The Ingredients for Happiness

by Lucy Knott

  Amanda smiled at the memory as it wrapped a hug around her heart. It was their first Easter without him, her first Easter in Torta per Tutti and she wanted to make him proud. After her initial breakdown moments before opening her café over a month ago, Amanda had managed to keep her tears at bay. The more she baked for her customers, the more mouths she fed and the more hours she spent in her kitchen, the closer she felt to Grandpa. And with the pastiera laid out before her, she felt especially close to him today and wanted to get them just right.

  When the egg whites formed perfect peaks, she would add them to her ricotta, barley, candied peel, sambuca and egg yolk mix, scoop thick ladles full into each one of her pastry shells, before latticing strips of pastry over the top. They would then go in the oven until golden brown and cinnamon danced in the airwaves.

  ‘How are the eggs looking Lauren?’ Amanda asked over the noise of her handheld whisk. Though her stand mixer was better suited for the rush of the café Amanda wanted to take her time with the pastiera and make it exactly how she made it with Grandpa.

  ‘They’re beautiful. How many more are you needing?’ Amanda glanced over to Lauren’s station where an array of multi-coloured eggs rested on a table cloth to dry, her eyes doing a quick count.

  ‘You can go ahead and dye a couple more and we should be good. Thank you,’ she said, excitement in her tone.

  ‘Can do,’ Lauren replied merrily. The Easter menu had been a hit with the customers so far. Luca and his family at Alfonso’s had all been stars and worked closely with Amanda to aid her in importing the best produce Italy had to offer for her café, and she was still stocked up with the surprise parcel of salamis and cheeses Louisa had sent to her on opening day, but now the counter and windows were piled high with Colomba and Baci and Kinder Easter eggs. The café looked positively Italian and Amanda couldn’t have felt prouder.

  Torta per Tutti was settling into a nice groove where Amanda knew the regulars, the coffee lovers, the cake connoisseurs and the Italiophiles, who she could always count on to Instagram and spread the word about her place being the only place in Manchester to serve the freshest, most exquisite, authentic Italian food. She appreciated their love greatly, especially considering that the main media had chosen to focus on calling the place out for its attention-grabbing media scheme of riding San Francisco Beat’s coat tails and using them to draw people in. Amanda had had her fair share of noses turned down at her from the other local restaurateurs and acclaimed restaurant reviewers. She had heard the rumours that had been circling; most of them to do with Liam coming in and out of the café, (would magazines ever tire of creating drama between couples? They now had a poll on pitting rockstars against electricians.) pictures of Dan with any woman he remotely got within a metre of, and of course Dan arguing with women in the street. (There had indeed been eyes everywhere when Dan had visited the café that night and the media had twisted their discussion in the street to make it look worse than it had been.) She’d had to laugh. Amanda couldn’t lie and pretend it didn’t hurt. It did but speaking with Sabrina yesterday and getting her thoughts off her chest had felt good. She’d seen that the media had been getting to Levi and Sabrina’s relationship and that Sabrina had been letting it control her decisions with the boys, causing it to have a negative effect on not only her own relationship with Dan but Levi and Sabrina’s too. Amanda had finally come clean and expressed her concerns to Sabrina that the media would always say and do what it wanted and people would always think of them what they would, but they could not let it control how they lived their lives. She just hoped that Sabrina would put her foot down with this and speak with City Heights Records so that Dan could come visit her at work and see all the Easter goodness she had put together. She wasn’t exactly angry with Sabrina anymore, but she hoped that it wouldn’t take her sister long to get things sorted. Easter was one of her favourite times of year; she wanted Dan around so that whatever was bothering him with Liam would be put to rest and they could enjoy some family time.

  Glossy white peaks formed before her, whisking her back to reality. This was her café, her pride and joy, she would not let the paparazzi or rumours knock her spirits and take her focus away from it. While she might not be certain of her and Dan’s relationship status or why he had become distant lately, she was ridiculously certain of every baked good that made its way onto her customers’ plates.

  Spring time always brought with it a surge of inspiration, due to this being her favourite time of year for Italian baking, and she couldn’t wait to share the pastiera and casatiello with her customers; especially the customers who had been dropping hints for weeks about the out-of-this-world Italian Easter desserts that they hadn’t had in years since they visited Italy.

