A MESSAGE FROM CHICKEN HOUSE
Our friends from The Secret Cooking Club are back, and they’ve whipped up a treat! An ambitious family wedding is on the horizon for Scarlett, and the Club rise to the challenge in this tale of cooking and friendship with a warm, wise heart. Another fantastic concoction from Times/Chicken House Competition winner Laurel Remington. So crack out the edible glitter and enjoy the feast: it’s a truly scrumptious second course . . .
BARRY CUNNINGHAM
Publisher
Chicken House
Contents
1 The bake-off
2 Hot cross buns
3 The candidate
4 Spaghetti Bolognese
5 Sushi and canapés
6 The ‘Momster’
7 Sticky toffee
8 Under the apple tree
9 An unknown sender
10 The. Cake.
11 Secrets and lies
12 Bonbons and boutiques
13 Lights, camera, action!
14 Happy families
15 The Dark Side
16 The next level
17 A summer fete
18 Our new secret
19 Another ‘truth’
20 A drizzle of suspicion
21 The worry monsters
22 Cake and ‘closure’
23 Icing kisses and chocolate hearts
24 Twisted truths
25 Facing up
26 Going too far
27 Rainbow macarons
28 Turning a corner
29 Another row
30 Wedding tiers
31 The big collapse
32 Eton Mess
33 A new member
34 A monster banished
35 A new plan
36 Endings and beginnings
37 So much fun
38 Ready, steady . . .
39 Confetti and cakes
40 Epilogue: Wedding belles
Acknowledgements
Also by Laurel Remington
The Secret Cooking Club
The bake-off
If I wasn’t already full, I’d say I was in heaven. Spread in front of me is a huge table covered with cakes – cupcakes, cakes baked in ice cream cones, layer cakes, fondant fancies – all decorated with pastel-coloured icing, sprinkles, chocolate shavings, gummies and candied eggs. They’re all so beautiful and different that it almost seems a shame to cut them up to take a bite – just a tiny bite – of each one. But the head teacher is standing on the other side of the table with her camera, and she’s counting on me to do this.
It’s not easy, but I choose five batches as a ‘shortlist’. I leave aside the cakes that look just a little too good – they might be shop-bought, or maybe someone’s mum helped them with the decorating. The ones I choose may not look the best, but they’re the most creative, I think. One batch of cupcakes is decorated with little nests made of red liquorice, and I don’t think it would be possible to fit another candied egg, marshmallow, sprinkle or gummy on top. Brilliant! The next one is a chocolate cake with squiggly writing saying Happy Easter, and a funny bunny made from goopy gel icing and decorated with Smarties and chocolate buttons. Then there are the ice cream cone cakes, a plate of biscuits chock-a-block with glitter and decorations, a cake decorated like a spring garden – all different, and all looking amazing. Though I can barely eat another bite after sampling the cakes on the year six table, I can’t wait to try these lovely things baked by the year fives.
The head teacher takes my photo as I cut a small bite from each of them. I feel like I’m a real judge on TV’s Bake Off as I take a bite of the chocolate cake. The sponge practically melts in my mouth. The icing is a little too sweet, maybe, but I don’t mind. It’s delicious.
In the end, I choose the cupcakes with the liquorice nests. They’re made from carrot cake that’s soft and spicy and, instead of nuts, they’ve used peanut butter chips. Clever! But everything about the cupcakes – from the time taken with the decoration, to the taste – is special. These cakes were baked with love.
‘I think these should win for the year fives,’ I say, smiling. ‘Do you want to try them?’
‘Oh yes!’ The head teacher tastes the winners – and all the others too – and nods her head. ‘I agree completely,’ she says. ‘Let’s see whose they are.’
She looks underneath the paper plate for the name. ‘Annabel Greene,’ she says.
I don’t go to this school, so I don’t know Annabel Greene, but even so, I can almost imagine that I do.
‘That’s perfect,’ the head teacher says. ‘She’s new here, and kind of quiet. This will really help bring her out of her shell.’
‘Good,’ I say. ‘She deserves this.’
