for in town that taste like grass). I mean, I assume they taste like grass. I'm not actually going to be caught drinking one of them. I'm 53. Feckin' matcha. Feckin' açai bowls. I don't understand the appeal of these things. I'm still not totally sure what an açai bowl is to be honest. These are the distances that must grow between you and your teenage children. Like the new words. They say 'whelp' and 'bro' and 'mate'. I blame TikTok . I blame Love Island . It's as it should be. The language is morphing. The trends are trending. Some young men walk past our house. One of them says 'sorry, dear' stepping to the side of the pavement. I wonder who he's talking to. He's talking to me. I am 'dear'. Oh dear. [ I have a secret urge to throw a good portion of my young children's 'art' in the bin Opens in new window ] Our daughters' bikes were left outside all winter. Rain fell. Then more rain. We hadn't bothered with a cover and now the bikes aren't fit for the road. Poor bikes, I think when I look at them. Chains rusting from lack of use. Locked to railings in our tiny front yard, going nowhere fast. I want them to be cyclists. To make good use of the brand new bike lanes that emerged after years of interminable roadworks that clogged up our north inner-city arteries. Two wheels good. They walk, they are not as averse to walking as their mother, thank goodness. They take buses. But on the bike. On the bike, girls, you won't know yourselves. READ MORE I give up trying to persuade them. I'm as bereft about this as I was about the fact that they don't seem to want to read books any more. It breaks my heart a bit even though I know what they do is none of my business. A friend gave me a framed picture of Khalil Gibran's poem when they were born 16 years ago, which begins 'your children are not your children ... you may give them your love, but not your thoughts, for they have their own thoughts'. I know, I know. And yet I mourn the books they'll never read. They will learn about life in other ways. It is okay. All will be well. But feckin' açai bowls. The bikes are wrecked. The books I buy gather dust. Then something miraculous happens. My daughters declare this to be The Summer of Reading. I come home and see them lounging on the sofa, not a screen in sight, only a big thick book. Rachel's Holiday. My heart skips a beat. Then they decide, sing hosannas, it will also be the Summer of Cycling. We bring the bikes to the brilliant men in Penny Farthing Cycles and they fix them up. We buy a cover. No more rust. It is one of those gorgeous sunny days, dripping with light. We have cycling plans. And then. A massive row. In the middle of a busy street. I want one daughter to wear a helmet and she isn't having any of it. She cycles away from me and I roar at her. I mean I roar. A passerby asks her if she is okay, if she needs help, that's how loud I roar. I am ashamed. I am out of order. Stricken. She's gone. A flurry of texts. Eventually she relents. She cycles to meet me and she gets an iced coffee (feckin' iced coffee) while I drink my Americano. We're at the Russell Street Bakery near Croke Park where such are the delectable ham and cheese croissants, that a group of burly builders tell me they've become addicted to them, the way some builders are addicted to chicken fillet rolls. The bakery is beside a branch of the charity Fighting Words. My daughter doesn't see the irony, not yet, but I do. I apologise. She forgives. She says even with the roaring she still wants to spend this sunny day with me. I'm moved almost to tears. Dublin Port's Tolka Estuary Greenway has views of the Clontarf seafront and Bull Island. We get helmets. We get the day back. We pick up picnic supplies in the bakery, we pick up her sister and we all cycle to the Dublin Port Tolka Estuary Greenway. You get there through the East Point Business Park. The greenway has been here for ages but we're only doing it now for the first time. 'It's like being on holidays,' my daughter says. Dappled light through the forest entrance. The estuary sparkling, butterflies crossing our path, birds flitting through wildflowers. The history of Dublin's docks laid out before us. We give out about our city. We wonder why we can't have nice things. But this is the nicest of nice things. [ Why has it taken so long to develop a greenway for Dublin Bay? Opens in new window ] We eat our picnic looking out at the bay, listening to the birds, feeling lucky. Much later, after the recoupling on Love Island, mate, we return to the greenway with their father. It's after 10pm. The moon is big and yellow. The lights from Clontarf dance on the water, the roosting birds louder now. The four of us have the place to ourselves. The swish of our bikes, the call of the birds. All will be well.