  Just looking at the pastiera made Amanda’s heart soar. After combining the egg whites with her barley mix, scooping the mixture into the pastry shells and latticing the tops, Amanda pulled the olive and rosemary focaccia from the oven, replacing them with the pastiera. It would take well into the evening, and both convection ovens, to cook them all, but she had enough goods in the counter to see to it that the late afternoon customers would be fed.

  Content that Lauren was more than capable of dying eggs without her and that the kitchen was relatively tidy, bar her small mess at her station from whipping up the pastiera, Amanda sliced up the focaccia and headed out into the café. Behind the counter and coffee bar, Kate and Francesca were cheerily serving customers and there was a warm buzz in the air.

  ‘I was thinking about putting up your recipe for casatiello on your blog this Friday, so your readers can prepare it for Easter,’ Francesca piped up, after the two women she was serving walked away with a plate of struffoli and a Nutella cupcake.

  ‘Sounds good – it gives them chance to get their ingredients but is simple enough that they can make it Easter morning too. Perfect Francesca, thank you,’ Amanda said with a grateful grin. Francesca, it turned out, was a dab hand at technology and an avid blog reader, Amanda’s being one of her favourites. With Amanda having very little time to spend on her blog these days Francesca had taken over and transformed the café’s Instagram, snapping gorgeous shots of her food and the rustic Italian vibe of Torta per Tutti. She had posted a recipe earlier this week on the blog and had talked with Amanda about sharing them twice a week. She had also replied to comments on the ‘before and after’ café post Amanda had done, that had gained a lot of views. Francesca was creating the vision Amanda had had for herself regarding her community and keeping people connected, and Amanda adored her for it.

  Francesca always made sure to run things by Amanda first, to triple check which recipes Amanda was happy to share, but Amanda trusted her judgement. She was grateful to take a backseat if it meant she could focus on the baking and avoid the headlines for a little while and not have to be the butt of social media jokes between her sisters and Nikki, who got on with Sabrina and Louisa like a house on fire when it came to taking the mick out of Amanda. Those four-way Skype calls had always been a blast for Amanda. Of course, avoiding online headlines was one thing, but journalists and reviewers were everywhere.

  ‘Sweetheart, why do you suddenly look as pale as a sheet?’ Francesca asked, concern etched on her pretty face.

  Amanda watched the man’s movement’s carefully as he surveyed the fully decorated and clean café. Had she made a mistake last time when she kicked him out? Was he actually in cahoots with Jeff or was this man really a bigwig health inspector or secret reviewer ready to take her down? She gulped. Fake news over Dan’s latest fling or Liam being her boyfriend she could handle; health inspectors and restaurant reviewers live and in person she only hoped she could cope with. She sent up a prayer to her grandpa to have her back on this one as her palms grew sweaty.

  ‘Apparently, that man there—’ she pointed in Tom’s direction ‘—is a health inspector or maybe a reviewer, though a real one of either, I’m not quite sure. I thought it was just Jeff trying to scare me a few weeks ago
and so I was a bit abrupt and maybe just a teeny bit sarcastic to him.’ Kate choked on a laugh. ‘You, sarcastic? Never,’ she said through gritted teeth as she smiled at the customer she was serving before turning to Amanda and Francesca. Francesca gently shoved her saying, ‘Shh.’ Amanda smiled and shrugged; her sisters would be high-fiving Kate for that one. Tom was now inspecting an empty table, moving the napkin holder and examining the menu. Amanda groaned, not knowing what to do. She had to get back into the kitchen to warn Lauren and tidy up without drawing attention to herself.

  ‘Hon, you go. I’ll distract him,’ Francesca said, gently pushing Amanda’s arm towards the kitchen door. Amanda nodded and opened the door as gently as she could manage while Tom was distracted by the picture of the Amalfi Coast Amanda had taken from her zia’s balcony in Orzoro. The picture was mesmerizing. It had been evening, the water glistened under the moon’s pearl glow, the only light coming from kitchen windows and the odd streetlight. It was like a smattering of fireflies glowing across the mountains.

