Springtime at the Cider Kitchen

by Fay Keenan

  Caroline was short by anyone’s standards, but she scrambled up the side of the bin and then leaned in to try to reach the bag the sound and movement was coming from. Nearly overbalancing, her fingers brushed the top of the bag but she couldn’t get a grip on it.

  ‘Jonathan!’ she yelled, her voice echoing into the bin. ‘Can you come out here, please?’ She scrambled back from the lip of the bin just as Jonathan came out of the back door to the kitchen. She was sure she didn’t imagine the sweep of his eyes over her back view as she righted herself.

  ‘Everything all right?’ Jonathan came to stand by the bin.

  ‘There’s some kind of animal in a bag in the food bin,’ Caroline said.

  Jonathan looked wary. ‘Probably vermin,’ he said. ‘Do you want me to call our pest control guy?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s rats,’ Caroline said. ‘It sounded, I don’t know, like a cat or something.’

  ‘What would a cat be doing in a bin?’

  Caroline tossed her head impatiently. ‘I don’t know, but can you help me to get it out?’

  ‘Could be a rat,’ Jonathan said. ‘Hang on, I’ll take a look.’ Jonathan looked over the side of the bin and then leaned in. ‘I wish I had a pair of gardening gloves on, just in case,’ he muttered. ‘Rats are tough buggers.’

  ‘I’ll bet you another bottle of champagne it’s not a rat,’ Caroline said.

  ‘I hope you’re right.’ He had to lean right into the bin and Caroline found herself looking at his decidedly gorgeous, denim clad backside.

  Momentarily distracted, she came back to earth when Jonathan straightened up and gently put the bag on the ground at her feet.

  ‘Your vermin, my lady. Would you like me to do the honours?’

  Another plaintive sound came from the bag and this time there was no mistaking it. Caroline grappled with the knot that had been tied in the top of the black sack but her hands were shaking so badly she couldn’t untie it. Jonathan knelt down and with a little effort, managed to get the knot untied and open the bag.

  Caroline gasped. There, trying desperately to take in the fresh air, were two small, very grubby tortoiseshell kittens. Caroline fell to her knees and picked them up, cradling them in her arms.

  ‘Who would do this to such tiny things?’ she said.

  Jonathan glanced around, checking to see if whoever it was could still be around. ‘It’s quite easy to get onto the site as we’ve now got access from the main road. No one would notice the comings and goings of someone who wasn’t meant to be here because there have been so many people working on the building. Anyone could have slipped in unnoticed and dumped them.’ Nevertheless, he was surprised that Caroline was being so hands on with the abandoned animals. ‘You should probably take them to the vet, see if anyone’s lost them.’

  Caroline shook her head. ‘No-one’s lost them,’ she said grimly. ‘They were chucked in here deliberately because whoever did it thought they wouldn’t be discovered. I will take them to get checked out by the vet, though. Poor little girls.’

  ‘How do you know they’re girls?’ Jonathan asked.

  ‘All tortoiseshells are female,’ Caroline said. ‘James and I had one when we were kids, and it’s one of the things I remember. They’re also naughty.’ She smiled. ‘In the meantime, I’d better sort out some food and a bed for them. Come on,’ Caroline coaxed, seeing the tiny kittens’ abject terror as they started to come to their senses. ‘I’ve got some lovely food for you.’ Unconvinced, one of the furious balls of tortoiseshell fur raised its hackles and gave what she clearly believed to be a very intimidating hiss. What came out was little short of adorable.

  Taking the kittens through the restaurant’s kitchen, and to hell with Health and Safety this time, Caroline headed straight upstairs to her quarters where, in her small kitchenette she had a can of tuna. She popped the kittens on her sofa for a moment while she opened the can and spooned the contents onto a saucer. Then she filled a bowl with water and put both down on the floor. Clearly starving, the kittens jumped down, skittered across to the saucer and buried their faces in the tuna. Stealthily, Caroline crept up to the tiny creatures until she was close enough to stroke them.

