The Kitchen Front

by Jennifer Ryan

  They all rushed forward, and sure enough, low at first, and then gaining pace into a throng, the noise of chatter and laughing was spilling out into the street. It had only been the blackout, shielding the light from the road.

  Hurriedly, Ben went to the door, and with a dramatic whoosh, he pulled it open.

  “There it is!”

  What a sight to behold! The place was crowded and noisy. People were crammed around every table, some already eating. Sporadically, tables of men in uniform indicated that the officers from the hall had already found their way there. Audrey recognized some of the local women, giving them a nod or a wave, going over to say hello.

  “What a terrific paint job!” One of the village ladies admired the boys’ work. They’d managed to get some cream-colored paint, and together with Matthew’s modern art and the antique chandeliers, the place looked like a kind of abstract art gallery—the evening a majestic celebration of art and food if ever there was one.

  Christopher whispered, “Will we be famous now, Mum?”

  “Well, not quite famous. But it’s a good start,” she said, trying to quell her excitement.

  Bustling between the tables, trays held high like professional waiters, Nell and Gwendoline looked delighted.

  “The place is packed!” Audrey said delightedly to Gwendoline.

  “I know! Every table taken. Ambrose is here of course, and he brought a crowd of his BBC friends.” She indicated a table on the far side of the room, where Ambrose was holding forth to a jovial group.

  “How marvelous!” Audrey stood in awe, drinking up the atmosphere, relishing the moment. “Our first night—what a success!”

  But Gwendoline’s hand was on her shoulder, pressing her to the back. “I’m sorry to hassle you, Aude, but we need you in the kitchen. Zelda’s working miracles in there, but she needs help.”

  Sitting the boys down at their reserved table, she hurried into the kitchen to find Zelda in full head chef mode.

  “Over there,” she ordered without pausing from the stove. “We need the herbs, finely chopped. We need more of the wild mushroom soup.”

  With a jubilant smile, Audrey quickly got to work. The renovated kitchen was still a little makeshift—there were limits to what four women and a few boys could do in the middle of a war—but it was spotless, repainted, and contained all the equipment they needed. Pots and pans of every size hung from the ceilings. Bowls and dishes sat in readiness on the shelves lining the walls. Mincing machines and weighing scales were poised, as was a selection of long, sharp knives of different shapes and sizes.

  Zelda had everything working like clockwork, although they had to enlist the help of Alexander to wait tables as Nell was needed for the main courses. Soon, compliments to the chef were being delivered via Gwendoline, and one customer came in himself.

  “So this is where it all happens,” a familiar voice declared.

  “Ambrose!” Zelda turned the stove down and darted over.

  “I simply had to come to congratulate the chefs myself!” He gave her a vigorous handshake. “We’ve certainly put Fenley on the culinary map, haven’t we? Some of the BBC chiefs are out there, and they’re raving about your Scrod St. Jacques—now why didn’t you do that for the contest? It’s absolute perfection.”

  “You have no idea how much I regretted it. But it seems I didn’t need to be a BBC presenter to become a head chef, after all—and Nell, well…It’s such a lovely story, isn’t it? The kitchen maid who rose to fame.”

  Ambrose laughed. “Yes, and what marvelous work she is doing. We make a great team.” He spotted the pram in the corner of the room and trod carefully over. “Is this The Kitchen Front baby? Look, she’s fast asleep through all this commotion and celebration.”

  “Yes, she’s had a long day. And true to The Kitchen Front ideals, she has a culinary name to match: Madeleine.”

  “Oh, how glorious!” He glanced from the child to Zelda. “So are you…raising her, then?”

  Zelda looked at Audrey and grinned. “We’re raising her.” She gave Ambrose a meaningful look. “You don’t need to be in a traditional family these days. Perhaps it’s a sign of things to come.”

  The evening was frenetic. Plates of beautifully prepared food were delivered to happy customers, and empty plates were returned to the scullery for washing—thank goodness for Alexander and Ben, serving and washing up, Christopher helping where he could, too.

  As planned, they waited until all the tables had finished their main courses before rolling out the desserts for everyone to see.

