Rachel's Pudding Pantry

by Caroline Roberts

  Though she was evidently nervous, it was lovely to see Jill so animated. Maybe this new project was just what she, in fact what they all, needed.

  When Rachel came back into the farmhouse kitchen two hours later, after having put down some more straw and checked on the cattle, the smell of baking was divine. They only had a small herd, and it was coming towards the end of calving now with just one cow left to calf out of their fourteen ladies, so Rachel was keeping a close eye on her. Simon had been with her through the night, but there was still no sign as yet. Thankfully the calving this year had been pretty straightforward, and most of the cattle were already out in the fields as the spring grass had started growing.

  The source of the gorgeous aroma was a dozen freshly baked sticky toffee puddings, all lined up on the kitchen side in their foil containers, oozing with delicious toffee sauce. They were standing on racks to cool, ready to have their lids popped on and be wrapped in Eve’s beautiful vintage-style floral cotton material with a ribbon bow.

  ‘Oh, hello, love.’ Jill looked slightly anxious. She also looked uncharacteristically ruffled – her apron was askew and there was a thick dusting of flour in her hair and on her jumper. ‘Well, what do you think?’

  ‘If the smell’s anything to go by, I think I’m in pudding heaven.’

  ‘Aw, thanks. Can’t help but feel a little nervous though. I hope Brenda manages to sell some of them.’

  ‘Just look at them Mum, of course they’ll sell. I have very high hopes.’

  ‘Well, I think we should take these ones to the Kirkton Deli as soon as they’ve cooled and are all packaged up,’ said Jill.

  ‘I’ll take you down there,’ offered Rachel. ‘Yes, I think we should go together to deliver our first ever order, and then we can mark the occasion with a celebratory cup of tea and a slice of cake at The Cheviot Café.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘If we go soon, we’ll just have time before the school bus comes. What do you think?’

  ‘I think that sounds a lovely idea.’

  ‘You might just want to get that flour out of your hair first,’ Rachel added cheekily.

  ‘Oi you, I’ve been slaving away here!’ Jill teased back.

  They made a little production line of the pretty cotton wraps, which had already been cut to size by Eve, and they carefully secured them with the green satin ribbon bows. Eve had also designed and created pretty tags for them, with a list of the ingredients on the back and a best before date for them to fill in.

  ‘There is one here I made as a spare,’ added Jill. ‘Before we let these loose on the public, do you think we ought to do a taste test? In case I’ve gone daft and confused the salt with sugar or something.’

  ‘Well, I’m up for taste testing. Absolutely!’ Rachel’s hangover had finally subsided, and a big spoonful of sticky toffee sounded just what she needed right now.

  ‘After all, the proof of the pudding …’ Jill started.

  ‘Is in the eating,’ Rachel finished for her, with a huge smile. ‘Fetch us a couple of spoons then.’

  Jill dished a generous portion out into two separate bowls. Rachel grabbed her spoon and dived on in. Oh my. The sponge of the pudding was so moist and delicious, the sauce treacly-butterscotch warm, and when Jill added a blob of thick cream that melted over it, it was elevated to an even more heavenly zone.

  ‘Well …?’ her mum’s tone was anxious.

  For a second or two, Rachel couldn’t speak. The explosion of deliciousness in her mouth taking over.

  She finally found the words. ‘Oh my goodness. Honestly Mum, there’s no doubt that these will sell. And once people have taken them home and tasted them, I’m sure they’ll be coming back for more.’

  ‘Crikey, thanks love. And if I can help put a few more coffers in the farm pot, then I’ll feel very proud. You seem to have been pulling more than your weight out on the farm lately.’

  ‘Hah, I’m younger and stronger for the more physical farm work. I really appreciate all your help with Maisy here on the home front, and that frees me up to get on working with the animals.’ Rachel enjoyed the farm work even though it was demanding sometimes. The farm felt a part of her soul. It didn’t feel like a job as such, it was more a way of life. She couldn’t imagine working in an office or a shop, being cooped up inside all day.

  ‘Well, the pudding making is ideal for me. I mean, if it goes well.’ Jill still had a natural edge of caution about the new venture. ‘I can be here in the farmhouse baking and still be with Maisy when she’s not in school.’