  ‘You poor things,’ she said softly. ‘Who’s thrown you out like this?’ Cautiously, trying not to scare the kittens, she continued to stroke them, crooning calming nonsense as they demolished the tuna on the saucer. When she felt she could risk it, she picked the slightly larger of the little creatures up. It stiffened in her hands and began to struggle, but after a few moments, realising that her jumper was warm, it settled into her arms again.

  ‘Are they OK?’ Jonathan asked.

  Caroline started. She’d been so fixated on the kittens she’d forgotten all about Jonathan. She glanced up at him. ‘I’ll ring the vet in a minute and see if I can take them over there,’ Caroline said. ‘It’s a bloody good job this place isn’t open yet. They’re probably crawling with parasites.’ She shuddered. ‘Who’d be so shitty as to dump kittens in a bag in a bin?’

  Jonathan shook his head. ‘I don’t know, but you’d better keep a look out for anything or anyone else suspicious.’

  Caroline shuddered; there was at least one person from her not too distant past who’d definitely fall into the suspicious category. No, she thought, he’s over a hundred miles away. It couldn’t be anything like that. More likely, someone just wanted rid. Today’s culture was so full of the notion that everything was disposable; why not animals, too?

  Jonathan gestured to a cardboard box he’d brought up with him from the kitchen. ‘I figured this would do for a bed for tonight until you can rehome them.’

  ‘Rehome them?’ Caroline shook her head. ‘No way. They’re staying with me.’

  ‘In this place?’ Jonathan shook his head. ‘Do you have any idea what the Health Inspector would say?’

  ‘I’ll keep them out of the kitchen. There’s a balcony and a fire escape at the back of the mezzanine that they can use to get in and out and the door to the living quarters is shut during service. I’ll double check with the local authority’s Health and Safety officer but it should be fine as long as they don’t get into the food preparation areas.’

  ‘And what about when you’re working?’ Jonathan asked. ‘They’re tiny. How will you cope?’

  ‘I’ll think of something,’ Caroline persisted. ‘After all, there are cat cafes and cat pubs opening up everywhere these days. A couple of kittens can’t be that much bother.’

  ‘That’s fine when customers are expecting to share their eating space with animals,’ Jonathan said patiently, ‘but in a restaurant like this? I don’t see it. Imagine what would happen if one of your new customers ends up with even a speck of cat hair in their food. It’s not going to do this place’s reputation any good at all and reputation is everything for a new business.’

  ‘Just leave it with me,’ Caroline said. ‘The punters won’t even know they’re here, I promise you.’

  Jonathan shook his head. ‘Let’s hope so. But do me a favour and double check the Health and Safety regulations, will you?’ He didn’t know what Matthew would say if he found out but decided he wouldn’t be the one to tell his brother. ‘Just make sure you also get them checked out by the vet as soon as possible in case they’re rabid.’

  Caroline gave Jonathan an impatient look. ‘As if.’ The moment she said it, though, something small, black and jumpy landed on her arm. ‘Perhaps not rabid,’ she conceded, ‘but definitely riddled with fleas.’ As the slightly blacker of the two kittens mewed what sounded like an apology, Caroline couldn’t help smiling. ‘It’s OK, little one. You’re sweet, anyway.’

  The ensuing pause in conversation stretched between them and Jonathan took it as his cue to leave. Heading back down the mezzanine stairs to the restaurant, he just about made it outside before he started sneezing. He’d always been allergic to cats, and now, it seemed, if Caroline was serious about keeping those two abandoned fur balls, he was going to get a cr
ash course of immunotherapy. Anger washed over him; he shuddered to think of the suffering that they would have endured as they slowly suffocated in the bag. Thank goodness Caroline had saved them. Before he surrendered to another sneeze, he couldn’t suppress the thought that perhaps she’d been sent to save him, too.

