The morning after the pop-up . . . so quiet. I only know this because I am awake at 5 am, for a 6 am departure to someplace called Farran Wood which sounds like it is a place for a duel or a faerie meeting or something but which is actually the location of the Irish National Rowing Centre. But we’ve miles to go before we get to why I’m there so settle in.
The student-run pop-up dinner on Saturday was the culmination of an incredible amount of work over about five weeks, as well as an absolute tsunami of stress. I won’t bury the lede - it was a grand success. A power trip from our resident diva and some less-than-perfect slices of porchetta aside, a beautiful and delicious time was had by all. And yours truly subdued her inner class officer1 and just helped out where needed.2
But actually no because there have been any number of meetings leading up to this that felt chaotic and kind of leaderless and as the only CDCÂ remaining on the front of house team, where I also felt invisible or pointless or something. Several times I thought honestly I could be here or not, they seem vaguely surprised when I do anything and I’m not going to shout over them all to get a word in because that only works with people who actually know/like you so do not lead with your usual bossiness, Laskin.
So I didn’t. And in fact everything got done, in part because while everyone was talking over everyone else it was with excitement and good will, and also because Trent from Australia and Sarah from Cork are good leaders with experience and as it turns out in the moment, an ability to project authority without being jerks.
The pop-up is literally a case of too many cooks in the kitchen. During his effusive (and deserved) compliments at the end of the evening, Rory told the kitchen staff to not get used this size kitchen brigade because they will never ever see it again. By the time of the event there were perhaps eight of us left on front of house, attrition due to illness, absence, preference to attend rather than work (understandable - it looked like way more fun), while the kitchen had at least three times that many. The kitchen divided into teams based on courses, each with a team lead and then an overall executive chef who brought things together, all overseen by instructor Nick. We FoHers were more of a hands-on bunch which meant doing everything from making and hanging3 the big hanging leafy decorations to moving furniture to polishing a billion glasses to serving and clearing, all overseen by instructor Laura.
The theme of the evening was tùs: an Irish word that means beginning or origin. Also, we celebrated ourselves as the 100th cohort of the 12 week certificate program. There are a hundred funny or stressy or sweet moments that I could tell you about but here are a few that I will certainly remember.
feeling like I could not open my mouth at a meeting because people kept just talking over each other and I didn’t want to add to the din but wanting so badly to shout be quiet so I can run this - but not doing that.
doing a little research and finding some nifty ways to express the theme well as a poem that worked perfectly, “Begin” by Brendan Kennelly.
realizing that someone else had declared themselves hostess and therefore would be explaining the theme and possibly dealing with the poem but not doing anything about it because to challenge this usurpation of my role would have added unnecessary tension to the mix.
tying infinity strings around bags and tags and jars of jam which Max and Ethan were making and talking about rowing.4
polishing endless glasses with those two dotes5 and being told a time-waster joke by Max that honestly deserves a place in Joke Time at William Lawrence Camp.6
being told another shorter and saucier joke on my way out the door.7
being wowed by how absolutely gorgeous the dining room does look after all that, in a very Ballymaloe Cookery School way filled with flowers and candles and mismatched chairs and generosity.
greeting an older woman and complimenting her on her embroidered black silk jacket only to learn that the jacket had been Aunt Florence’s8 and that they had been great friends, and Florence had given her the jacket shortly before she passed away and so she liked to wear it and think of her.
seeing parents of students arriving and knowing immediately who they belonged to because they looked so much alike. And seeing how delighted and proud they are to be here.
filling the tables to capacity with breads and bottles and delicious plates of food.
hearing the kitchen react with whoops and hollers when word came back that Rory commented that the starter course was delicious.
Teacher Nick furiously shushing the whoops and hollers in a futile attempt to maintain some sense of professionalism.
the smiles and relief on the faces of those whose courses were done, canapés, flatbreads, the other breads, starters, then mains.
the guests’ clear enjoyment of the evening based on the number of bottles of wine on the tables and the volume of chatter and the fact that they’re not getting up and wandering around or leaving.
the diva’s my-way-or-the-highway speech about how to place the dessert just so because that is how it was designed and she doesn’t want to see it on the table any other way so do not do that.
the thumbprint I may or may not have left on the rim on a dessert plate after being told by the diva how to carry it so as to avoid thumbprints.9
the utter exhaustion of some students sitting on the steps outside of Kitchen 3 as the coffee and petits four wound down, so tired that they were incapable of speech and looked like they might burst into tears.10
the way Trent clapped me on the shoulder to acknowledge my work finding “Begin,” after the hostess noted that “the students” selected it and read it to great acclaim from the guests. That small gesture meant the world to me.
the faces of the kitchen staff when called out to the dining room by Rory, listening to thunderous and generous and sustained applause.
the diva already dressed and clearly not participating in clean-up as we were all instructed to do, and the rest of us watching that bridge burn.
the music turning up in the kitchen and everyone taking pictures and cleaning like mad so they could get out of there and go booze all night.
