Authors: Marita Conlon-McKenna
‘I can’t imagine that’s a problem for you, Lucy.’
She thought of Josh. There had been no one since him. No dates or nights out! No one special! No one to talk to or care about! She felt suddenly awkward.
‘Hey, I’d better get going,’ she said, pulling her jacket back
on. She didn’t really want to buy another pot of tea or anything to eat.
‘Maybe we’ll meet up again,’ Finn teased.
She looked at him. What was he saying?
‘When we’re both signing on again,’ he added.
‘Sure.’ She laughed. ‘And I’ll check your new songs out on Myspace.’
Dublin on a wet cold rainy night. Could anything be worse? thought Alice. She pulled on a pair of sturdy black leather boots and grabbed her raincoat and hat, making a dash for the DART. The rain was coming in sheets, and so much for washing and trying to style her hair! It would be in a right frizz by the time she reached the restaurant.
Da Vino’s was packed, and Nina, Joy and Trish were already there.
‘Bring another glass, please,’ Joy asked the waiter as Alice slid into the seat across from her.
‘God, this place is hopping! I never expected it to be so busy.’
‘What else can people do on an awful night like this but eat out and drink?’ joked Nina.
‘Here’s a menu,’ said Trish.
Alice skimmed lightly through what was on offer. The girls decided to share a large antipasti platter, and Alice for her main opted for the house special of Da Vino’s cannelloni and spinach.
‘Alice, how did finishing up in Ryan, Ronan & Lewis go yesterday?’ asked Joy, curious.
‘They brought me out for a lovely lunch to the Brasserie and everyone clubbed together and got me a voucher for Brown Thomas, which I didn’t expect, as it’s not like I was permanent staff or anything.’
‘It’s great they gave you such a nice send-off and that there was no bad feeling,’ added Nina, topping up her glass with a good barolo.
‘Hugh said a few words, and Emer Lewis the tax partner and Alex Ronan were there, too.’
‘Well, I’m glad they treated you well,’ added Nina firmly.
‘I actually felt a bit sad leaving,’ Alice admitted.
‘You’ll find something else,’ assured Trish. ‘Just wait and see.’
Alice wished that she could be as optimistic about her career prospects as her friends were, as she hadn’t a clue how a woman of her age was going to earn a bit of money to keep herself going.
Another bottle of wine later they had all had a taste of each other’s main courses, with Joy stealing half of one of Alice’s minced-lamb-filled cannelloni.
‘I should always order what Alice orders when we go out; she picks the best thing.’
‘Well your veal parmigiana is great, too,’ Alice said soothingly.
Refusing the temptation of desserts they all opted for more wine.
‘No one’s driving so we’re fine.’ Trish grinned.
‘Here’s to Alice and whatever she does next!’ toasted Joy.
‘Well, I just wish I knew what that was,’ Alice admitted.
Here she was, with her three closest friends, who had somehow managed to get her through the past twenty months without having a nervous breakdown. And she had utterly no idea what lay ahead for her.
‘Alice, don’t be silly, you’ll find something. You’re great at lots of things.’
‘I don’t have qualifications like you, Trish. I wish I did.’
Trish was a nurse and had worked in St Vincent’s Hospital till Laura, her second, was due. Then, when the last of her four children had started secondary school, she had gone back and done a refresher course in nursing. She now worked part-time as a theatre nurse in Mount Carmel Hospital.
‘If I hadn’t done that course I’d be gone mad with boredom sitting at home, waiting to do homework and make dinners and listen to teenagers fighting!’ Trish laughed.
‘Alice, why don’t you go back to college like I did?’ suggested Nina, who had taken on a part-time arts degree in UCD nearly three years ago. ‘There are so many good courses.’
‘What about going back into the hotel or restaurant business?’ reminded Joy, her expression intent. ‘It’s what you know, after all.’
‘It’s what I grew up with, but it’s a totally different environment now!’
‘I remember your folks’ place, it was a great hotel.’
Alice’s parents Barry and Mary O’Connor had owned the Silver Strand Hotel between Wicklow and Brittas Bay. Across from the beach, it did great business during the summer and boasted large gardens and a sunny bright terrace where
residents could relax and unwind with a drink or some food. Her parents ran a tight ship, with small but immaculate bedrooms and an old-fashioned restaurant with great food and service and crisp linen tablecloths and napkins. Alice had worked there every summer holiday and every school break since she was about twelve years old.
