Ross O’Carroll-Kelly: Sorcha did Fake Sincerity as an extracurricular subject in Mount Anville

Claire, from Bray of all places, sticks a plate under my nose and tells me that I should – oh my God – definitely try the kalettes. I ask her, not unreasonably, what the fock are kalettes and Garret, her knob of a husband, says they're a crossbreed between kale and sprouts. In which case, I tell them, I would sooner eat a metre of my own colon.

Yeah, no, the two of them have invited me and Sorcha out to Wheat, Bray, Love – their hipster restaurant on Quinsborough Road – to sample their new menu for autumn slash winter and it's definitely not my idea of a fun night out.

Sorcha's going through the phases, in fairness to the girl. She did Fake Sincerity as an extracurricular subject in Mount Anville. She's like, "Oh my God, they look like sprouts, but they actually taste of, like, kale?"

“Try it with the naive beetroot,” Claire goes, “and some of the deactivated pecans”.

Ricotta: Italian cheese with an Irish twist

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I just roll my eyes – which, of course, Garret ends up seeing.

He’s like, “Yeah, that’d be typical of you, wouldn’t it?”

I’m there, “In terms of?” my two fists tightening.

'Jesus,' I go, 'you're not asking us to crowdfund your Adventures in Eating podcast again, are you? Because the answer is the same as the last time – you can fock right off'

He goes, “You sneer at anyone who dares to be different.”

I'm like, "Says the man with Salvador whatever he's called moustache and the bow tie. You look like a complete orse-end and I seem to be the only one calling you out on it."

Claire tries to change the subject by telling Sorcha to try the yellowfin tuna poké with bitter carrots, unfulfilled ortichokes and disgruntled arugula reduction. Which, of course, Sorcha – the utter sap – does.

“Oh my God,” she goes, “the sesame seeds!”

Claire’s like, “I know – they’re crafted and then frightened.”

"Crafted and frightened?" Sorcha goes. "That's, like, oh my God – isn't it, Ross?"

I’m there, “It seems to be all right.”

I notice a look pass between Garret and Claire then, like they’re about to bring something up.

“So,” Claire goes, “we had, like, an ulterior motive in inviting you here tonight.”

“Jesus,” I go, “you’re not asking us to crowdfund your Adventures in Eating podcast again, are you? Because the answer is the same as the last time – you can fock right off.”

She’s like, “No, it’s not that. Do you remember during the summer when you stayed with us in the mobile home in Ballycanew?”

“Vaguely,” I go.

She’s like, “We went to the pub the first night and we came back and the place had, like, burned to the ground?”

“Yeah, no,” I go, “it’s storting to ring a bell all right.”

She’s there, “The insurance company is refusing to pay out.”

Sorcha’s like, “Oh! My God! Why?”

"It turns out that the fire was started deliberately," he goes. "It was arson."

S**t, I think.

“It was what?” Sorcha goes.

I'm there, "He's trying to say orson. That's just how they talk in Greystones. "

"According to the report from the fire officer," Garret goes, "there was evidence that an accelerant was used. And they think we burned it down for the insurance."

I laugh – a nervous laugh.

“Sorry,” he goes, “do you think this is funny?”

I'm there, "It's just, I don't know, a mobile home in Ballycanew – what was it worth? Two hundred snots?"

He just, like, glowers at me. And that’s when Claire – totally out of left field – goes, “We’re pretty sure we know who burned it down as well.”

I'm there, "You're going to say Honor, aren't you?" totally forgetting the old Hennessy Coghlan-O'Hara saying that you should never admit or deny anything until you've been actually accused. And then you should deny it over and over again. "I'm not going to sit here while you eat, I don't know, locally sourced alpaca burgers with pulled anchovy slaw and slander my daughter's good name. Honor is a lot of things, but she is not an orsonist."

He's like, 'The Guards will find out the truth, Ross. And then you and that daughter of yours will be screwed – as screwed as our screwed gravlax tacos'

She is an orsonist, of course, but she said Ronan showed her how to make it look like an accident. We’ll be having words.

“No one is accusing Honor of anything,” Claire goes.

“Even though she did pop back to the mobile home to get her contact lenses,” Garret goes. “Even though, according to Sorcha, she doesn’t actually wear contact lenses.”

Claire's like, "No, we think it was connected to the business. I was reading this orticle online and it said it was, like, a thing that whenever a restaurant like ours opens up in a neighbourhood, rents suddenly shoot up and the locals get upset. It's happened in, like, Melbourne and Toronto – they've actually burned restaurants like ours to the ground."

“Oh my God,” Sorcha goes, “they think you’re trying to gentrify Bray? But that’s crazy talk!”

Claire’s there, “Well, when we storted doing the artisanal watermelon, foraged spinach and burned cream cheese bruschetta, a man walked in and accused us of messing around with the unknown. I think burning our mobile home was a warning to us that the restaurant will be next.”

“Oh my literally God,” Sorcha goes.

Claire’s there, “Anyway, we reported it to the Gords yesterday and they’re going to investigate it. We just wanted to give you a heads-up that they’ll probably want to interview you.”

Sorcha goes, "Well, we know that you didn't burn it for the insurance money because we were actually there. We'd be only too happy to talk to the Gords, wouldn't we, Ross?"

I’m there, “Er, yeah – we’d obviously want Hennessy present.”

Claire goes, "Thank you. Sorcha, come with me. I want to introduce you to our new chef. He's created this amazing subjugated marrow crumble with channelled sweetcorn and aromatic vermouth jus."

So off to the kitchen they fock, leaving me alone with Garret. He’s just, like, staring hord at me, to the point where I suddenly feel the need to actually say something.

“Well,” I go, “at least you didn’t ask us to crowdfund your stupid focking podcast again. Relief all round.”

He’s like, “I know it was Honor – and I know you put her up to it because you couldn’t bear to spend a week with us.”

“That’s a serious allegation to make,” I go. “Even though that last bit is true.”

He’s like, “The Guards will find out the truth, Ross. And then you and that daughter of yours will be screwed – as screwed as our screwed gravlax tacos.”