Irish Independent
11-07-2025
- Irish Independent
Five Tipperary ice cream spots to hit during weekend heatwave
The Premier County is spoiled for choice when it comes to ice cream shops, gelaterias, or pubs and restaurants serving up the best ice creams. Here are some of our top tips for the best ice creams and desserts out there while Tipperary feels the heatwave. Grogans of Cashel Grogan's Café and Ice Cream Parlour in Cashel offers a large deli range, fine barista coffee, and artisan ice creams. If it's a 99 or a few scoops in a tub with a big selection of flavours, check out Grogan's. It's also a great spot to sit outside and do some people watching in Lower Gate with outdoor seating nicely shaded under an awning. Cibo Fresco in Clonmel Italians know how to do ice cream better than anyone on the planet. At Cibo Fresco, tucked away in 31 Mitchell Street, Oldbridge, Clonmel, diners can tuck into desserts of the day, served up with chocolate. Up Eats Café in Nenagh Located at 16 Silver Street, Nenagh, Up Eats Café serves healthy breakfasts, lunch and coffee. Who doesn't love a dessert though? Check out the cheese cake and ice cream here for some fine dining in the sun. Le P'tit Cafe and Bistro in Thurles Step inside this charming establishment on Old Baker Street, adorned with rustic décor and bask in the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee and tantalising aromas wafting from the kitchen. Enjoy your dessert in an outdoor seating area as if you were in Paris. Oh Sugar! Coffee and Bakehouse in Tipperary town Oh Sugar is an independently run café in Kickham Court, Davis Street, Tipperary town open seven days a week for all your coffee, acai and treats fixes. The pancakes are popular, but we recommend the Biscoff iced latte or iced Matcha. Yum.
Irish Examiner
21-04-2025
- Irish Examiner
An Irishwoman in Rome: Italy mourns a man who spent his papacy consorting with the poor, prisoners, and sinners
The Pope is dead. The news was given Urbi et Orbi — to the City and the World — by his Camerlengo Cardinal Kevin Joseph Farrell, reading the official Vatican statement in a soft voice with a strong Irish accent. As an Irishwoman in Italy, that small auditory detail made this profound event immediately more affecting — the simplicity of the statement and its delivery by Cardinal Farrell, in keeping with the simplicity of Papa Francesco's reign — this ordinary, extraordinary man who spent his papacy, not in pontifical silks or ermine or satin, but in an anorak consorting with the poor, prisoners and sinners, his final days wearing a poncho. This morning, when I went for my walk at 7am, he was alive. When I returned along the ancient road that centuries of pilgrims took to Rome, and on which the miraculous image of the Madonna of Impruneta was carried in times of war, plague and famine, he was dead. Along the route, chirrupy sparrows fed their young. Blackbirds admonished their new-flyers for staying too near the ground. In the midst of the death that would be felt across the world, there was life; small, innocent, representing hope in, and for, the future. They ate, they flew, unaware that in Rome, Papa Francesco was dead. This morning, on that old road to Rome, hope was the thing with feathers. A nun holds an image of Pope Francis near St Peter's square, after the death of Pope Francis was announced by the Vatican on Monday morning Pictures. Reuters/Guglielmo Mangiapane As news spread around the neighbourhood, Italians came out to their doors, onto their balconies, terraces — some had rosaries, others watching the breaking news on their phones or sharing it with friends and family. It seemed we all wanted company, solidarity. The agreement was general: yesterday at the Easter services he looked hollowed out, had neither voice nor breath for the blessing that turned out to be his last. On TV, as I flick through channels, the talking heads seem to think the same: his surprise trip among the crowds in the Pope Mobile, though in his last agony, was his addio to the people he loved, the people he was part of, as a brother, a father, a friend. Church bells are to ring in mourning throughout Italy. The first bells for the dead tolling in St Peter's this morning brought chills, the darkness of their tone reflecting the sorrow of all gathered in the square or watching on TV. President Sergio Mattarella, whose brother Piersanti was assassinated by the Mafia in 1980, led the nation in respect, love, mourning. For many, it is he and Papa Francesco who represent the best and deepest qualities of Italy, of humanity itself. Papa Francesco died on Pasquetta or Lunedi del'Angelo named in honour of the angel who appeared to the women at the tomb, telling them Christ was no longer there, but risen. Today, as was announced in Rome, Jorge Bergoglio, Pope Francis, Papa Francesco loved by Italians — believers and non-believers — as theirs, above all others, has returned to the house of his Father, to the arms of the risen Christ. Alleluia.
