Page 63 of The Little Board Game Café

‘Then borrow them,’ said Marjory, ‘from your friend Ludek.’

‘We aren’t really speaking at the moment. Peter – my ex – well, he was just dropping me off, but he leaned over and kissed me, and Ludek saw.’

‘Ah,’ said Mr B. ‘That’s very disappointing.’

‘Anyway, he’s very precious about his games. I’m not sure he’d want to lend them.’

‘That’s silly,’ said Marjory. ‘Like people who never use their best china for fear of breaking it.’

‘Or people who have a heart but are afraid to love,’ said Mr B.

Marjory was giggling at his words. Blushing slightly too. They were definitely more than just friends, Emily thought. And good for them. Marjory had been lonely for far too long.

Marjory’s eyes lit up suddenly. ‘I have a plan. This is a fantastic idea, if I do say so myself. We can kill two birds with one stone. The best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Call me old-fashioned, but it worked on my Cecil, God rest his soul. You invite Ludek over for the evening and cook food like his mother would make. And he’ll be so impressed with your cooking, that not only will he forgive you for kissing Peter…’

‘I didn’t kiss Peter. He kissed me,’ Emily said.

‘…but he’ll offer to lend you his board games and fall in love with you as well.’

‘That’s a wonderful idea,’ said Mr B.

Emily sighed. ‘There’s one snag there, Marjory. Ludek’s mother is Polish. And I don’t know the first thing about Polish food.’

‘No, but I do,’ said Mr B. ‘I make the best pierogi in the Pennines.’

*

On Tuesday evening, Mr B’s tiny kitchen became her classroom as he taught her the intricacies of Polish cooking, which involved rather a lot of dough. There was a sweet dough with yeast for the pączki, a type of donut, and a smooth dough of flour, eggs and water for the dumpling-like pierogi.

They rolled out the dough for the pierogi, then he showed her how to stretch it around the filling.

‘Press the edges tightly together so none escapes during cooking,’ he said.

‘Okay.’ It was harder than it looked.

‘I think you mean, “Oui, chef”,’ he said.

‘What?’

‘On MasterChef, the contestants always say, “Oui, chef” to the head chefs.’

Emily threw a tea towel at him.

The pierogi were fiddly and time-consuming, but she grew faster the more she practised. Normally they’d be boiled, but Mr B said that his mother and grandmother had always preferred to fry them. They were tastier that way apparently, so she decided that was what she would do.

They made various fillings, testing them all out on Marjory – mushrooms and sauerkraut, sundried tomatoes with lentils – but settled on the traditional potato and cheese filling. That was the main course sorted.

For dessert, along with the pączki, she was making makowiec which was a poppy seed roll.

‘Two desserts?’ she said. ‘Isn’t that a bit much?’

‘You can give him the leftovers to take home,’ said Mr B.

‘And save a few for us as well,’ said Marjory.

With his eyes bright with excitement, Mr B opened the kitchen drawer and handed Emily a dog-eared piece of yellowing paper covered in spidery handwriting. Of course, it was all in Polish so even if she had been able to decipher the letters, she wouldn’t have understood a word.

‘My late wife Magda’s makowiec recipe,’ he said.