A CHEF'S CHRISTMAS:I HAVE HAD enough of this air of depression for one year, thank you very much. It got to the stage where I stopped watching the TV in case I saw the news and stopped listening to the radio in the morning. It was all too dispiriting – either that or my blood pressure would soar dangerously upon hearing of the latest round of incompetence and greed from our elected representatives.

I don’t want you to think that I was fiddling away while Rome burned or anything like that. Quite the opposite in fact. Our cookery school is just over a year old, and I can say without hesitation that 2009 has been the most challenging year since we opened our doors at the Tannery almost 13 years ago.

On the one hand, my wife Máire and I realised our dream to open a school – and it is everything we could have wanted and more, with seven extra bedrooms bringing our total rooms to 14. Not quite the Hilton, but enough to keep us going. We also oversaw the renovation of a sizeable walled garden adjacent to the cookery school that turned from a part-time hobby to a full-scale enterprise.

The extra staff we optimistically took on to help us cope with the workload were let go with great regret very early on in the year, so we had to run the restaurant and also put our energy into making an impact in our new cookery school premises.

Potential courses and course titles were hatched over glasses of wine in the small hours after work. The website needed a complete overhaul and Máire embraced this, along with Facebook, blogging and twittering, with a zeal only matched by her enthusiasm for shopping. Along with all of this, we have our four-year-old and almost three-year-old girls, who needed and deserved our attention more than anything else.

Because I had to let chefs go, my serene existence as a kind, patriarchal food guru was replaced by a tired and grouchy boor who, having taught students for the day, had to trot in an ungainly manner down the street into the restaurant to toil over the stoves. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I can safely say there were points where I just couldn’t see the light. It felt as though we were drowning in work and stress.

All the time though, I knew deep down there was plenty to be happy about. The cookery school – although not bursting at the seams – was respectably busy. The restaurant was holding its own, and having the 14 bedrooms, while this entailed extra work, meant we could maximise our return during the summer and store up reserves for winter.

For me, the cookery school was a completely different kind of work. It turns out I am enjoying teaching and meeting lots of very nice people – who knew? Many chefs are not adept at social graces. Put them in a party situation and he or she is most likely to be the one going over the top with the drinking, dancing and general debauchery. We don’t seem to have that little chef inside that tells us when to stop, or “don’t even think about saying that”. The simple fact is that in our world, overdoing things is a natural stress buster.

I have always been wary of the chef that descends upon tables, fishing for compliments, but that, of course, was the old me. Now I am Mr Showbiz, watching my Ps and Qs, but still trying to cajole, endear, entertain and educate. If I get lower than a 9/10 on our feedback forms after a course, I’m troubled for hours afterwards, wondering if I should have handled that person with a little more care, or not have made that witty quip in their direction.

Through all of this, our loyal staff have stuck with us. Davy, my head chef, has put up with my moods, although I know that at times he has wanted to grab me in a headlock and squeeze very tightly.

But then we have Sunday nights. This is when I am enveloped in a world of pink. This is the world of an adoring father and his daughters. You hope you don’t overindulge them, but naturally you do, for they possess an inbuilt ability to manipulate, delight and frustrate you at every turn. The younger one will not kiss me if there is any trace of stubble and will inspect my face in forensic detail with her tiny fingers before succumbing to my embrace. The other is obsessed by clothes. God only knows what lies ahead of us.

Then there’s the food. I reached points during the year when I felt I just couldn’t cook any more. Not terminally, but just for a day or two. Cooking so much in the restaurant turned me off cooking at home, so a lot of takeaways were ordered. Then, of course, it always comes back to that sense of food as fodder. Eating mundane food that you could easily make at home for a fraction of the price. Bad food just makes me unhappy, I suppose. I look to food for solace and comfort and an enjoyable way to be with my favourite people.

It has been a year where we hardly saw our friends. We entertained at home only once, yet that’s what we are about, feeding people. We throw great parties. The dancing that has taken place in our kitchen at home is the stuff of legend, where very old friends and customers that have become new friends, vie for the limited space by busting some very dodgy moves.

So this Christmas season we want to lift the sullen sense of despair that has enveloped everyone. We are going to put up bigger and brighter decorations, play the cheesiest Christmas music and celebrate Christmas like the old days. We are opening for lunch on Christmas Eve for the first time in years. It might be prosecco instead of Champagne, but who cares? We are all still here. I might just wear a terrible Christmas jumper, festooned with reindeers in true middle-aged dad style.

But what about the food? Cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, brandy, port, mulled wine, candied oranges, steaming hot apple puddings, slow roast duck with allspice, gently braised red cabbage, oozing baked cheeses with grilled figs . . . I might even succumb to the traditional turkey, something I try to avoid, but ultimately cave in to the will of the people. Will I poach the ham in cider before I bake it? How about the stuffing – fancy or plain? So much to think about.