We choose the runners-up, and she ushers me into the hall to the assembly that’s already begun. Another teacher is showing slides of a school in Malawi, which is the school’s charity.
‘And some of these children have to walk seven or eight miles to school every day,’ the teacher is saying. ‘That is, when they’re able to go at all. And if they break a pencil, or lose a pen, there may not be another one. That’s why every bit of money that we earn to help them buy stationery is so important. Your cakes are making a big difference.’
Hearing that, I feel proud. Thanks to The Secret Cooking Club Online, a blog that I set up at the end of last year, five different schools nearby have done charity bake-offs. I’ve helped organize them – even though it’s such hard work being a judge!
The teacher hands the microphone to the head teacher, who takes over. She explains about the charity bake-off – selling cakes after school to help raise money for the school charity. ‘And we’re so fortunate to have a very special judge with us today,’ she’s saying. ‘I’m very proud to introduce a talented young baker and blogger, and founder of The Secret Cooking Club Online. Please give a big round of applause for . . . Scarlett Cooper.’
The second my name is called, my stomach churns with nerves. My knees feel weak as I walk up to the front of the assembly. I love helping organize charity bake-offs, but I don’t like drawing attention to myself. For two years before I started The Secret Cooking Club, my mum wrote a tell-all mummy blog starring the embarrassing details of my life. I felt like the whole world knew the moment when I farted at Christmas dinner or the smell of my gym kit on a scale of 1–10. I became a hermit – no friends, no clubs, no interests. Anything to stay out of the limelight. Then I met Violet, a new girl at school who became my best friend. She and I started The Secret Cooking Club. And life hasn’t been the same ever since.
My hand shakes a little as I take the microphone, and breathe in. ‘Umm, thanks for having me here at your school.’ My voice always sounds strange coming through a microphone. ‘I just want to say that the cakes you’ve made were absolutely amazing, and I know you’ll earn lots of money for the school in Malawi. I’m really lucky to have been a judge. So now, let me tell you who the winners are.’ I uncrumple the paper in my hand and read off the names. ‘For the year sixes, the runner-up is Patrick Morgan, and the winner is Ayesha Hassan.’ I pause and wait as there’s talking and clapping.
‘And for the year fives, the runner-up is Grace Halliday, and the winner – and the overall star baker – is . . .’ I pause for effect, ‘Annabel Greene!’
There’s more clapping and a few whistles as the kids come up. I hand them each their prizes. A Secret Cooking Club badge and keychain for the winners, and for the star baker, a gift voucher donated by a local cookery shop. Annabel Greene is a small girl with straight black hair, who looks positively shell-shocked to be standing up in front of everyone.
‘Congratulations,’ I say to her, leaving the microphone aside. ‘Your cakes must have taken you a
ges to make. They were so creative, and beautiful.’
‘Thank you so much.’ Her whole face lights up as she smiles, and at that moment, my nerves are totally gone and I feel like I’m on top of the world. The Secret Cooking Club has transformed my life, and maybe it can transform the lives not only of children in Malawi, but kids right here at home.
‘And now,’ I say back into the microphone, ‘let the charity cake sale begin!’
Hot cross buns
15 April: Happy Easter!
It’s been an amazing couple of weeks: a whole two weeks of no homework (and Mum not nagging me to do my homework), and lots of baking! Just a quick update on the Dubarry Hills School bake-off. It was Fab-U-licious! The year 5s and 6s raised over £350 for a school in Malawi – how cool is that! It was so amazing being a judge and tasting all those delicious cakes.
Anyway, I’m off now – my best friend and I are going to make hot cross buns for Easter Sunday. It may sound old and traditional, but we’ve got a fun new twist – instead of raisins we’re using dark chocolate. I’ve posted the recipe below. If you give it a try, make sure you share your photos!
The Little Cook xx
I reread what I’ve written, cross out ‘Fab-U-licious’ and type ‘great’ instead. Then I delete that and put back Fab-U-licious. I hit post. Sometimes it strikes me as odd how different ‘The Little Cook’ and I actually are. She’s so confident and cool, and if I was reading the blog instead of writing it, I’d think she had the perfect life and want to be just like her. Which is great – don’t get me wrong. It’s just not really . . . me.
