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.’
‘Do you think people would come to classes?’
‘I don’t know, Mum, but you’re a great cook and you were always showing us how to make things. Colm should get his mum to come along.’
‘Sean!’
Making herself a mug of coffee, she couldn’t believe that Sean actually thought it was something she could do.
She spent the rest of the week checking out cookery schools and seeing what they covered and how much they charged. She had sent off for some brochures and course itineraries. There were courses all over the country, the most famous being at the renowned Ballymaloe School in Shanagarry in Cork, but there were also ones in Ennis and Dublin and scattered across the country. Otherwise those with an interest in the culinary arts could head to one of the prestigious London or French cookery schools. Locally there were a few that ran all year round, and she couldn’t believe how expensive they were. Courses covered everything from basic first-step cooking to entertaining, Italian food, bread-making, vegetarian food and even barbecuing, which seemed very popular with men. Perhaps her course could be quite broad and cover a bit of everything, with the aim of putting good healthy food on the table for family and guests. She worked away on the computer, doing figures and trying to draw up a very rough guide to what she would hope to achieve if she set up her own cookery school here in Martello Avenue – The Martello Cookery School. Alice liked the sound of it.
The weather was awful, and she dragged Lexy out for a quick walk even though it was so cold the wind burned her cheeks. She was back just in time to get ready to drive to the golf club to meet her dad for Sunday lunch.
Sean had disappeared back upstairs to his room and was snoring under the blankets.
‘Aren’t you going to come to lunch with Granddad?’
‘No.’ He groaned. ‘Tell him I’ll call over to him after college on Thursday.’
Conor and Lisa were joining them, but she knew her dad would be disappointed that Sean hadn’t made the effort to come to lunch, too.
Barry O’Connor had his usual table in the dining room at the window, overlooking the eighteenth hole which, given today’s weather, was deserted.
‘It’s bitter out there today,’ he warned, as she hugged him and sat down.
‘I know. I had Lexy out earlier and it was even too cold for her!’
‘That dog’s got sense,’ Barry O’Connor joked. Alice was glad to see her father looking so well. He had been plagued with arthritis over the past two years or more, and often lately appeared stiff and sore. Today he looked relaxed in his tweed jacket and the new pale-blue winter shirt she’d bought him.
They ordered quickly, all opting for the traditional Sunday roast beef with trimmings.
‘Lisa and I are going to Lanzarote next weekend for a break.’ Conor smiled.
‘It’ll be great to get away from this cold weather,’ added Lisa.
Conor and Lisa had been going out since college and they’d moved in together last year. Alice hoped that in time they would get married, as they were a lovely couple.
Conor, her eldest, reminded her at times of her dad. They both had the same eyes and dark hair and round faces, though Conor was as tall as Liam, but a totally different build. Conor was a big softy … he had always been like that, and bent over backwards to help people. He had studied pharmacy and now worked in the big chemist shop near Ballsbridge. He was ambitious and she knew that it was only a matter of time before her twenty-eight-year-old son eventually had his own business. Lisa was a radiographer and worked in Crumlin Children’s Hospital. She was a gorgeous girl with dark eyes and dark hair, and had a great sense of humour. It was no wonder that her young patients loved her.
‘While the three of you are here I wanted to sound something out with you … see what you think of it?’ Alice said nervously.
They all looked at her expectantly, and she managed to steel herself to tell them.
‘I am thinking of opening a small cookery school in the house.’
‘A school?’ her father repeated, puzzled.
‘Yes, a cookery school … for people to learn how to cook! I’d give classes, show them how to make a dish, and get them to try to make it, too. All kinds of things: fancy dishes for dinner parties, and simple basic good food. Teach them about ingredients and loving food.’
‘Sounds great!’ encouraged Lisa. ‘You’re an amazing cook, and I keep telling Conor that I’m so lucky to have a boyfriend who can cook.’
‘Mum, you taught me how to cook!’ Conor joked. ‘So I think it sounds a good idea. How much are you going to charge, and how long will the courses go on for?’
‘Those are all things that I have to work out,’ Alice explained. ‘I’m going to meet Hugh and have a chat and get some good financial advice. I’m not a money-grabber, but this new venture of mine has to make a bit of cash as I’m pretty skint and only living on my savings. I will start off small and see how things go … maybe one night a week. And then if there is enough interest I can add more classes.’
‘That’s wise,’ said her eldest son. ‘Any kind of business set-up needs proper planning and organization. But, you know, Lisa and I are a hundred per cent behind you, whatever you do.’
‘Thanks,’ Alice said, leaning across and giving him a big hug.
‘Mary would have been proud of you,’ declared her dad. ‘She’d love to see you setting up a business of your own and making a go of it.’
‘I know,’ Alice said, trying to control her emotions.
‘You’ve had a very rough time the past two years with that husband of yours. Near broke my heart to see what he did to you and his family,’ her dad said slowly, fiddling with his napkin. ‘But now you are coming into your own … like the little Alice your mother and I sent off to Paris long ago … your head filled with ideas and new ways of doing things. All I want is to see you happy again. And if you need any help from your dear old dad, let me know!’
‘Dad, thanks,’ she said, giving him a huge hug and a kiss on the cheek.
‘To Alice,’ announced her dad, toasting her with some wine. ‘And this new venture of hers – her cookery school!’
‘The Martello Cookery School.’ She smiled, testing it out and getting used to the sound of the name. ‘The Martello Cookery School, that’s what I’m calling it.’