  ‘I know, it’ll work out great.’

  ‘Well, let’s not run before we can walk, hey. We’ll see how this lot go down with the general public first.’ Ever the voice of reason her mum, but Rachel noted a lovely hint of excitement there in her tone too.

  As they sat in the old Land Rover twenty minutes later, about to set off to their first ever retailer with the puddings safely stowed in a box on Jill’s lap, she looked across at Rachel and seemed to steady herself. ‘I think your dad would be proud of us.’

  Rachel nodded, and bit her lip. Oh my, that had got the water works going. She couldn’t help herself and had to wipe away a fat tear that had plopped almost instantly down her cheek.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied turning to her mum with a brave smile, ‘I think he would.’

  Sometimes her heart still felt so raw, even though she tried to hide that from her mum. This was one small step to getting the farm back on track – there was still a long road ahead. But yes, she acknowledged, they should be proud of themselves.

  ‘Oh Mum, if only he was still here. If only we could have …’ Rachel stopped herself. They couldn’t turn back time or wave some kind of a magic wand. What was done, was done.

  ‘I know, I know, love.’ Jill placed a hand gently on Rachel’s shoulder. ‘We have to just keep going forward.’

  ‘One step at a time,’ Rachel took up, trying to smile at her mum, still with tears glistening in her eyes. She gathered herself, took a slow breath, then added, ‘And today’s one big step, yeah?’

  ‘Yes, absolutely, so let’s go.’ Mum sniffed and wiped away a tear or two of her own, then patted the box as though it were treasure.

  ‘Come on then, let’s hit the road.’ Rachel put the truck into gear. ‘These puddings need new homes.’

  Fifteen minutes later, it was wonderful to see their puddings sat proudly on the shelf in the Kirkton Deli. Brenda had put them straight out into the refrigerated counter. It was real! The Primrose Farm pudding business was up and running.

  ‘These look fabulous,’ said Brenda. ‘And the packaging is so pretty.’

  ‘We have Eve to thank for that,’ said Rachel.

  ‘Oh, well, they’re lovely. I don’t think we’ll have any trouble selling them. In fact, I might have to take one home for myself tonight.’

  ‘Well, when I bring the next batch of chocolate puddings in tomorrow, I’ll bring an extra one for you – complimentary of course,’ offered Jill.

  ‘That sounds grand. Thank you.’

  ‘No, thank you for giving us this brilliant opportunity and a retail outlet,’ Rachel replied.

  ‘So, we’ll be back tomorrow with the second lot of twelve if that’s okay, and then we can see how it goes. Fingers crossed.’ Jill gave a hopeful smile.

  Just then, the door chimed as a woman came in and started browsing the shelves. She stopped and scanned the counter where Brenda had set out the Primrose Farm Puddings.

  Rachel found she was holding her breath. ‘Right then, we’d better be off and let you get on, Brenda. See you tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes, thanks ladies.’

  At the door, Rachel couldn’t help but look over her shoulder to see if the lady might be interested in their puddings. She heard Brenda saying, ‘Hello there, can I help you with anything?’

  She and Jill couldn’t really hang around watching and listening though, so left discreetly, but by the looks on their faces, they’d both have loved to be flies on the wall
just then.

  Who might their first customer be?

  They celebrated with tea (Jill), hot chocolate (Rachel), and a slice of Victoria sponge each in the tearooms on the high street.

  ‘Wow, we really did it, Mum.’ Rachel beamed.

  Jill smiled back. ‘Yes, we did. Fingers crossed they’ll go down well, and that Brenda’s not left with a stockroom full of old puddings.’

  ‘I think word’s out already. I know Eve’s telling everyone she knows, and Tom’s already said he’ll be popping in to buy one. I saw him in the lane earlier today. He asked me to text him once they were in.’ Oh, yes, he’d pulled up beside Rachel as she was out on the quad and she’d felt a rash of a blush warm her neck and face. Thankfully, he hadn’t mentioned anything about dropping her off the other night.

  ‘Aw, that’s nice of him.’

