Cooking For Comfort by Teresa Ashby

It seemed Emma’s class could improve more than just culinary skills . . .

OH, Joseph. What happened?” Emma asked as the young man brought his fruit crumble to her table. He looked almost as devastated as his pudding, and yet he’d been so keen at the start.

To make her cookery class more fun, Emma always had a “Masterchef” moment at the end of the first class, where she sampled what her students had made.

She tried to channel Gregg Wallace, but it had never been as difficult as this to find something positive to say.

“I did exactly as you showed us,” he insisted gloomily.

She looked at the burned mess in the dish.

He’d put too much liquid in with the fruit and the crumble had sunk into it.

His oven must have been too hot, as the liquid had congealed and burned atop the soggy crumble.

“Don’t be disheartened,” she said cheerfully. “You’re here to learn, and this was just the first lesson.

“We all learn from our mistakes, Joseph.”

Just two hours earlier, Emma had met her new Cooking For Comfort group.

Peter, a sad-faced gentleman in his sixties, wanted to make the sort of comfort food his late wife used to make.

After a lifetime of globetrotting and rarely cooking, retired Grace wanted to cook meals that reminded her of her childhood.

Then there was Josie, desperate to show her husband that she could cook as well as his mother, who, according to him, made Mary Berry look incompetent.

“Perhaps a new husband would be better than a new skill,” Grace had suggested.

Sweet little Peta was soon to be married and wanted to cook stupendous food for her new husband.

“And where’s your fiancé? Doesn’t he want to cook stupendous food for you, Peta?” Grace had asked tartly.

Emma marked Grace as the slightly cynical class comedian.

When giving his reason for coming to the class, Joseph had blushed to the roots of his tawny hair.

“I’ve a friend I want to ask round for a meal,” he explained. “I want it to be something I’ve cooked myself.

“Anna and I have been friends for years, and she likes things to be authentic.”

His blush had deepened and Emma thought it was quite charming.

She hoped Anna was worth the effort.

“Anyway, the last time I invited her round, she found the takeaway cartons in the bin and walked out,” Joseph added sadly.

Now, everyone gathered round to look at Joseph’s disaster.

The kitchen should have smelled wonderful, but the aroma of burned fruit overpowered everything else.

“It was very kind of you to demonstrate how even a crumble could go wrong,” Grace declared, giving him a nudge and a wink.

“It might taste better than it looks,” Peta suggested kindly.

“Let’s see, shall we?” Emma said. “It’s a skill to know how to salvage something that hasn’t quite gone to plan.

“Have you made your custard, Joseph?”

Emma dug a spoon into the soggy crumble and it squished into the even soggier fruit.

He’d chosen an odd medley, including plums, cherries, redcurrants and grapes.

He placed his jug of custard on the table and she tipped it, but nothing happened, so she gave it a little stir.

The spoon stood upright. “Solid custard,” Grace stated. “Do you want one slice or two, Emma?”

Peter guffawed.

“Sorry,” he whispered, but Emma realised he no longer looked sad.

“Never mind.” Emma smiled. “I’ll have a taste.”

She thought her cheeks were going to meet in the middle of her mouth. The fruit was so sour it made her eyes water.

“I forgot to put sugar on the fruit,” Joseph admitted sheepishly.

“Well, you won’t make that mistake again,” Emma replied. “Now, Peta, let’s try yours.”

****

Emma didn’t expect Joseph to turn up the following week, but there he was, looking nervous.

“Tonight we’re going to make toad in the hole,” she said, and his face lit up.

As she went through it with them, she was aware of him hanging on her every word.

The crumble was a blip, but she kept an eye on the oven temperature and the thickness of Joseph’s batter.

“My wife used to make a lovely toad in the hole,” Peter recalled.

They each made an individual toad in the hole with small roast potatoes and honey-roasted Chantenay carrots.

When the food was ready, they sat around Emma’s big table to eat.

Cooking For Comfort was so much more than a cookery class.

People sought comfort food for various reasons, but they all seemed to benefit from the social aspect, too.

“It’s like Muriel’s,” Peter stated. “Not exactly, but . . .”

He closed his eyes. “Close enough,” he finished.

“Just like Mother used to make,” Grace put in. “I can imagine myself in our kitchen at home, sitting at the table with my brothers and sisters.”

It was unusual for Grace to be so serious and the sigh she heaved was a sad one.

“This is much better than my mother-in-law makes,” Josie said triumphantly.

“Perhaps Arnold will suggest I give his mum lessons for a change.”

“They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” Peta put in. “I hope being able to cook will make Rodney want to stay with me.”

“Stay with you?” Grace spluttered, back to her normal self. “You’re not even married yet and you’re worried about hanging on to him?”

Emma turned her attention to Joseph.

“My batter didn’t rise,” he murmured. “And it’s soggy round the sausages.

“My potatoes are hard in the middle and I put so much honey on the carrots that my teeth hurt.”

“It’s not so bad,” Peta said kindly. “For a first attempt. Here, you can share mine.”