  ‘Kate, would you like to take this man’s order?’ Amanda heard Francesca say, as she busied herself with clearing away the odd pots and bowls she had left in the sink and filling in Lauren who was frosting the last batch of lemon cupcakes for the afternoon. The pastieria in the oven were keeping the kitchen nice and toasty and smelling rich with vanilla cinnamon and the lemon added a touch of freshness to the mix. Amanda inhaled deeply to calm her nerves.

  There seemed to be some commotion followed by a clatter out in the café. Amanda heard a screech of a chair and, ‘No, no ladies. I am not here to indulge. I’m here purely for business.’ Tom was apparently protesting Francesca and Kate’s Operation Distract. Just then a light bulb pinged above Amanda’s head and she thanked Grandpa up above for sending her Francesca. She nodded at Grandpa, who she knew was somewhere in the kitchen alongside her (she always felt his presence) and followed Francesca’s lead.

  Amanda held her head high and walked through the double doors into the café. There she was greeted by Kate who had a smile plastered across her face and was stood towering over Tom, who they had managed to get sat down at a table. Kate was going through every cake on offer, explaining to Tom which part of Italy they originated from and which were Amanda’s grandpa’s favourites. Francesca sat beside Tom at the table they had enforced he sat at and was nodding along to the menu, occasionally inputting how authentic the pastries were and how her own Italian grandpa craved them each day, telling him that they gave him a taste of the home he missed.

  Amanda’s heart flared with love for the two women before her. She pinched her cheeks to give them some colour, so she didn’t look too drained from the 4 a.m. starts and carried the tray she had prepared over to them.

  ‘Tom, how lovely to see you again.’ She did her utmost not to sound sarcastic, but it was a struggle – her body felt tense and her toes were curled up in her pumps. She caught Kate smirk and painfully controlled an eyeroll.

  ‘I would love if you got to experience Torta per Tutti properly this time. Here you have a sfogliatella, that Kate here was just telling you about. It’s my nanna’s favourite and was made fresh in the extremely early hours of this morning. Actually, everything before you, the cannolo and olive bread, have all been baked fresh this morning. I have a pastry chef, Lauren, working alongside me, who is incredible. Please dig in and I will fetch you a coffee.’ Amanda didn’t wait for a reply; she had faith that he wouldn’t be able to resist the plate she had placed in front of him, not least because Kate and Francesca were staring at him expectantly.

  By the time she made her way back with a tiny cup of espresso (she used the good ceramic cups, the ones Louisa had sent as a surprise gift in her opening day parcel), Tom had bitten into everything on the plate. ‘Here you go, the finest Kimbo coffee all the way from Italia.’ Amanda said, loosening up a little as the aroma hit her nostrils. Amanda could have sworn Tom’s lips curved up at her as he took the tiny cup.

  He wasn’t exactly mean-looking and he didn’t resemble a weasel like Jeff, but smiling definitely helped his greased back hair, sharp jawline and beady eyes look less menacing. He took a sip of coffee and Amanda stepped back, not wanting to overcrowd him. She gently tapped Kate on the shoulder and nodded at Francesca for them to move away, in hopes that Tom would finish what he had started to eat. She would let the food speak for itself, just like Grandpa would have advised her.

  At that moment, a straggle of women came in, gasping as their eyes took in the photographs on the wall. Kate stepped up to the register to welcome them and Francesca said hello’s and began chatting to them about what they should try. Don’t think of Tom as an intimidating reviewer or inspector, treat him like you would anyone else who walks through that door, Amanda told herself as she watched the ladies, excitement in her bones as they spoke highly of the décor and of the mouthwatering smells.

  Her toes uncurled, her stomach untangled, and her heart slowed back to its steady pace. Tom was human just like the rest of them.

  For the rest of the afternoon Amanda wanted to fill the café with nothing but love and positive thoughts. She would be sure to make them feel like family, as Grandpa would have done, and give them the full Italian experience. She would walk around and offer everyone a piece of the freshly baked Italian focaccia and make sure their coffees were topped up. She would let her guard down just for an hour or two about business and worrying over what Tom might say in some prestigious magazine or online publication. All she could do in this moment was be herself and if Tom didn’t like it, then that would be okay because she did. Words, she noted to herself, that she could do well with telling Sabrina too.