  ‘You’ll be the Queen of Puddings soon, I’m sure.’ Rachel raised her hot chocolate mug. ‘To Primrose Farm Puddings. Cheers!’

  ‘Yes, cheers! Ooh, blimey, can you believe it; we’re officially baking entrepreneurs! Not bad for a pair of farmers!’

  There was a frisson of positivity and a jangle of nerves between them. And yes, things were starting to look up at last.

  Chapter 15

  THIRTY-NINE PUDDINGS AND A PANTRY

  Though they were making some headway with the puddings for sale at the Kirkton Deli, there was something nagging Rachel. It was two weeks after they’d started the business and they had sold a grand total of thirty-nine puddings – which was brilliant – with a further order to supply more on a weekly basis. The support from Brenda had been wonderful and the feedback from her customers so positive – even Tom had popped into the farmhouse to say congratulations, and tell them that he’d already tried out both flavours and was smitten.

  However, this evening, Rachel was sitting before her laptop looking at the farm’s monthly accounts for April. The income so far from the pudding business after costs was less than fifty pounds for the two weeks, and though it might yet improve, with the Deli naturally taking their own cut was it ever going to be enough to make a real difference? And on the farm side of things, the bills kept going up and profits coming down. No wonder her dad had felt the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  She and Jill kept a tight rein on their finances as it was. They hadn’t treated themselves to anything new clothes-wise for a couple of years, not that it really mattered. The sheep and cattle weren’t bothered what they turned up in, and most of Rachel’s clothes ended up in a permanent state of grubbiness. It wasn’t as though she went out anywhere dressy.

  So, Rachel mulled, the business had started fine in theory, but they needed to up the ante with production and also find a new outlet. Being so rural, the next town where they might get some trade would be Alnwick, and that was twenty miles away. After taking out the extra costs involved with delivering the goods – and Rachel hadn’t even factored in an hourly rate for Jill – in reality it would hardly be worth it. Rachel sighed; she’d had such hopes for this enterprise, but had she been unrealistic?

  They would continue to supply the Kirkton Deli, of course, but there had to be some other way too. If only they could somehow get the customers to them … But how?

  Rachel made herself another cup of coffee, the caffeine-boost probably not ideal at this time of night, but she needed to stay awake a while longer to try to fathom things out. She knew she’d need to speak with her mum about it all too. She suddenly felt guilty for getting her into all this pudding malarkey, getting her hopes up, yet not having worked everything out enough herself first. The slim profits they’d make would hardly dig them out of the farm’s financial pit.

  Rachel let out a frustrated groan.

  It was twenty past four in the morning, with the grey light of dawn creeping in at her bedroom window, when Rachel drowsily came to with the seed of a thought forming in her mind. They didn’t need to be trailing around Northumberland using up fuel and time chasing business, what they needed was something here on the farm.

  Puddings, the farm … what were they good at? Making people feel cosy and welcome, that was for sure. Just a few years before, they’d had friends and neighbours gathered here for summer barbecues, there’d be coffee mornings in the farmhouse kitchen for charity, Christmases with family and friends all welcome, even the postman would be calling in for a mince pie and a chat. The kettle was always on, and any caller would know there’d be something delicious ready to come out of the Aga. Mum really was a brilliant baker. The puddings were definitely the way forward … but how?

  Maisy’s party in the barn had gone down well, and whilst Rachel didn’t fancy having a tribe of kids turning up daily, the barn itself would soon tidy up. There were already electrics and water to the building, and it had gorgeous old stone walls and was brimming with countryside character – as well, admittedly, with cobwebs, dust and strands of hay. But, with a bit of work, some TLC and hopefully a rural grant to help fund it, it might even make a nice café, or tearooms, or … a Pudding Pantry. She woke right up at that lightbulb moment of a thought and sat up in bed.

  Yes, they could serve tea and coffee … cake … and puddings galore … here on the farm. They could sell their range of puddings to take away too, as well as keeping their lovely supporter the Kirkton Deli supplied. Jill would be the main cook naturally, and Rachel would help with some of the cooking and serving at the tearooms around her farm work and maybe if it started to get busy – it was worth dreaming big – they could in time employ a waitress to help out.