The doorbell rings downstairs. I put the computer to sleep and rush down to the door.
‘Hiya!’ I say, flinging it open.
‘Hey stranger,’ Violet says. She pushes her shiny black hair back from her face and we hug each other.
‘Sorry it’s been a while,’ I say, feeling a little stab of guilt. ‘I’ve just been so busy – with the charity bake-offs, and the blog . . .’ I stop. Of all the changes to my life that have come out of my starting The Secret Cooking Club – learning to cook (obviously!), fixing things with Mum (most of the time) and meeting loads of people in cyberspace through the blog and real people when we do events – by far the best thing is baking with my friends. And, especially, having Violet as my best friend. I don’t want her to think I don’t have time for her.
‘Never mind,’ she says. ‘I’m looking forward to making those hot cross buns! Are we going next door?’
‘Yeah, let’s.’
We both go down the steps and nip around the little hedge that separates my house from the one next door. I take the key from under the mat and unlock the door. The house used to belong to Rosemary Simpson, an old lady who taught Violet, me, and the other ‘founding’ members of The Secret Cooking Club – Gretchen, Alison and Nick – to cook. We used a special, handwritten recipe book she made for her daughter – the original ‘Little Cook’. Sadly, she died six months ago, and now the house belongs to her nephew, Emory Kruffs MP (also known – by me, anyway – as Em-K). Em-K has been dating Mum for a while now, and usually manages to be on hand to taste the latest free samples made by The Secret Cooking Club.
‘I was thinking we could use chocolate chips instead of raisins,’ I say. ‘Em-K’s coming round later, and he hates raisins.’
‘OK, cool,’ Violet says. Though she’s smiling, for some reason, she seems a little flat, like something’s bothering her.
I lead the way to the kitchen. From the outside of the house, you’d never imagine that it was here. The whole back of the house is a huge kitchen, perfect for a cook, with all the gadgets, appliances and space you could imagine. The cupboards are made of polished wood, and the work surfaces are shiny black granite. There’s also a huge wall of cookbooks, and a long table in the centre that could sit a dozen people. On the fridge is a magnetic sign that we’ve left there out of respect – it says ‘Rosemary’s Kitchen’. The kitchen is more than just a great place to cook. There’s a feeling about the place – a warmth, maybe – and not just from the huge range cooker in the corner. Sometimes when I’m here, I close my eyes and imagine all the delicious smells and tastes that have been created within these walls, as if I was there each time. It may sound naff, but ‘Rosemary’s Kitchen’ is the place where I feel happiest of all.
Treacle, Rosemary’s black cat, jumps out of his basket by the stove and begins to meow. He lives with us now, but he still likes to sleep here. I think our house is a bit too frantic for him most of the time, so he comes and goes as he likes through the two cat flaps on the back doors of the two houses. I put down some food for him, and he swishes his tail and rubs against my leg.
Violet and I put on aprons – red with white polka dots – and wash our hands. She opens up our special recipe book and flips to the page I’ve marked. Violet points to the drawing in the book of the little buns nestled together in a basket. ‘They look so cute,’ she says, ‘like little bunnies.’ She sighs. ‘I love Easter. Or . . . at least, I did when I was little.’
I nod silently. Violet’s parents were killed in a car accident a few years back. Now, she’s living with her Aunt Hilda. She doesn’t talk about it much, but sometimes I catch her staring at nothing. I know she misses them and her old life and I don’t always know what to say to make things better.
‘I used to like Easter too,’ I say, after a moment. ‘My dad used to leave a trail of chocolate eggs and jellybeans all through the house that I’d have to follow to find my Easter basket . . .’ I break off. Dad. I never think about him, and certainly never talk about him. I definitely don’t want to start now.
Violet meets my eyes with a sideways glance. It’s like we’ve both given up a secret without meaning to.
‘Sounds nice,’ she says. ‘Now . . . how much chocolate do you think we should use?’