  The centerpiece—the magnificent croquembouche—had been enlarged to feed everyone. It was over three feet tall and contained no less than a hundred profiterole balls.

  Oohs and ahhs went around, as people leaned forward—some even getting out of their chairs to get a better view.

  Having finished the cooking, the four women came into the restaurant for the presentation. A makeshift stage had been formed from a few pallets, painted cream for the occasion, and set in the middle of the room at the side.

  Ringing a spoon against a champagne glass, Gwendoline gathered everyone’s attention. She looked as thrilled to be onstage as ever, only this time she wasn’t wearing her Ministry of Food suits. Tonight, she wore a beautiful green silk dress and looked less like a home economist and far more like a proper restaurant owner. After a few shushes and murmurs, the room fell quiet.

  “Welcome, everyone, to the very first evening at The Four Friends, the best restaurant in Fenley.”

  A huge round of applause went up, with some cheers and whoops, and someone calling out, “It’s the only restaurant in Fenley!” to a ripple of laughs.

  “First of all, I want to tell you about my three friends, the very talented cooks that complete this restaurant.” Gwendoline gazed over to her friends. “Without these three women,” Gwendoline continued, “this restaurant would never have been possible. We are utterly blessed to have an haute cuisine professional as our head chef, Zelda Dupont.” She beckoned Zelda to come and join her on the makeshift stage, and, delighted, Zelda went up to stand beside her. “What a boon to have such a dexterous and capable chef! Without your expertise and knowledge of top restaurant kitchens, we would be nowhere.” She turned and looked into Zelda’s eyes. “Thank you, Zelda, for choosing to stay with us. We know you had offers from London, and we are eternally grateful to you for remaining here, making your home here in Fenley.”

  “I wouldn’t be anywhere else!” Zelda said quietly, gazing over to the other women with warmth. Somehow, she looked different from usual. The hardness had gone, and her face shone with a smile that was so fresh and exuberant that her true, natural beauty seemed to beam out for the very first time.

  Gwendoline gave her a warmhearted pat on the back, her other arm going out to the crowd. “I think we all have appreciated your very considerable culinary talents here tonight, and I would like everyone to join me in congratulating our head chef, Zelda Dupont. May she go from strength to strength.”

  Everyone began to clap, some of the crowd giving her a standing ovation, including Ambrose and the BBC officials.

  “Next, I would like to bring over Miss Nell Brown—now a national presenter on The Kitchen Front BBC radio program.”

  Nell was dressed in a lovely new floral dress she’d bought specially for the occasion—the first new dress she had ever owned. Her hair wasn’t pinned back for a change, instead it curled elegantly around her neck. Although Paolo couldn’t be there for the opening, she’d dashed off to the farm beforehand, returning with a sparkle in her eyes.

  Who’d have known that beneath that kitchen maid’s outfit she could look so elegant? Audrey thought to herself.

  After a little shove from Audrey, Nell stepped up, standing on the other side of Zelda, blushing hotly but thrilled as a butt
on.

  “You’ve heard her voice over the radio waves. You’ve tasted her impeccable food. And now, you have had her as your waitress.”

  Laughter carried around the room.

  “Her incredible energy, skill, and experience has made our cooking team complete. Bravo, Nell, and good luck in your new radio career.”

  She lifted her glass and a cheer went up, Ambrose standing again to toast his fellow presenter. “Here’s to you, Nell!”

  “And finally,” Gwendoline began as the crowd fell once again into silence. “We have my dearest sister, Mrs. Audrey Landon. Or should I say, at the beginning, because it all began with Audrey. A few years ago, after she was widowed by this dreadful war, she started her own cooking business, baking pies and cakes to make ends meet. It is out of those humble beginnings that this glorious restaurant has grown. Her extraordinary knowledge of growing and foraging for the best ingredients and her nuance for flavors and textures has made her into one of the most proficient cooks in our country. It is with immeasurable respect, heartfelt gratitude, and immense love that I ask Audrey to come up.”