  That was it. That was bloody well it! Rachel felt a rush of emotion.

  Welcome to the Pudding Pantry at Primrose Farm!

  Chapter 16

  GRANDMAS AND GINGER PUDDINGS

  Rachel felt like dashing across the landing right away to wake Jill up and see what she thought of the idea, but she couldn’t disturb the house, not at this hour, and risk waking Maisy before school. So, she sat up in bed for a while planning, then tiptoed across to the dressing table where she grabbed her laptop, took it back to her duvet zone, and started researching grants for farms and rural projects, saving any important links and information.

  There must be other people who had converted barns into tearooms, so she tap-tapped away and a new search followed on diversification in farming. What were the pitfalls, the problems, the gains? By five-thirty she felt shattered, yet buzzing too, with a headful of dreams, and plans for their barn, to consider further. Finally, she laid down her laptop, curled herself under the covers and slept until her alarm went off at seven, dreaming of puddings and sunny days on the farm and happy-ever-afters.

  After Maisy was away to school, and with the cattle and sheep checked for the morning, Rachel came back to the house to find Jill humming away in the kitchen measuring out flour, with a line-up of ingredients beside her.

  ‘Are there any more fresh eggs, Rachel love? Would you mind checking for me? With all this baking I’m doing we’re getting through our supplies fast. The hens won’t be able to keep up soon.’

  ‘Yes, of course, I’ll nip back out. Ooh, what are you making this time?’ Rachel peered over her mum’s shoulder into the mixing bowl.

  ‘I’m trying out a ginger pudding. The rhubarb’s nearly ready in the garden too, so I thought I might serve it with some stewed rhubarb and a blob of cream.’

  ‘Sounds delicious. Right, I’ll get cracking then and fetch some eggs.’ Rachel smiled at her own pun and took up the wicker basket used for egg collecting which sat by the porch door.

  They had a dozen or so hens and one cockerel; they were mostly the bronze-feathered Rhode Island Red type – known to be good layers. They lived free range around the farm during the day, and were put back into their hen house at night (to keep them safe from any foxes), and produced the most golden-orange-yolked eggs, with a gorgeous flavour. Rachel walked across the yard and checked inside the hen house first, gathering nine eggs from the soft straw beds, but invariably there were se
veral more eggs to be found in the nearby hedgerow and in the verge to the side of the old barn – the hens had their favourite laying places.

  Back inside soon after, Mum broke the eggs into the mixture and set her trusted Magimix away. The smell of ginger and soft brown sugar was soon fragrant in the air, even more so twenty minutes later when the mixture had started to steam in a large pan on the hob.

  ‘This one’s a bit different. You steam it the old-fashioned way in a pudding basin.’

  ‘I think it’s going to be a hit already,’ Rachel said with a smile.

  ‘My own mother used to make this years ago. I haven’t made it in ages. Hmmn, just the smell brings back memories.’

  Granny Isabel, Jill’s mother, had lived in a village in the Scottish Borders about a half hour drive away. She was warm and friendly, with a wicked sense of humour, white curls, and striking green eyes that Jill always said Rachel had inherited. They used to visit often when Rachel was a child, happy memories of walks and play in the country hills near the house, and she always put on a wonderful Sunday afternoon tea with some kind of gorgeous pudding or two, right up until the old lady died nine years ago.

  Puddings had been a part of their shared past.

  ‘Yes, it’s funny how food can do that,’ Rachel commented. ‘Even down to the smells here in the kitchen. They can take you back to another time.’ Right now, she had a feeling of comfort and warmth, memories of traybakes and cakes, soups and puddings, of coming in from helping her dad on the farm, wet through and cold, to something hot and delicious to eat.

  Memories of her other granny flooded in now too; Granny Ruth, her dad’s mother, now eighty-one, and Rachel’s last surviving grandparent. She used to be here in this very kitchen baking when Rachel was a little girl, back when the farmhouse was still Granny and Granda’s. Granda had sadly passed away a few years ago, and Ruth still lived in their cottage on the edge of Kirkton village, where they had been since passing on the farmhouse to the next generation.