  5

  Caroline managed to get a last minute appointment for the kittens, who she named Scrumpy and Solly, at the local vet’s practice and was relieved when they were given a clean bill of health apart from the fleas. She’d booked to take them back in for speying in a month or two’s time and they’d been microchipped, too. Armed with flea and worming medications, a litter tray and a bag of easy-on-the-stomach kitten food, she felt she was ready to own cats as well as a restaurant. To be on the safe side, she spent the evening looking up the Health and Safety regulations for animals in places that served food and reckoned she could manage, although bathing the two filthy kittens had been an adventure in itself and she now sported several lacerations up her arms and across her hands from their extremely sharp claws. The two kittens, once they’d dried out, had eaten voraciously again and were now curled up together in the cardboard box, lined with a towel.

  After a slightly restless night, the next day Caroline was waiting for the chef that Jonathan had appointed to arrive. She checked her watch automatically as the front door opened; he was exactly on time.

  ‘Gino Marshall.’ The good looking young chef held out a confident hand in response to the one Caroline offered. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  ‘Likewise,’ Caroline replied. She gestured to the wooden chair in front of the table. ‘Sit down.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Gino was slim, long limbed and dark haired with a smattering of designer stubble across his chin and upper lip. The look was clearly cultivated, but Caroline wasn’t too fussed as long as he cooked well. This was her opportunity to find out a bit more about him than the information on paper. After all, Jonathan must have been impressed to employ someone quite so young as head chef.

  ‘So, you’ve clearly got the job, but as your new manager, I wanted to touch base and find out a little more about you,’ Caroline said, pouring them both a coffee.

  Gino thought for a moment. ‘Since I left college I’ve been working as a sous chef at Carluccio’s in Bristol, and while it’s been a good job to have straight from college, I’m looking for a bit more autonomy. I like the idea of having real input into a menu and this part of the countryside has so much local produce to choose from, I’d be excited to experiment with it.’

  Caroline smiled briefly. ‘I’d like a West Country theme, obviously, but one that takes inspiration from broader culinary influences. Sort of Tom Kerridge meets Thomasina Myers.’ She paused. ‘With a bit of Giorgio Locatelli on the side.’

  ‘That’s quite a broad scope,’ Gino said. ‘But I went to Tom Kerridge’s place in Marlow when I was visiting my brother last year. It’s well worth a trip if you’ve got time.’

  Caroline laughed. ‘I’m not sure I’ll have much of that this year, managing this place, but I’m glad we’re on the same wavelength. Of course, as you know, we need to make sure cider plays a role in some of the dishes, too.’

  Gino flipped open his portfolio, which lay on the table between them. ‘I used different varieties of cider in a lot of the dishes for my final project.’ He handed the folder to Caroline and watched as she perused the recipes and the short commentary. As her eyebrows raised in surprise, Gino let out a breath.

  ‘I really like the sound of these,’ Caroline said, lifting her eyes from the page once more. ‘And they fit in perfectly with our West Country fusion concept. How would you feel about cooking a couple of your specialities?’

  ‘Sure,’ Gino smiled broadly. ‘I cooked on interview, but it would be great to get back into the kitchen again and familiarise myself with it. When would you like me to cook?’

  ‘How about tonight?’

  Gino nodded assent.

  ‘If you’re sure you can source everything you need by then, let’s go for it.’

  Gino gave Caroline a steady look. ‘I really hope you like what I do,’ he said. ‘It’s my dream to actually own my own restaurant one day and this would be a fantastic place to start.’

  ‘I look forward to seeing what you can do,’ Caroline replied as she held the door open for him.

  As Gino left the building, Caroline felt a surge of excitement. Gino was young, relatively cheap and full of ideas. She texted Jonathan to let him know she’d met Gino and that he’d be returning that evening to cook for her. Hopefully Jonathan might put in an appearance, too.

  *

  That evening, as dusk was beginning to fall, Gino arrived back armed with his supplies. Caroline was just finishing hanging the last of the prints on the long side wall of the restaurant. She’d dithered for ages over the right ordering and placement for them but was pleased with the overall effect which showcased a variety of images from the cider farm’s past, as well as some more recent shots of the orchards and iconic West Country sites. There was a stunning shot of one of the local strawberry fields in full fruit and another of the Axbridge lavender farm which stretched like a lilac carpet across the foothills of the Mendips between Shipham and Cheddar Gorge.