“Thank you.” Joseph smiled wanly.

Everyone else’s first attempts had turned out almost perfectly.

****

A week later they cooked beef stew and dumplings with pineapple upsidedown pudding for dessert.

“Even I can’t mess up a stew,” Joseph said optimistically.

But he did.

His meat was tough and chewy, the stew was greasy, his vegetables were hard and his dumplings disintegrated.

When he turned out his pineapple upside-down pudding, the mixture was still runny and his custard hadn’t thickened at all.

“This is delicious,” Josie said as she tucked into her meal. “Much tastier than the mother-in-law’s.”

“Reminds me of winter Saturdays at Grandma’s house.” Grace sighed wistfully. “Her dumplings used to stick to your ribs.”

“Better than Muriel’s,” Peter added. “Except the dumplings. Muriel’s were sublime.”

“Delicious,” Peta said, but she seemed glum. “But?” Joseph prompted. “Rodney told me that he doesn’t care for oldfashioned food and would rather I attended a class to learn something classy.”

“Throw some paprika in and call it Hungarian goulash,” Grace suggested.

“He wants me to make desserts and decorate them with flowers instead of custard. He wants crème patissiere,” Peta went on.

“You can’t beat proper custard,” Grace said. “And I’ve sampled more cuisines in my lifetime than your Rodney ever will.”

At the end of class, Emma noticed Peta and Joseph leaving together.

“Don’t give up the class if you’re enjoying it,” he was saying. “Do it for you, not for anyone else.”

Peta looked up at him. “What about you? Have you invited Anna round?” His shoulders slumped. “So I can dish up burned offerings? She’d run a mile.”

“We’re going for a drink,” Grace announced. “Anyone want to join us?”

“Yes, please,” Peta said. No-one had ever suggested that before.

“I’ll be right with you as soon as I’ve tidied up here,” Emma said.

****

The weeks passed and the drink at the pub across the road became a regular fixture.

On the last day Emma couldn’t help but notice the change in her students.

Joseph was still hopeless.

He could measure everything perfectly under Emma’s watchful eye and it would still come out a disaster.

But he didn’t give up, and he no longer talked about Anna.

For the final lesson, Emma invited them all to make a meal of their choosing.

It could be something they’d made before or a new recipe.

Tonight Emma wasn’t cooking. The students were going to provide her with some food.

It was time for another “Masterchef” moment.

“Shepherd’s pie,” Grace declared as she and Peter approached the table. “Made with real shepherds.” Everyone laughed. Over the past few weeks, Grace had lost her cynical edge and they’d all warmed to her, especially Peter.

“I did the meat mix and veg, and Peter did the mashed potato. For dessert Peter made apple-pie and I’ve whipped up dairy-free coconut cream.”

“Sounds wonderful.” Emma smiled.

“We’ve booked a holiday together,” Peter said. “We’re going on a cookery course in Italy.

“When we come back, we’d like to invite you all round for an Italian meal.”

The smile that passed between him and Grace spoke volumes.

“Steak and kidney pie,” Josie announced. “With sprouts, pancetta and roasted sweet potato.

“For afters I’ve made a chocolate pudding and custard made with custard powder.”

“Delicious!” Emma licked her lips.

One thing her pupils had learned was that it was OK to use a packet or readymade sometimes. The important thing was to make it your own and enjoy it.

“It is delicious,” Josie confirmed. “I made it for my mother-in-law last week and she went through my bin looking for the packets.

“Turns out she’s a frozen ready meal type of gal and has been deceiving my

Arnold for years.”

“She’ll never try to pass off a ready meal as her own ever again, and Arnold will never suggest I take cookery lessons from her now he’s tasted the real thing.”

Grace broke into applause.

“Good for you,” she said. Finally Peta and Joseph approached the table.

“Joseph and I have made cauliflower cheese with a crispy topping made from crumbled cheese and onion crisps, served with croquette potatoes and peas.”

“For pudding we made a trifle,” Joseph said. “We used one of those fastsetting vegetarian jellies and added frozen strawberries to help it set.”

“I made the custard and Joseph whipped the cream,” Peta went on.

“I crumbled the crisps and chopped cauliflower,” Joseph said. “I peeled the potatoes and boiled the peas and I arranged the strawberries and Swiss roll in the bowl.

“I didn’t do much,” he finished, biting his lip. “Peta did the hard work.”

“You gave me more time to concentrate on the other stuff,” Peta said.

She hadn’t mentioned Rodney for quite some time and Emma noticed she no longer wore an engagement ring.

As they sat down to eat, Grace asked the burning question.

“So, Joseph, are you ready to invite Anna round for dinner?”

He looked at Peta and smiled.

“Peta offered to come round and help me cook,” he said. “When I thought about it, I said yes. But not for Anna, for us.”

He reached out and held her hand.

“Peta doesn’t care that I’m hopeless in the kitchen.”

“And Joseph doesn’t want me to be someone I’m not,” Peta added. Emma raised her glass. “To good food and friendship,” she declared.

As always, her course had turned out to be a job well done. ■