  Claps and congratulations filled the room as Audrey, overcome with pride, made her way to the front. As she went, people stood up to shake her hand, congratulating her. Village ladies, the vicar, some clients from restaurants in Middleton, and a lieutenant from Fenley Hall all clamored to wish her well.

  On the makeshift stage, she came to stand beside Gwendoline, and her sister’s arm slid through hers, the four women standing linked together.

  Tentatively, Audrey began. “I would like to say a few words.” Her eyes met Zelda’s and Nell’s. “None of us would be here today if it wasn’t for my ingenious sister, Gwendoline. She has been the business mind behind The Four Friends, and any success it has is due to her leadership and skill. Thank you, Gwen, for making your dream into our dream.”

  The room went into another round of applause, and Audrey waited until it was silent once again to finish.

  “This war has been a tragedy for so many of us. My own dear husband was killed.” She looked around at the sea of faces, tears in her eyes. “But, with patience and a willing heart, out of the ashes came surprisingly beautiful new beginnings.” Again, a pause. “This restaurant isn’t just a business with four talented women cooks. It is the passion of four very special friends, joined first by necessity and now by kinship and love.” She gathered the others in close. “These three women arrived into my life, and together they made me realize that, however bad things may seem, with the help, understanding, and camaraderie of friends, we can make the world better for all of us.” She gazed from one to another—each so incredibly dear to her. “So, finally, ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to propose one final toast.” Audrey raised her glass. “To the best gift one could ever have: friendship. No matter how near or far, there will always be that invisible thread that binds us together.”

  Author’s Note

  The BBC radio program The Kitchen Front was a daily show established in 1940 to share wartime recipes and cooking tips with housewives and cooks. Details of the program can be found in the UK’s National Archives in London and in the BBC’s archives, where special research was recently documented by Dr. Sian Nicholas from Aberystwyth University. Originally it was presented by male travel writer S.P.B. Mais, upon whom I have based the fictional character Ambrose Hart. It soon became clear that a woman’s voice was needed to better connect with the listeners, and the BBC quickly found a small number of women who could bring something new to the program. One of these was a home economist for the Ministry of Food, Marguerite Patten, whose wartime food and recipe books are still popular today. Others included a few cookery writers, chefs and cooks, a housewife, and comedians Elsie and Doris Waters performing sketches as “Gert and Daisy.” It was not documented how these women were chosen, and I decided to use a cooking competition in order to showcase the different types of women and their skills.

  Contests were popular in World War II Britain. They combined free entertainment while diverting minds and spirits away from the horrors of war. Newspapers saved contests for headlines. Photographs of choir competitions, talent contests, and fire crew races covered front pages around the country. Local food contests were widespread—the best wartime recipes, the biggest cabbages, the tastiest pies, the most succulent jams—all of which cemented my decision to formulate a type of cooking competition to find a female presenter for The Kitchen Front.

  Food rationing in Britain began in 1940 and continued until 1954, nine years after the war had ended. It is not surprising, therefore, that everyone who lived through the era has a tale to tell about the food, and it is these stories that form the backbone of this novel.

  My grandmother Eileen Beckley, keen cook and enthusiastic diner, told many stories about the trouble finding and cooking good food, and many of her wartime dishes are contained within these pages. Other recipes came from Ministry of Food leaflets distributed during the war, which can be found in the National Archives and Imperial War Museum archives in London. A few recipes are wartime staples passed to me from the people I interviewed as part of my research, all checked and adapted by home economists and cooks. The eighteenth-century seared hare starter came directly from The Country Housewife and Lady’s Director, exchanging a few ingredients for wartime availability.

  During the war, a wealth of culinary tips, techniques, and quick fixes helped housewives and cooks with rationing problems, and I tried to include as many of the more riveting ones as I could. Most of my information came from the people I interviewed and the Ministry of Food documents and leaflets, which can be found in the National Archives and the Imperial War Museum archives. There are also some fascinating books on the subject. Spuds, Spam and Eating for Victory by Katherine Knight became a go-to book, as did The Wartime Kitchen and Garden by Jennifer Davies. Marguerite Patten’s own books also provided some wonderful tips and tales. The View from the Corner Shop by Kathleen Hey was incredibly useful in understanding how shortages and rations worked on a day-to-day basis. The Taste of War by Lizzie Collingham describes the politics behind scarcity and rations, including scams, the black market, and the role of government ministries in organizing and policing the policies.