  Amanda picked up the tray of focaccia and a few biscotti and wandered around the café, stopping by each table and offering every person a slice. She engaged with the customers, finding out what they were enjoying from her menu, and learning about holidays they had been on to Italy and how they found out about her. She made mental notes of any tweaks to the menu or requests her customers had; her spirits were lifted with joy that this was what Torta per Tutti was all about.

  As Amanda came upon Tom’s table, she watched him take his napkin off his knee and gently wipe his mouth before placing it on the table next to his empty plate. There was no mistaking the smile on his face. She took a soft step to the side of his table, so as not to frighten him, and offered the plate of focaccia.

  ‘I couldn’t possibly,’ he said with a shake of his head and a wave of his hand. The smile had been replaced by a thin line upon seeing her. Amanda forced hers to stay in place. ‘I’m terribly full,’ he added. Amanda wasn’t sure if it was a good full, a content full, or the food was marvelous kind of full, and no matter her confident pep talk from mere moments ago, she daren’t ask.

  ‘That’s no problem at all. I will wrap a piece up for you to take home. I can’t possibly let you leave without trying some,’ she said, a surge of joy coursing through her knowing that Grandpa would do the same thing. She meandered around the counter, wrapped up two thick slices of focaccia and placed the parcel on Tom’s table, smiling genuinely. His face remained stoic.

  ‘Thank you so much for coming Tom, I truly hoped you enjoyed the food,’ she said, without an ounce of sarcasm. She did hope he forgave her for their last encounter and that the food today had made up for it. He nodded. Amanda did the same. Tom’s lips didn’t budge from the thin line and he made no attempt to engage in conversation. Amanda couldn’t help the sadness that settled in her stomach at the thought of him not having enjoyed her food or the atmosphere. She marveled at how in a room full of laughter, chatter and empty plates, that she would hold this one man’s opinion above the rest; at how negative reviews always seemed to override the positive. But, no, she couldn’t do that, where was that thick skin of hers? And what had Dan told her back in January after they had purchased the café and the nerves had set in?

  ‘Baby, you are not to let what happened at Rusk, with Jeff, or rumours, or the idea of any neg
ative review seep into that wonderful mind of yours. You created your recipes and built the idea for Torta per Tutti from that beautiful mind. Do not allow negativity into your space – just look at all it is capable of when it is filled with love. The right customers will gravitate to you, they will find you. You cannot change based on a bad review or because of the need to please everyone. If you let it change who you are and how you do things, you are giving up your authenticity. The world needs what you have to offer.’

  Dan had been right, of course. Reviews would always be there, good or bad, but what mattered the most was staying true to herself and delivering the best food possible to those who walked through the door. Amanda knew that deep down she had it in her to fill Torta per Tutti with warmth, heart and irresistible food and in turn see it succeed for the long haul. She couldn’t dwell on her fears of Jeff sabotaging her again or the San Francisco Beat media fiasco that called her café a phony – the people that understood what Torta per Tutti was all about would find her and make it their home.

  Thinking of Dan, her chest tightened. She missed him and hoped that things would get back to normal soon. The café was brimming with people and the counter nearly empty. She excused herself from Tom with a smile and went to check on her pastiera. Before she walked through the double doors, she couldn’t help glance back at Tom with curiosity; anxious to see if he picked up the wrapped focaccia. He did. Amanda hummed a satisfied hum as she pushed open the kitchen door.

  The smell of pastiera caused a wave of delight to wash over her. She picked her phone out of the bowl she had reserved for knick-knacks – to keep her kitchen tidy and the worktops free of electronics, pens and bits of paper – and exhaled the tension that had been building between her and Dan and his more recent reservations when speaking to her. With the whirlwind that was flour, eggs and butter from the moment she woke up in the morning, maybe she hadn’t been the best at putting Dan’s mind at ease when it came to his jealousy over her relationship with Liam. Amanda hadn’t meant to frighten him, but Dan questioning her loyalty to him was something she hadn’t been prepared for and it seemed to have come out of nowhere. Dan oozed confidence with the ladies, which wasn’t something Amanda had gauged from the media, but through the man she had gotten to know over the years and been witness to when with him and the boys in San Francisco. It came from the late-night phone calls discussing dates and girlfriends and his manner always being so chilled and laidback when recalling such events with her. Whatever skeletons had gotten to him now, maybe she needed to do her part in helping to diminish them like he so often did for her insecurities.