A Taste for It

by Monica McInerney

  Maura let herself into her room, and fought back a longing to hurl herself onto the bed and burst into tears.

  What did it matter? she tried to tell herself. Carla, and by association Dominic, had tried to ruin her talk tonight, for no other reason than malice. The wine trip was over. She’d have little to do with him while she was doing the cooking school. And tonight had been a great success, in publicity and sales – Rita kept telling her as much.

  So why did she feel this strange, heavy sadness?

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Well, your photos don’t do you justice, Maura, you’re absolutely gorgeous in real life,” Bernadette said as Maura and Dominic arrived at Ardmahon House. She gave Maura a big hug.

  Maura embraced her with equal enthusiasm, feeling as though she was being reunited with a long-lost friend.

  She pulled back from the hug and smiled at Bernadette. Her photos hadn’t done her justice either, blurry and all as they were. They didn’t capture the spark of mischief or the warmth in her eyes.

  Bernadette was about fifty years old, curly-haired and – there was no other word for it – plump. But it suited her. She looked like a woman who had decided years ago there were better things in life to worry about than kilo-watching. Cooking and eating and entertaining people, for example.

  “You look great too,” Maura said. “And how are all your storm injuries? I wasn’t sure if I’d be meeting you in a wheelchair or crutches or what.”

  Bernadette laughed. “I’m practically cured,” she said, poking out her leg. A white bandage was just visible above a sturdy boot on her left foot. “It’s a miracle, really – it was just a bad sprain, and I’m walking with no bother again now.”

  As Bernadette gave Maura another welcoming hug, she turned and gave Dominic a teasing smile.

  “So how on earth have you managed to keep your hands off her for a whole week together? Lord, it would have tried the patience of a saint.”

  Maura gasped at Bernadette’s cheekiness, but Dominic was obviously used to her saucy tongue. If she only knew they’d had trouble even talking to each other the past few hours, let alone anything else.

  “Oh, I managed,” Dominic said with a tight smile.

  Bernadette raised an eyebrow in mock indignation, glancing back and forth at Maura and Dominic and noticing the tension between them.

  “Well, I’m obviously not going to get any scandal out of you two today. So, Maura, you must be dying to have a look around this beautiful house. I’ve a head-start on you, I moved in yesterday, and I tell you, it’s a dream come true.” She turned to Dominic. “Thanks again for coming to the rescue, Dominic. You must have some great plans for it – the work you’ve had done is fantastic. It makes my place look like a stable.”

  Dominic smiled at Bernadette, but pointedly didn’t elaborate on his future plans. “I’m glad you’re settling in well. When’s your first group of students arriving?”

  “Not until Monday morning,” Bernadette answered, “So we’ve the whole weekend to get ready for them. Have you time for a drink of something?”

  Dominic looked up at the clock above the kitchen door. “I’m sorry, Bernadette, but I need to get back to Dublin as soon as possible, so I’ll have to leave you to it.” Maura noticed he was directing his comments to Bernadette. “I’m sure you’ll find everything you need. If you don’t, just ring me and I’ll arrange for it to be delivered.”

  With a nod at them both, Dominic left the room. Maura looked after him, glad of the relief she felt now he was gone but oddly enough feeling a strange disappointment that she wouldn’t be seeing him for a while. This morning’s half-hour drive to Ardmahon House had been very tense, worse even than their first drive nearly a week ago. Maura had tried several times to apologise, to make conversation, but Dominic had seemed unmoved, even miles away. He hadn’t been rude. Just distant. That was worse, she thought.

  Bernadette watched her looking after Dominic and smiled knowingly.

  “He’s absolutely gorgeous, isn’t he?” she said, breaking Maura’s reverie.

  To Maura’s embarrassment, she felt a blush rising in her face.

  Bernadette let out a great roar of laughter. “Don’t be embarrassed. Heavens, if I was ten years younger I’d give you a run for your money myself.”