  ‘Those look great,’ Gino said, pausing to admire the variety of images that Caroline had arranged. ‘I love that one of the old shop on the cider farm site – I remember my Gran saying she used to visit it as a kid, and how different it looked to how it does today.’

  Caroline nodded. ‘It’s come a long way, so I understand.’ She stepped down from the ladder that she’d been using to hang the pictures. ‘Are you OK to go ahead and cook? Jonathan said he’d be over later as well, so if you could make enough for both of us to have a taste, that would be great.’

  ‘Sure, no problem. I’ve brought enough ingredients so that you hopefully won’t need to cook your own dinner later!’

  ‘I’m looking forward to it, but leave me with the receipts and I’ll make sure you’re reimbursed.’ As Caroline reached for the last of the pictures she needed to hang, she smiled as she realised which one she’d left until last. Taken by herself only last week, it showed the current incumbents of the Carter’s empire, Matthew and Jonathan, standing beside their father, Jack, at the end of one of the rows of trees in the Royal Orchard. All three looked happy and relaxed in the spring sunshine and were holding pints of Carter’s Gold in their hands. It was a lovely photograph and summed up the unity that, until recently, had been lacking in the family. Knocking in the last picture hook, Caroline hung the photograph and then took a step back. Pleasingly, every single picture was dead straight.

  Soon, enticing aromas started to drift from the kitchen. Caroline felt a flutter of excitement as she anticipated what was to come. Finding so promising a chef in such a small village was a real coup; she had to hand it to Jonathan for choosing well.

  In no time at all, Gino was wandering back through with two plates in his hands. ‘It’s ready,’ he said, setting them down on the nearest table.

  ‘So, what am I looking at?’ Caroline said as she approached.

  ‘Try this first,’ Gino said, passing her a laden fork.

  Caroline popped the fork into her mouth. In pleasure and surprise she noted the complexity of the flavours. The base of the dish was seared, pan fried scallops, shot through with the unmistakable flavours of cider and marjoram.

  ‘That’s gorgeous,’ she said, once she’d swallowed.

  Gino smiled. ‘Try this one.’ He handed her another fork.

  Caroline popped it straight into her mouth. The flavour, yet again, was incredible. ‘What’s that underpinning the wild mushrooms?’ she asked, unable to identify the tangy, lemony flavour conclusively.

  ‘Doone Valley Thyme,’ Gino replied. ‘A little bit gentler than your common or garden version and the flowers look good as a garnish, too.’

  ‘You know your plants, don’t you?’ Caroline said appreciatively.

&nb
sp; ‘I spent a lot of summers in Italy as a kid and the rest of them foraging in the woods around here,’ Gino replied. ‘My Italian granddad showed me how to identify a lot of great stuff around the family home in Sicily and my dad’s dad owned a smallholding down Priddy way, so we spent a lot of time just exploring the land. He was good at identifying wild mushrooms and my Italian granddad knew his wild herbs, so I got the best of both worlds.’ He blushed. ‘Sorry, it’s a bit of an obsession for me – I was shocked at how many of my mates on the course at college couldn’t even identify herbs from a supermarket, let alone wild growing plants, especially those from this area and all around them. I just don’t get it. We live in one of the best areas for wild and foraged produce, I mean, Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall has done about a million TV shows about it but loads of the people I trained with didn’t know their wild garlic from their wheatgrass.’

  ‘Well, I’m impressed,’ Caroline said, taking another sip from her tumbler of water. ‘If you can bring in some wild flavours to your cooking for the restaurant, then that gives us a real edge over the competition. And I know how good Sicilian cooking is, too. I spent a summer there after university working in a small restaurant in Milazzo, on the coast.’ She warmed to her subject. ‘Imagine! Being able to walk out of the door and collect ingredients, and showcase them in this place. And being able to shout to the rooftops that the wild mushrooms, herbs and plants you’re serving are freely available in the forests and fields. We really might be on to something.’ Caroline felt a real stir of excitement as she looked from the counter in front of her back to the new chef. Gino truly was a find. She took another bite of the mushroom dish.