She had loved the Silver Strand, and on leaving school she had, without hesitation, signed up to study hotel and catering management, drawn especially to the cookery side, and a career in it.
She was away training in a small hotel in Brittany when her mother Mary had collapsed suddenly one morning as she cooked bacon and sausages in the hotel kitchen for the breakfast. She was dead by the time the ambulance got her as far as Loughlinstown, the nearest hospital. Alice’s dad had been devastated, and despite Alice’s offer to give up her course and return to help him run the Silver Strand, he’d insisted that she complete her training. Her last year was spent working in the busy kitchen of the Rivoli, one of Paris’s top hotels, where Alice soaked up all she could learn from Maurice, the master chef, who had taken the young Irish cook under his wing.
By the time she returned to Ireland things had begun to change. People wanted big fancy hotels with swimming pools, saunas, en suite bathrooms and TVs in every room. The Silver Strand could no longer compete, and her dad had lost heart. Barry and Mary O’Connor had been a team, and without his wife at his side Barry lost interest in the business. He accepted a generous offer from a property developer who hoped to convert the site to an upmarket beach resort with a
golf club, nightclub, and bars. Then Alice’s dad had moved to a townhouse in Sandymount where he could enjoy his retirement and play golf and bridge.
Alice, with her excellent references, immediately got a job in Wilde, one of the city’s finest restaurants. Here she worked alongside chef Myles Malone, as the restaurant won not only culinary awards but an impressive reputation.
She had met Liam Kinsella at Trish and Brendan’s wedding and fallen madly in love with the tall skinny engineer with big plans! Before she knew it her dad was walking her up the aisle. When Conor was born she had juggled the restaurant and family life, but when Jenny, their second, came along she had reluctantly said her goodbyes to working with the wonderful Myles Malone and the staff at Wilde and settled down to raise her family. Conor and Jenny and Sean had kept her busy, and she hadn’t missed it all.
‘Joy’s right. There’re lots of new hotels springing up everywhere. Dublin’s full of them!’ encouraged Nina.
Alice didn’t think she could bear going to work in one of the new city-style hotels which seemed to offer tourists just a bed and breakfast and didn’t even have a proper dining room. Or one of those extravagant hotels which were just massive corporate venues with bars and spas and gyms, dependent on conferences and weddings to keep them going.
‘Well then, what about the restaurants?’ Joy asked. ‘Maybe you’d get something there!’
Alice just couldn’t imagine herself coping in the kitchen of a busy restaurant at her age.
‘I suppose you’re right.’ Joy sighed. ‘It’s probably not
much fun turning out pizzas or steak night after night for people like us.’
‘Would you open a little place of your own?’ suggested Trish.
‘Sure, there’s bound to be a bank manager out there who thinks that bankrolling a fifty-plus retired chef who wants to open a restaurant and is not Darina or Rachel Allen or Nigella Lawson is a good idea!’ Alice said.
‘Then what will Alice do?’ exclaimed Trish.
‘What about baking more of those lovely cupcakes you used to sell?’ Nina said.
‘For God’s sake! I had to get up at about six o’clock every morning to bake them, and then ice them, and trek them around endlessly to coffee shops and restaurants.’
‘They were delicious with that frosting and soft butter icing you made.’
‘It was fun at first.’ Alice laughed. ‘But then too many other people liked making them, too!’
‘Cupcake Wars!’ Nina laughed.
‘What about catering, or selling some of those fancy dishes you make for people to cook at home?’ Joy suggested.
‘Joy, my kitchen would have to pass all kinds of inspections and regulations to do something like that, and it’s still back to me trucking around like I did with the cupcakes, trying to sell them!’
‘Well, what about giving cookery demonstrations or lessons in your home?’ suggested Trish. ‘You’re a professional, and you’ve that great big kitchen and your Aga and the other cooker – and lots of space. Maybe you could take on a smallish group in your home and for a reasonable fee help them to learn to cook or improve on what they know.’
Alice hesitated. She kind of liked the sound of a cookery school, but she wasn’t sure anyone would actually sign up for lessons with someone like her.
‘I’m not a famous chef or from Ballymaloe!’ she reminded them.