  As Maura started to protest that there was nothing between herself and Dominic, Bernadette just laughed her protests away. “I’m just teasing you, love. Sure, everyone here thinks Dominic is a handsome fellow. I’d be more surprised if you didn’t notice it.”

  Everyone? Maura thought. Who is everyone? But Bernadette had tired of discussing Dominic’s attractions and was pulling up a chair beside the long kitchen table.

  “Come and look at the course schedules I’ve organised and tell me what you think and then we’ll have a good nose around, now that Dominic has gone.”

  Maura immersed herself in the details of the next three weeks. Bernadette had done a great job organising all the bookings for her Australian Flavours series. There were three groups of eight people coming for the residential cooking classes, which would run Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursdays. Then each Friday and Saturday night the main dining-room would be transformed into a restaurant. Bernadette had even arranged for all her kitchen staff and waitresses to relocate to Dominic’s house.

  “Well, I’m glad you approve.” Bernadette gave a dramatic sigh, knowing that Maura was delighted with everything. “Come on, now, you must be as curious as I am. Let’s go exploring.”

  It took almost a half an hour to walk over the entire house and gardens. It was truly impressive. As they walked through the wide halls and immaculately decorated rooms, Maura couldn’t begin to imagine the work that had gone into the renovations and rebuilding. She had heard from Cormac and Bernadette about the original state of the house.

  “It’s quite wonderful, isn’t it?” Bernadette said as they walked through the final wing, which held half a dozen beautifully furnished bedrooms. “It’s funny how your luck turns out, isn’t it? The set-up here is actually better than at my own house. I never thought I’d say it, but that storm did us a good turn.”

  As they had walked around Bernadette had explained that the repairs to the storm damage at her house were coming along, but much more slowly than she would have liked. She admitted cheerfully to Maura that seeing Dominic’s house had given her quite a few new ideas.

  “I especially like the dining-room and living-rooms here,” Bernadette elaborated, as they walked down the sweeping staircase together. “It would make a wonderful venue for exclusive house parties or top secret government conferences, don’t you think?”

  Maura looked around, noticing the beautifully landscaped gardens through the tall windows at the foot of the stairs. She nodded. It was very secluded and peaceful. It felt like they were hundreds of miles from anywhere, but it was really just a few hours from Dublin. Or London, if it came to that.

  “When did Dominic buy it?” she asked curiously.

  “About a year ago. It was completely run down – I don’t think anybody had lived in it for years and years. There used to be hundreds of these crumbling old castles and mansions all over Ireland, but they’re like hen’s teeth now. All sorts of retired pop-stars and bestselling authors snapped them up.”

  Maura tried to steer the conversation back from real estate matters to Dominic.

  “Is his family from around here?” That would be just her luck, she thought. Dominic would turn out to be her second cousin or nephew.

  “He’s not from this area, I think he’s from Cork or somewhere down south. Not that you can tell from his accent any more – he has that transatlantic mix, now, doesn’t he?”

  Maura said nothing, remembering with a spark of embarrassment her first meeting with him in Clare. She had been convinced it was an American accent.

  Bernadette looked at her watch. “Enough sightseeing. Let’s go down to the kitchen and have a good chat. And it’s about time I tried some
of your brother’s wine, don’t you think?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Bernadette was at the front door to welcome the first group of students as they arrived at Ardmahon House on Monday morning, in a mixture of hired cars, parents’ vehicles and public buses.

  Busy in the kitchen, Maura overheard the different conversations as Bernadette settled each of them into their bedrooms and showed them around the house, sounding as though she had lived there for years rather than moved in two days before.

  Her experience showed, Maura thought. Bernadette had been running her residential cooking school for over ten years, holding long and short courses on everything from the Secrets of Cooking Potatoes to Christmas Dinners without the Fuss.

  Bernadette had told her lots of stories over the weekend, as the two of them had visited local markets and stores, ordering goods and stocking up on the rest of the ingredients for the cooking school and restaurant in the week ahead. She had explained to Maura that her students came from all over Ireland, and sometimes all over the world.

