Domhnall O’Donoghue recalls a special mission his late grandmother sent him on in Paris - all in the name of Kerrygold cheese

When it comes to food and drink, the Irish are spoiled with a wealth of much-loved brands, including Tayto crisps, Denny sausages, Jacob’s Biscuits, Barry’s Tea, Guinness and Jameson. However, thanks to my late grandmother, Kay, there is one name in particular that comes to mind when I think of local cuisine - Kerrygold butter.

Just under twenty years ago, I was due to travel to Paris to visit some friends, Éadaoín and Aoife, who were studying there. When my grandmother heard about my planned expedition, the then 83-year-old immediately summoned me to her home and challenged me with a secret mission - all in the name of Kerrygold! 

Never mind, “Who’s taking the horse to France?”, Granny wanted me to take something far more exciting - a story. 

In 1977, The Irish Independent ran an advertisement for Kerrygold cheese. It boasted an image of a young French lady named Marie Françoise André sitting outside a café on the Champs-Élysées, Paris’ glamorous avenue. The accompanying text claimed that both she and her husband were big fans of Irish cheese, and even though their motherland was famed for this delicacy, they had a particular preference for Kerrygold Irish Blue. Funnily enough, the advertisement also included her home address in the French capital. 

My grandmother was having none of it, however. Fully convinced that the advertisers had fabricated the whole thing, the would-be Miss Marple took pen to paper and wrote to "Madam André", seeking verification that she actually existed! Needless to say, she did not expect a reply.

As the weeks passed, my grandmother’s outrage grew. Just as she was about to charge Kerrygold with telling fibs, a letter arrived in the post one summer morning from none other than Madam André! It turned out that she did “really exist” and it was “a big pleasure” to read my grandmother’s letter. She explained that after spending her honeymoon in Ireland, she became a fond admirer of Kerrygold cheese and was delighted when randomly asked to participate in the campaign.

After reading Madam André’s correspondence, my grandmother did not eat the much-discussed cheese - instead, she ate humble pie.

Even though the years had passed, Granny had kept the letter in her treasure chest of memories, and when she heard of my imminent excursion to Paris, she insisted that I call into her old acquaintance to give her some Irish treats. 

“But, Granny - those letters were written 25 years ago!” I reasoned. “She might not even be living there any longer!”

“Well, if she isn’t, you and your friends can keep the hamper and have a picnic!” she suggested, adding that if I obliged here, she would also give me a fee of five euro. 

“Just give me a kiss on the cheek, and I’ll do it for free,” I told her. And so, a deal was struck.

The following week, armed with the black-and-white advertisement, letter and some Irish chocolates, whiskey and, of course, cheese, my friends and I jumped onto the Paris métro, sure that in the intervening 25 years, Madam André had moved on, or possibly, passed on, though we prayed that neither was the case.

After several wrong turns, we finally reached the destination - a luxurious apartment complex with colourful flowers hanging from the many window ledges. We searched the various names on the intercom and, much to our delight, there were the two words that we desperately hoped to see: “Famille André”. When a soft, female voice answered, we explained in French who we were, fully aware of the absurdity of the situation and convinced that this madam would call les gendarmerie. But it appeared that I had brought the luck of the Irish with me, and not only did she remember her exchanges with my grandmother, but she also invited us in to discuss them.

Throughout our visit, we toasted my grandmother’s curious mind while our elegant hostess regaled us with her adventures in the Emerald Isle a quarter of a century earlier. She also invited us into her bathroom, where a copy of the original advertisement hung proudly on the wall. 

Before we left, we asked Madam André if she would take a picture with me to prove to my sceptical grandmother that the visit had indeed taken place. Without hesitation, the one-time Kerrygold model obliged.

A couple of weeks later, Madam André wrote to my grandmother thanking her for “the nice surprise you made to me” and that her grandson “was a very nice boy”. It was one of the last letters my Granny received; sadly, she died a short time later. To this day, whenever I buy Kerrygold products, I immediately think of my late, mischievous granny and her charming, cheese-loving French pen pal. 

If love makes the world go round, food often brings us together.