Lucy Knott - The Ingredients for Happiness

‘Sorry Lou, but come on, you’re going to kick butt at the showcase and my café will hopefully still be here when you’re able to come and visit,’ Amanda said. Louisa noted the slight wobble in her voice though Amanda tried to keep her voice strong. Louisa imagined her sister had plenty to be anxious about with opening her café so she didn’t want to sulk too much or burden her sister with feeling bad about not being able to get to Italy as soon as she had hoped.

‘Sounds good, Amanda. I’m certain it will be. They will be queuing for miles to get a taste of your food,’ Louisa said, a touch spritelier.

‘Thank you, Lou. Right, give my love to that Italian god of yours and I’ll catch you soon.’ They hung up after a chorus of love yous and Louisa willed herself to focus on the task of the disobedient hemline instead of the pity party her brain was conjuring up over not being able to be in two places at once.

*

‘ Amore , you are tired no?’ Giulia’s perfectly shaped brows were creased in concern as she took in Louisa. Louisa had spent the past few hours trying to get the correct hemline on her lace piece, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was going to be missing out on a big day in her sister’s life.

In comparison to Giulia, who rivaled Sophia Loren with today’s choice of updo and fitted black dress with blood-red kitten heels, Louisa’s eyes were now dreary, her concealer creased from squinting and wiping at her eyes too much. She had kicked off her heels two hours ago and the chill that ran through her bones over what she was feeling had lent itself to her grabbing one of Luca’s giant hoodies that now hid her demure blouse.

‘ Si, ma I’ll be okay,’ Louisa smiled at Giulia. Giulia wandered over to the dress Louisa had been working on and allowed her hands to caress the material as she studied Louisa’s work.

‘ E bella . These judges at the showcase are going to be blown away by your pieces,’ Giulia breathed, in admiration of the outfit. Louisa felt inspired by Giulia; everything from her Italian fashion, the way her words came out like a song when she spoke and her girl boss attitude, made Louisa love her that little bit more. She could see so much of Luca in her and was starting to understand their family traits. Since starting work with Giulia a month ago, she had been taken aback with her kindness, her relaxed yet businesslike manner and how much passion she had for her work. It was contagious and something she also caught when spending time with Luca. Their upbeat attitudes and joy of both life and work had been rubbing off on Louisa. Compared to the stress of her old nine-to-five reception job – the harassed looks on her co-workers faces and the constant countdown for the weekend – working with Giulia was complete bliss. Every day was cause for a celebration of amazing food and adventure. Louisa felt calmer than she had ever felt and truly more motivated with her creations.

Giulia stepped back from the garment Louisa had been working on and looked up at the clock.

‘We must get going,’ Giulia said with a sweet smile, the clock having moved to ten past four. It was family time now or time to grab a coffee with friends or prepare the dinner. Work for the day was done, if Louisa could call it work; she loved what she did. As Giulia stepped back, Louisa noticed the pins on her hem had moved. She did a double take as she watched Giulia move towards the door and she herself grabbed her bag. Casting another look at her dress before she followed Giulia’s shouts of ‘ Viene , viene , come, come,’ she shook her head. The woman was like her guardian angel sent down by Grandpa to guide Louisa and put her on the right path.

With the hemline now perfect and ready to be sewn in the morning, it gave Louisa a sense of purpose. She appreciated this opportunity that Giulia had given her; she needed to focus on what she was doing and the passion she had inside her and not what she was missing back home. She had given up too easily last time on her fashion dreams at university; now she needed to face the fears of being away from her family and not run back home the minute it got tough.

Ingredients:

1 sachet of yeast

1 cup warm water

1 tsp salt

1 tsp sugar

Sprinkle of fennel seeds

1/3 cup of olive oil

3 ½ cups of Tipo 00 flour

What to do:

Place warm water, salt, sugar and yeast in a bowl. Mix and allow to sit for fifteen minutes.

Add your flour, fennel and olive oil and another dash of salt for more flavour.

Allow to rise for at least an hour, covered under a tea towel and in a warm spot. (Grandpa sometimes placed near radiator.)

Roll out. (You can use a rolling pin or just manipulate it with your hands to make your rectangle shape and prod with your fingers to flatten it. No harm getting stuck in and it makes it more rustic.)

Cover with tea towel on baking sheet for twenty minutes, drizzle with a touch more olive oil, then bake at 180 degrees for 20–25 minutes, until crisp and golden.

When they had returned from Italy in the New Year, Amanda had been a ball of energy – a woman on a mission and a force to be reckoned with. She and Dan had buried themselves in newspapers and estate agent windows, as well as tirelessly wandering the streets of Manchester looking for the perfect location for her café. She was now standing in front of that perfect location, terrified of going inside.

The paperwork had been straightforward, though Amanda had certainly been glad of Dan’s presence. As was the case with her blog and social media, she wasn’t one for reading the fine print, editing, or patience – she just wanted to get in and create her vision. But once the paperwork had cleared, Dan had joined Sabrina and the boys back in LA and Amanda was left to face the task of building a café from the ground up, with no previous experience, knowledge, or known skills when it came to flooring, shop-fitting or that of plumbing or electrical matters. Her dream had quickly turned into a shambles.

The door creaked open and she made a mental note to remember to get WD40 on it sooner rather than later. She stepped over the threshold with her eyes closed and breathed in the smell of plastic and a subtle burning scent. ‘Oh god, what’s that?’ she said out loud. She flicked the light switch and opened her eyes, but nothing happened. When she flicked it again, she heard a click and a hiss and the wire that was dangling from the ceiling sent out a spark. She quickly pulled her phone from her pocket and turned on its flashlight. Newspaper covered the floor in addition to a layer of dust, and the plastic-covered tables and chairs were piled high to one side. The newly painted walls were splotchy, with paint having made its way onto the skirting boards and light fixtures. The place was a mess.

‘Okay Amanda,’ she told herself, ‘you have to fix this. When the electrician comes today, he needs to know that this won’t do, and that you need your kitchen up and running this week.’ She carefully treaded over the newspapers to put her bag down on the bar, still using her phone for light when it started ringing. Her dad’s name appeared on the screen.

‘Hi Dad,’ Amanda answered, as chirpily as she could. ‘How are you?’ She went to lean on the counter but thought better of it with the dust and grime present in a thick layer, so instead hovered by it awkwardly.