I think we’re both grateful for the change of subject. We talk through the recipe and I get out the flour, yeast, sugar, egg, spices and butter, while Violet prepares the bowls, spoons and baking trays. We start measuring out the ingredients and putting them into the big ceramic bowl, and I put the milk on the hob to warm up.
Just as I’m about to start mixing, my phone chirps. I go and check it.
‘It’s Nick,’ I say. My stomach does a little flip. Nick Farr was the first boy member of The Secret Cooking Club, and lots of people at school think I’m his girlfriend. We have been out together – seen a couple of films, and a concert with his older brother. I’ve been bowling with his family, and over for dinner a few times. We’ve been for walks where we’ve held hands and talked about random stuff. He has given me a couple of goodnight kisses on the cheek. My insides still feel like treacle whenever I see him, or think about him. But I’ve never heard him call me the ‘g’ word. Sometimes late at night when I’m lying in bed and can’t sleep, I wonder if there’s something wrong – if I’ve misinterpreted things between us. Or maybe I’m doing something wrong. I don’t want to ask Mum, and right now, I don’t want to ask Violet either.
‘Is lover boy coming over to help?’ Violet asks with a mischievous grin.
‘Ha ha,’ I say, reading the text. ‘No. He’s off to his gran’s house.’
‘Shame.’ Violet says.
‘It’s fine.’ I pick up my wooden spoon and we both start mixing, adding the warmed milk gradually and laughing as our spoons crash together. When the dough forms, we divide it in half and begin to knead on the floured kitchen surface.
‘You’re so lucky, Scarlett,’ she says as we work the wet dough.
‘Me?’ I look up, frowning. I know she’s right, but lately, I’m getting a little bit sick of people reminding me of it.
‘Yeah. I mean, your boyfriend is the scrummiest boy in the whole school! And things are good with your mum, right? And then you’ve got The Secret Cooking Club Online – I mean, you’ve already won a junior blogger award!’
I nod, not quite sure where this is going.
She gives me a li
ttle wink. ‘Not to mention getting to sample all those cakes at the charity bake-offs!’
‘Hey,’ I pause, patting my stomach with a flour-covered hand. ‘It’s hard work being a judge.’
‘I’m sure!’ She laughs.
I laugh too, even though I don’t really feel like it. On the outside, everyone thinks my life is happy, and perfect, full of all-you-can-eat baked goods and delicious, healthy dinners. And if I was them, I’d probably think the same thing.
But there’s one thing she said that really bothers me. She said ‘you’ – talking about the blog – not ‘we’. As I tackle the dough I realize she’s put her finger on another niggle, the little throb of guilt that I feel sometimes. I set up the blog as a cool online hub for kids who like to cook and bake. Plus, we were trying to raise money to help a charity for the elderly. I guess it has taken on a life of its own, but we’re all involved with it. Nick and Alison help posting the photos, and Violet and Gretchen help with the recipes and answering the messages that come in. I’m the one who writes ‘The Little Cook’ posts, but I’ve always thought of it as a group effort.
We tip the dough back in the bowl and cover it to rest.
‘I mean, sometimes, I’d love to swap places with you,’ Violet says wistfully.
‘But why? You’re my best friend, and we’re baking together, and we all pitch in with The Secret Cooking Club Online. And as for Nick, well, he’s a good friend. But if he’s any more than that . . .’ I hesitate, ‘you’d have to ask him because I sure don’t know.’
‘Really?’ she says. ‘I thought you two were solid.’ She crosses her fingers in an X.
‘I don’t know. It’s . . . complicated.’ I haven’t confided to Violet – or anyone else – my doubts about Nick and me – if there is a ‘Nick and me’, that is. ‘And anyway,’ I add, ‘you know that what things look like on the surface isn’t always the truth.’
‘Yeah, I do.’ She sighs. I help her get the ingredients out to make the icing for the crosses. Whenever we bake together, I usually leave the decorating to her, because she has the knack for making things look pretty. She measures out the icing sugar and sifts it into a bowl. She adds egg whites, a dash of vanilla, and a teaspoon of boiling water, and whisks the ingredients together.
Confetti & Cake Page 1
