Recipe for success at Nevin's cookery school

Mine was the counter towards which Ms Moynihan would direct a cursory glance and a disapproving shake of the head a month out from the Junior Cert Practical. There was no saving me now. I was never going to make it as a chef.
She was vice principal at the time and, boy, she could use her voice when she needed to but, to her eternal credit, she gave up on me at Christmas when I nuked the queen cakes. Come to think of it, I’m still unsure whether the wipes she handed me when the bell rang for big lunch were for the mess on my face or the one left after me on the table.