  “We have a lot of students who see this as something like a mini finishing school, but there’s a great mix, actually,” she’d explained. “In fact some of my students are middle-aged mums who just want a bit more confidence in their kitchen, or are bored with serving meat and three vegetables night after night. They want to spice up their lives a little bit, and where better place to start than the kitchen?” she had winked.

  Maura had seen Bernadette’s course list for the rest of the year and her series on the latest trends in Australian food and wine – with a very strong emphasis on Lorikeet Hill naturally – had fitted in very well alongside the forthcoming Cajun, Californian and Chinese cooking classes.

  The first group of students – all women – were all pretty much under thirty years of age, Maura guessed, looking around at them as they found a place to sit in the roomy kitchen. The sudden relocation to Ardmahon House had meant the kitchen wasn’t completely equipped as a demonstration kitchen – there was no overhead mirror, for example – but Bernadette had assured her that it wouldn’t matter. “I keep the groups small to keep it informal and quite intimate, so they’ll all be able to see what you’re doing anyway. Just remember to speak slowly – that Aussie accent of yours can be the very devil to understand sometimes.”

  “No worries, mate,” Maura had shot back.

  Maura looked around nervously and eight pairs of nervous eyes looked back at her. She broke the silence by introducing herself and asking the students to say their names and give a little bit of background information about themselves as well.

  Bernadette had suggested it as a good way to break the ice. “They’re always shy with us and each other to start with,” she’d said, with knowledge born of long experience, “but by the third night you wait and see. They’ll be chattering away during your classes, then heading off down the road to the pub, larking up a storm and terrorising the poor local boys.”

  Ciara, Siobhan, Emer and Deirdre were Irish, from different parts of the country. Sally was from England. Angela was from Munich. The two shy girls hiding behind their long black hair were Regina and Selina, twin sisters from Spain.

  As Maura started to talk, one of the twins started sobbing into a handkerchief held close to her eyes.

  It was Selina. Maura looked over with concern. “Are you all right?”

  There was no answer.

  “Are you okay, Selina?” she asked again.

  She looked over at Bernadette, who walked up and touched the girl on her shoulder. “Is everything ok? Are you feeling ill?” she asked with concern.

  The girl burst into tears again, and suddenly let fly with a torrent of something that sounded like a mixture of Spanish, French and Italian to Maura’s untrained ear.

  Bernadette looked around the classroom. “I only stretch to German and Irish – can anyone give me a hand here? Regina, what did your sister say?”

  Regina looked up nervously. “She doesn’t want to be here,” she translated helpfully. “She can’t even think about cooking. Her heart is broken because our parents have forced her over here to do this course to keep her away from her boyfriend who she loves passionately.”

  “Oh, I see, of course,” Bernadette said in a deadpan voice. She spoke softly to the upset girl. “Would you like a glass of water, Selina, or perhaps you’d rather go up to your room and lie down?”

  Selina shook her head, replying in another bubbling stream of Spanish. The whole class looked over at Regina.

  “She said she may as well be here as anywhere, because her heart belongs nowhere but with Carlos,” Regina said, her flat voice somewhat spoiling the romantic effect of the words.

  Maura bit back a smile and looked at Bernadette. The older woman winked at her and nodded.

  “Well,” Maura said, far more confidently than she felt. “Let’s start with a rundown of what we’re going to do together over the next three and a half days, and maybe that will take your mind off Carlos for a little while, Selina.”

  Maura outlined the programme in detail, pleased to see the girls’ reactions. She and Bernadette had spent a lot of time working out which dishes to feature, and discovering which of the more exotic ingredients she would be allowed to bring into Ireland. The customs people had drawn the line at kangaroo steaks – she disliked them anyway – but she had been able to bring in a good supply of native bush food, which would be an important part of the class.