‘Alice, for heavens sake! You are a professional. You studied and trained for years in France and here. You worked in one of the country’s best restaurants ever, and with one of the most famous French chefs. Not to mention all the years at your parents’ place,’ Trish said.
‘Plus you are a brilliant cook and always seem to make cooking seem simple and easy,’ added Nina firmly.
‘Let me think about it,’ Alice begged as they paid their bill and ordered a taxi to take them all home.
Alice had woken early. OK, there had been a lot of drink taken on board last night – far too much red wine – but she couldn’t get Trish’s suggestion out of her head.
Teach cooking. Give cookery lessons. Run a cookery school
.
Set up a cookery school here in the house in Monkstown! Why, she just knew that was something she would enjoy.
It was a lot more appealing than trying to work on the computer in some boring office administration area, or sell things in a shop, or get some sort of small catering company off the ground. She walked around her large kitchen.
It was a cook’s kitchen and was well-equipped with her top-of-the-range fancy Prochef cooker and the original old Aga that had come with the house, still in use. The electric cooker she’d used for years was now consigned to a space in her large utility room, but could easily be pressed into service if needed. She had her really large kitchen table, the island and her other baking area. There was plenty of room, and she had a good range of cooking utensils and dishes and baking trays. The kitchen was over-equipped if the truth be told.
If she kept it to a small group it would be manageable. Eight, no, maybe ten people. She’d want them to not just watch her demonstrate but make the dishes themselves. From her experience, it was the best way to learn. You gained so much from your successes and even more from your culinary disasters – which were rarely repeated.
What kind of things did people want to learn to cook? What kind of people signed up for cookery classes?
As she was eating her usual bowl of fruit and natural yogurt with a sprinkle of muesli Sean appeared. He was wearing a pair of grey shorts and a brown T-shirt that had seen much better days, and she made a mental note to buy him some decent pyjamas.
‘Nice night?’
‘Great,’ he said, sitting down with a mound of hot toast and chocolate spread in front of him and a large glass of orange juice. ‘We went to Becky’s place first and then headed into Howl at the Moon. It was deadly.’
‘Are you in or out tonight?’
‘I’ve got Mark’s twenty-first party,’ he reminded her.
This was a big year for parties for her youngest son, as he and his friends were all turning twenty-one. It was a happy, if not exhausting, time! Sean’s turn wasn’t till June, but they’d have to get planning something good for his birthday around then.
‘How did your dinner with the girls go?’ he asked.
‘Great. We went to Dalkey to a gorgeous little Italian. I got a taxi home.’
‘That’s good,’ he said, sounding very adult. It surprised her how protective Sean had become towards her since Liam had left. He watched over her a bit. Checked when she was in
or out, or if she was going to be alone in the house, and made sure she was OK. He was a great kid!
‘You know I finished working in Hugh’s office on Friday?’
‘Yeah!’ he drawled, pouring himself nearly another half litre of orange juice.
‘I won’t miss the office and the work but I’ll miss the pay cheque so I’ll be back to job hunting!’
‘Dad should give you more money,’ Sean said angrily.
Alice hadn’t the heart to tell him that his beloved father wasn’t making the slightest contribution towards either of their living expenses.
‘Trish said something to me last night about cooking,’ Alice said.
‘Are you going to start making those buns again?’
‘No, Sean, not buns. I’ve had enough of them. No, what Trish was saying was: why didn’t I give cookery lessons?’
‘Cookery lessons? Where?’
‘Here in the house so I don’t have to go renting anywhere … maybe just one night a week to a small group of people.’
She could see by his expression that he was mulling it over.
‘You should teach them how to make those great burgers you taught Conor and me to make. I made them for Becky the other night and she was blown away … I did the homemade barbecue sauce and everything to go with them and those big chips.’
‘She liked them?’
Sean cooking for a girl! That was certainly a bit unexpected.
‘And do that Indian buttered chicken that Jenny and I like, and your carrot cake with the icing.’
‘So you don’t think it is a kind of crazy idea?’
‘Nope,’ he assured her. ‘Not at all. Lots of my friends’ mums have no idea how to cook. Colm’s mum, every time I go over, only makes sausages and chips or this yucky mince thing with pasta. I don’t know how he sticks it.’