I always threw a sceptical eyebrow to heaven when people rang inquiring about Christmas menus in the middle of October. Now I understand. Roll on Christmas, the parties, the glitter and laughter. We need it. We got through this year – we will get through the next.

These are some Christmas recipes that I have gathered and adapted over the years – all of which make an appearance at some stage in our home over Christmas.

Quail eggs with celery salt

400g peeled, grated celeriac

400g rock sea salt

quail eggs

Start early with this one, you’ll need to wait two days to use the flavoured salt. Mix the salt and celeriac together. Put this in a plastic container and cover it. Leave it in the fridge for two days, then lay out the mixture on an oven tray and bake on a gentle heat for about two to three hours, until thoroughly dried out and crisp. Check frequently to ensure it doesn’t burn. Crush the dried salt and celeriac in a Magimix, or with a mortar and pestle. This will keep for ages in an airtight container.

Cook the quail eggs for two-and-a-half minutes, having immersed them in gently boiling water, then cool them under running cold water. Dip the eggs in the celery salt before eating.

Goats’ cheese, cranberries and figs on toast (serves six)

6/8 fresh figs, cut into pieces

2 tbsp balsamic vinegar

1 tbsp good cranberry sauce

150g soft mild goats’ cheese

3 tbsp chopped chives

12 good-sized slices of toasted ciabatta

Place the figs in a frying pan with the balsamic vinegar. Cook over a medium heat for two minutes, until they are glazed. Add the cranberry sauce and cook for another two minutes till the figs are very sticky.

Mix the goats’ cheese with the herbs and spread on the toast. Top with the warm, sticky fig mixture and serve.

Cinnamon-rubbed quail with pomegranate salad (serves six as starter or three as main course)

50g salted butter, softened

6 whole quail

3 sticks cinnamon

½ tsp ground cinnamon

½ tsp ground cumin

2 pomegranates

100g watercress, or other firm green salad leaf

2 tbsp roughly chopped mint

Preheat the oven to 190 degrees/gas five. Rub the butter all over the quail and place a knob of butter and a cinnamon stick inside each. Mix the ground cinnamon and cumin together and sprinkle over the quail. Put in a dish and roast for 30 minutes, or until the juices run clear. Leave to rest for 10 minutes. Roll the pomegranates on the worktop, pressing firmly with your hand, then cut them in half and bash out the seeds with a wooden spoon. Arrange the salad and mint on six plates, place the quail on top and sprinkle with the pomegranate seeds.

Roasted winter vegetables with chestnuts and spiced creme fraiche (serves four to six)

4 pre-cooked beetroot, cut into quarters

1 large carrot

1 parsnip

1 small squash or turnip

4 tbsp olive oil

1 tsp coriander seeds

1 tsp cumin seeds

200mls creme fraiche

Drizzle of honey

Finely grated rind of one orange

12 pre-cooked chestnuts

Preheat the oven to 220 degrees/gas seven. Cut the carrot, parsnip and squash or turnip into two-centimetre chunks, cutting the thicker part of the parsnip and squash in half so as to keep them as similar in size to the carrots as possible. Tip them into a roasting tray and add the olive oil, tossing to coat, then season to taste. Roast for 20 minutes, turning once or twice to ensure they all cook evenly.

Meanwhile, roast the coriander and cumin seeds in a frying pan for a couple of minutes to bring out their flavours. Transfer them to a pestle and mortar and pound as finely as you can. Place the creme fraiche in a small serving bowl and stir in the ground spices. Cover with cling film and set aside in the fridge to allow the flavours to combine.

Remove the vegetables from the oven, drizzle the honey over them and sprinkle the orange rind on top. Toss gently until they are evenly coated, and then cook for another three to four minutes, or until the vegetables are completely tender and lightly caramelised.

Remove them from the oven and allow to cool for about five minutes, then stir in the beetroot and chestnuts and season to taste. Serve with a dollop of spiced creme fraiche on top.

Hot poached pears with cinnamon, cloves and honey, served with gingerbread cream (serves six)

6 firm ripe pears

Half a lemon

1 bottle of red wine

1 cup of water

2 cinnamon sticks

8 cloves

Pared rind of an orange

2 tbsp honey

Peel the pears carefully and rub the cut side of the lemon over them to stop them turning brown. Place them in a stainless steel- or enamel-based saucepan so that they sit snugly together. Pour the red wine and the water over them and add the orange rind, cinnamon sticks, cloves and honey. Bring to the boil and then turn down the heat to simmer for 35 to 45 minutes. Remove the fruit with a draining spoon and put in a serving dish in a warm place. Turn the heat up full and reduce the liquid in the pan until it is thick. Strain the sauce before pouring into a serving jug to serve with the pears.

Gingerbread cream

150ml cream

A good slice of Jamaican gingerbread, crumbled

Whip the cream with a little sugar, then crumble the gingerbread through it.

Tannery Restaurant and Cookery School is in Dungarvan, Co Waterford. See tannery.ie, tel: 058-45420