  As with all my novels, I would never have been able to re-create the past without the voices of that era recounting real-life stories—intriguing, funny, and heartbreaking. A series of interviews with those who lived through the war provided invaluable background, as always. Also, the BBC’s archive WW2 People’s War is a treasure trove of personal stories from the war with many fascinating and heartfelt memories. And finally, thanks go, once again, to the women and men who wrote about their daily lives for the Mass Observation project during the war, all of which are now held in the University of Sussex archive.

  To my sister, Alison, with love and gratitude

  Acknowledgments

  This is a book about friendship and sisters, and I am incredibly fortunate to have an exceedingly dear friend who also happens to be a truly wonderful sister. There is something tremendously special about having someone you have always known by your side—a lifelong friend who shares a family, a childhood, and a sense of who we are, deep inside. I would like to dedicate this book to Alison Mussett, a wonderful sister, a fantastic friend, and honestly one of the kindest, funniest, and best people I have ever known. Thank you.

  I am profoundly grateful, as always, to my phenomenal editor at Ballantine, Hilary Rubin Teeman, who had the vision and insight to make this novel into the warm and hearty tale it is today. Her editorial expertise and instinct for character are second to none. For welcoming me into Ballantine Bantam Dell, my special thanks go to Jennifer Hershey, Kara Welsh, and Kim Hovey, and thanks also go to Pamela Alders, Richard Elman, Ada Yonenaka, Susan Turner, Kathleen Reed, and Caroline Weishuhn. A special mention goes to Rachel Aldrich and Christine Johnston for working wonders with marketing and
publicity.

  My magnificent agent, Alexandra Machinist at ICM, combines editorial wisdom, publishing instinct, and immense charm in a truly spellbinding way. Thank you for your razor-sharp guidance and expertise. Special gratitude goes to Karolina Sutton, my brilliant and distinguished agent at Curtis Brown in London. Thank you for your tremendous skill and support. Huge thanks also go to Sophie Baker, my dynamic translation rights agent at Curtis Brown in London, and to my publishers around the world.

  After this book became a work-in-progress, a multitude of people helped to see it through. Wholehearted gratitude goes to my beloved critique group, Barb Boehm Miller, Julia Rocchi, Christina Keller, and Emmy Nicklin, for providing excellent advice and plenty of friendship and support to help the process along. My thanks also go to my teachers at Johns Hopkins, especially to Mark Farrington, whose intuition for plot, character, and narrative is legendary, and also to the master of sentences, Ed Perlman.

  A number of home economists, cooks, and culinarians helped me with the cooking details in this book, adding, converting, and testing the recipes. I would like to thank Eileen Beckley, Joan Cooper, Mikey Spence, and Alison Mussett for their culinary expertise and help.

  I am incredibly fortunate to meet other authors, journalists, and artists and would like to thank the community for its support and warmth. Elaine Cobbe combines great writing wisdom with irrepressible character and charm—thank you so much for your help. My thanks also go to vibrant and witty Vikki Valentine, for her friendship and writing expertise. Massive thanks go to Cathy Kelly, who has become a wonderful friend as well as being an exceptional and inspiring author. I would also like to thank Mary Boland for her help and support.

  Hearty thanks also go to Gaynor Darby, Reza Saber, Grace Cutler, Debbie Revesz, Allyson Torrisi, and Kate Gillingham, and a special mention to Buffy the hen. Thanks also go to Cheryl Harnden for her generosity of spirit and wonderful humor—your help and support have been invaluable to me. Laura Brooks and the Brooks family deserve massive thanks for all their help. Immense gratitude goes to Courtney Brown for her tremendous energy as well as her legendary hospitality and joie de vivre. Hearty thanks go to David Beckley, whose unstoppable humor and support are second to none.