  “I’m going to show you how to cook three different entrées, three main courses and three desserts,” she explained. “And of course, given my winery connections, I’ll also show you the best wines to serve with them, and give you a bit of background on the wine industry of Australia as well.” Which I could now do asleep, standing on my head, she thought, especially after the Ennis talk. “And on Thursday morning, in our final class, we’ll be a little less formal, and I’ll show you a few surprises.”

  The girls took their seats on the stools dotted around the kitchen, while Maura stood in front of a whiteboard Bernadette had transported over from her own house, along with a huge quantity of kitchen equipment and all the bedding. It had taken three trips in a large van, she’d explained to Maura.

  Maura wrote the words Australian Cuisine on the board and drew a big question mark beside it. “In a way, we should have called this Thai, Italian, Vietnamese, English, Irish, Hungarian and Chinese Flavours, rather than just Australian Flavours,” she said, “because there really isn’t a definitive Australian cuisine. It’s a real blend of many other cultures, a bit like American food. Mind you, they have their fried chicken, and we have our Vegemite, but the reputation for great cuisines aren’t built on ingredients like those.

  “This week you’ll get a little sample of cooking from all those countries, because I think that’s what makes up the flavour of Australian food. We’ll start this morning with entrées. I’ll show you how I make them, talk you through each of the ingredients and then this afternoon it’ll be your turn to make them, in time for your dinner tonight.”

  Maura wrote up the entrée menu on the whiteboard.

  Crispy seafood rolls filled with scallops, fish, prawns, noodles, coriander and mint served with a chilli dipping sauce

  A Thai-style spicy soup, made with chicken, lemongrass, mushrooms and pepper, cooked in a coconut-milk broth

  Blue cheese, walnut and wild herb pastry fingers

  She heard the murmurs of anticipation from the class as they read down the list. Bernadette gave her the thumbs up. They were on their way.

  Tuesday was spent tutoring the students through three main courses, with Bernadette working with four of the girls and Maura demonstrating to the others. Despite some early caution with the spices, Maura was pleased to see they were getting a little more adventurous, happy to try everything from chilli to wild bush pepper.

  She included a vegetarian dish in her choices of main courses - a delicious warm pumpkin, spinach and feta cheese salad. The Irish girls
in particular were surprised to use pumpkin as the basis for the meal.

  “We only have pumpkin in the house at Hallowe’en, and even then we only use the shell – the chickens get all the insides,” Emer said with surprise when Maura first wrote the dishes up on the whiteboard.

  “Well, your poor chickens are going to have to start looking elsewhere,” she explained. “Pumpkin is a wonderful vegetable. In Australia we use it in soups and casseroles, and it makes a wonderful roasted vegetable too.”

  The other two main courses were chicken fillets baked with a seeded wild mustard crust, served on a bed of Asian greens and potato mash, and a delicious beef and mushroom casserole, flavoured with bush pepper and served with an unusual spiced peach side dish.

  “I promise, they all are simple to prepare, look wonderful on the table and they’re even good for you,” Maura promised.

  The students took to the cooking like ducks to water, even Selina, once she had managed to dry her tears. Maura demonstrated each dish step by step, before setting each student up with her own ingredients to try it for herself.

  Maura and Bernadette had decided the final meal on the Thursday of each week would be a stereotypical Australian meal – a barbeque. Bernadette had managed to find a shop in Ennis that sold large portable barbeques and the metal contraption was now sitting out in the courtyard.

  “It won’t be the complete Aussie experience, I’m afraid,” Bernadette said on the Wednesday night, looking up from the weather forecast in the newspaper. “Showers and gusty winds expected,” she grinned. “Did you bring your sunbed with you?”

  Maura looked over from the fridge, where she was putting away the big tray of marinating steaks. “I’ve taped some cricket commentaries – we can play those as background noise instead – then at least it will sound like an Australian summer,” she suggested with a smile. She had just shut the fridge door when a loud bang followed by a high-pitched shriek made them both jump.