`What do you mean you can't cook?" ," is the reply I receive when I mention my shortcomings in the culinary department. I grew up in a restaurant and everyone assumes I am a whizz in the kitchen. Not so. When you are surrounded by excellent chefs why would you need to cook?
Consequently, my cooking talents are risible. When I purchased my own home a few years ago a male friend who is a whizz in the kitchen questioned whether it was a waste of money for me to invest in an oven.
This year's New Year's resolution was to set that situation to rights. The first step was a trip to far north Donegal for a weekend cookery course. No miracles were wrought in the space of a weekend but a little confidence was gained and a lot of fun was had. Had anyone told me a souffle would one day be cooked by me in my own kitchen I would have scoffed - but it has come to pass.
Brid Ni Cartain and Noreen Lynch take absolutely no notice of the phrase "I can't cook". The proprietors of The Corncrake Restaurant run a super establishment. Their enthusiasm, not to mention their wit and slight eccentricity, make a cookery weekend in Carndonagh a bit of a treat.
The two women, both involved in the catering trade, got fed up with city life. Having decided they wanted a change of pace, they found a house in Carndonagh, converted the front room into a restaurant and moved in upstairs.
They laugh now as they speak about how "cityfied" they were when they arrived, drumming their fingers on the counters when they went to the shop because there was so much chat the purchase took forever, and getting impatient when people stopped their cars in the middle of the road. They have changed, but they have also brought some changes to Carndonagh - not least the introduction of window boxes - which caused cars to slow down outside the premises for a while after they were put out. But they agree that the greatest benefit is to themselves. Their only complaint is the lack of eligible bachelors.
The cookery weekend gives a taste of how attractive this life can be. It begins on Friday night but the best part about that is you don't have to cook a thing. The evening is an introduction to the restaurant, its proprietors and many of the dishes you will learn to cook.
Accommodation for the weekend is provided by Brian and Ann Harkin, friends of Noreen and Brid, who run a guesthouse in nearby Ballyliffin. There have been reports recently that guesthouse owners are keeping themselves remote from their guests. Not so in Rossaor House, where the guests feel cherished, loved and stuffed after a breakfast of smoked salmon scrambled eggs. That breakfast is served in a newly-built conservatory which has breathtaking views of the nearby Pollen Strand.
Waking with a hangover on Saturday morning, the notion of facing into a cookery class did not seem appealing. However the two women are not into rushing their students and they ease you into the cookery class. Brid is the Corncrake's chef. Noreen looks after front of house, but she also makes the desserts.
Dressed in aprons and white baseball caps, they are both involved in the culinary instruction. As one might expect, Brid has strong views on cooking - not about the importance of exact ingredients and timing - but enjoyment of it, the way in which it can relax you, and the pleasure of eating the finished product. She was somewhat bemused by my constant queries concerning how long "exactly" everything should be cooked for, and "how could you be sure it was ready".
Brid says that if you are serious about your cooking you must be prepared to make a mess. "A good chef has an untidy kitchen," she said, stressing that the cook should enjoy the experience as much as those who are eating. She constantly stressed the importance of flavouring and the use of fresh herbs. (Noreen keeps a serious herb garden out the back, including enough lettuce to last the restaurant for the season).
The morning began with learning how to make seafood chowder - the most important and quite yucky thing being the preparation of the crab - separating the usable from the unusable. Making focaccia bread was particularly therapeutic, (only knead for 10 minutes), and it seemed beyond my wildest cooking dreams that something as impressive could be made so simply, and by me. "Imagine your friends arriving at your house and the smell of fresh bread greeting them from the kitchen," said Brid.
But the excitement over this was nothing compared with the treat of learning how to make a souffle. Even the more experienced among us felt a thrill when Brid announced that we were going to make the delicious "Twice Baked Souffle" which had been on the menu.
Yes, it was far easier than I had imagined. I think that being "twice-baked" made it simpler than a regular souffle, but still it was a big step for someone who needs the equivalent of tricycle stabilisers in the cookery world.
I'm ashamed to admit that I have not yet tried this at home (and I wouldn't admit that if I thought that I was going to meet Brid and Noreen any time soon). But life is different when you are standing in your own kitchen, without the expert back-up. I have experimented with some of the other dishes, though, with considerable success.
Then it was time for Noreen to step in with desserts. "Floating Islands" was the recipe and it included eggs, egg yolks, vanilla pod, cream milk, and caramel. It also involved having to do a couple of things at once, not to mention getting the "islands" to "float" afterwards. Now, I know when I am beaten. I haven't even attempted this. I don't reckon I ever will. However, it tasted absolutely delicious. Lunch involved sampling this and all the other dishes made that morning.
Everyone is free in the afternoon. There are lots of options - exploring Malin Head, waking on the beach or playing golf at the well-known Ballyliffin Golf Club. It rained heavily, so we went to bed for a nap.
The next arduous part of the weekend involved dinner that night in the Corncrake. After the excesses of the evening before it was a more civilised affair and everyone had an early night.
Sunday morning's classes were held in the large kitchen at Rossaor House, our guesthouse. Pot-roast was left simmering on the Aga, while Brid demonstrated how to cook soda farls in a heavy-based frying pan. Once these had been demolished, she went on to show us how to make "Fallen Chocolate Souffle with Armagnac" and other delicious treats. It was around this time that the friend who travelled with me for the weekend began to show me up. The invitation was issued with the proviso that she remain tight-lipped about her considerable cooking talents. It all worked well until she let slip, shortly before we left, that she grew herbs in her inner city garden, oh, and tomatoes as well. By then, it was too late to take any action.
After a delectable Sunday lunch of succulent pot-roast and chocolate souffle the group departed with the reminder from Noreen and Brid that cooking was a pleasure and not a problem. "This is all very simple," is their message, "You simply need to relax and let it flow".
At a cost of £200 for food, accommodation and cookery lessons the weekend is a snip. Not surprisingly wine is not included.
Corncrake Pot-roast
2lb Topside or Pot-roast
2 tablespoons dark soy sauce
6 tablespoons dry white wine
2 cloves of garlic
1 star anise flower
1 tablespoon brown sugar
Black pepper
2 teaspoons cornflour
1 carrot (whole)
1 onion (whole)
In a heavy-based pan, large enough to fit the joint snugly, heat a tablespoon of oil, put in the beef and let it brown on all sides, then add the soy sauce, wine, garlic and star anise. Cover the pan tightly and simmer for one hour. Add the sugar and pepper, carrot and onion. Replace lid and simmer for another hour. Check that the beef is tender. Remove from the pot and leave to rest for a while. Pass the sauce through a sieve - discarding the vegetables, thicken slightly.
To serve: Slice the beef thinly and spoon over the sauce. Serve with potatoes and carrots or green vegetables.