I’m going to have to do a bunch of galleries here to get all the images in so starting with preps . . .
It begins . . .
And then there was the meal itself!
Most importantly, these are the youngsters - and a CDCÂ or two - who pulled it all off.
Many of them were up until 5 or so celebrating. But not me because a) I was fried and weepy and b) I had that early date the next morning.
So back to Farran Woods.
As long as I promised to answer to an alias, I was able to join the girls of Shandon Boat Club social rowing in a 1K race at the Cork Regatta on Sunday. The regatta was held at the National Rowing Centre for Ireland, which is on a beautiful reservoir west of Cork City, and other than having to do it on about four hours sleep for each of the previous two nights, and in their impossibly heavy old 8 poetically named The Pearl, and some seat adjustment shenanigans from the bow 3 minutes before the start, it was a great outing. We had a good start,11 battled hard with two other crews for 3/4/5 place and did not finish last which if you know me you know I count as a win. It was noted that most of the other teams (except the one that came in last, apparently) train 5 days/week, whereas the ladies of Shandon get max 3. And their equipment really is kind of crappy, they should get some kind of handicap for that.12
So while it was a quiet row back to the dock, the kind you have when you didn’t win or obviously exceed your expectations, by the time we broke up for the day we agreed that we’d been in it to the end, done quite well considering, and SHOWED UP so WINNING.
Confessing that a significant contributor to my Sunday exhaustion was Friday night’s celebration of Sue’s birthday. She got The Cake from the school of course, but also her girl gang from Dublin came for the weekend, Jen cooked dinner, I tended the bar (for one round anyway), and then karaoke showed up? and also some young people?? and a bottle of Prosecco was sabered with a bread knife??? and things went um late.
This weekend has been was a reach for me on many levels - physically, mentally, emotionally - but I got through it with a little help from some friends and I have the video evidence to prove it13.
Wait, when did I get so short? 😠
So, TÙS?
“Begin” Begin again to the summoning birds to the sight of the light at the window, begin to the roar of morning traffic all along Pembroke Road. Every beginning is a promise born in light and dying in dark determination and exaltation of springtime flowering the way to work. Begin to the pageant of queuing girls the arrogant loneliness of swans in the canal bridges linking the past and future old friends passing though with us still. Begin to the loneliness that cannot end since it perhaps is what makes us begin, begin to wonder at unknown faces at crying birds in the sudden rain at branches stark in the willing sunlight at seagulls foraging for bread at couples sharing a sunny secret alone together while making good. Though we live in a world that dreams of ending that always seems about to give in something that will not acknowledge conclusion insists that we forever begin. - Brendan Kennelly
Smithies, you know what I’m talking about, our, um, natural tendencies toward leadership.
I did offer my research and writing services to learn about tús and provide info for others, to write something up for the menu, and to find a poem the represented the theme. Most of what I did was eventually scrapped for one reason or another but you know my feelings about how teamwork makes the dreamwork, AS ONE, and all that. Basically it was an exercise in ego control for me, helped over the finish line by extreme sleep deprivation from Sue’s birthday party the night before.
At our peril - the ladder felt a little flimsy and those rafters were high and the leaf things big. In fact, there are certain things that students are not allowed to do for the pop-up, and one of them is go up the ladder so we had the funny scene of the tallest people on the ground handing things up the tiniest person on the ladder, instructor Laura. The other thing we aren’t allowed to do is actually check people in on the list so she did that while I stood outside and showed people where to go. So much for the hostess with the mostess.
Finally, people who get it. They are both like six feet tall and Max’s sister has rowed internationally for Australia and Ethan rowed in Grade 8 in South Africa but it kind of messes with your social life so he dropped it.
Not a typo for dopes. Dote is slang for a cutie, a sweetheart, adorbs, someone you dote on.
For Boys, the best camp in the land. (Except for the one for girls, Fleur de Lis Camp) No I am not a paid employee of either, just a very satisfied parent.
Hey Lisa, did you hear the one about the guy who dipped his balls in glitter? Pretty nuts!
Florence Allen, aunt to the Allens, the creator of Auntie Florence’s Orange Cake, and a much beloved figure around the Cookery School, who passed away in 2022.
Uncomfortably in the palm, which looks nice but try carrying two and laying them down gracefully in tight quarters without dumping the on the table or someone’s lap.
it me, as Gritty would say
You start a race with a specific set of strokes, often some combination of half, three-quarters, full, before jumping on a high pace and then settling in. Our starts in CRI boats can be a bit chaotic but this crew is really practiced at them.
Have I mentioned that they have to actually take the boat apart to take it anywhere? And it has these high sides and heavy riggers and I have the bruises to prove how tough the ol’ Pearl actually is.
I feel compelled to add that this particular version of karaoke actually has the vocals with the song so if you think I sound that much like Patsy Cline you are mistaken.
A dinner you’ll long remember! Fun to read about.
Absolutely brilliant love it