My friends and family had been telling me how much things had improved, and the plan was to open our first restaurant, which would be called Roscoffs. We lived with my parents for the first month, and were keen to find a place of our own. Our second daughter was only six weeks old. We bought the place with a 100% mortgage, guaranteed by my parents.
The house was a single-storey, redbrick property with a steep roof, designed so the attic could be converted. There was a kitchen, dining room, living room and study, as well as two bedrooms.
We employed the same contractor to do up the restaurant, but there were problems — he didn’t label any of the switchboards, so when a fuse blew, we didn’t know which switch to flick. We cut a few corners with the way we furnished the restaurant in the early days, and our swivel chairs collapsed under the weight of many a fine-dining judge or barrister.
Our house was everything Jeanne hated in a home. It was modern — about five years old when we bought it — and situated on a suburban estate full of other young couples. It was in walk-in condition, and came with carpets, central heating and other creature comforts that our Californian home hadn’t, but to Jeanne it was characterless. She would have preferred an older, bohemian-style house that seemed interesting and glamorous, even if it was run-down.
In fact, the place suited our needs perfectly. It was warm and dry and possessed a washing machine and dishwasher — appliances that are essential if you have a newborn baby. Compared with our previous accommodation, it seemed almost luxurious. I remember it as a happy house, full of memories of the kids, and us dreaming of owning a restaurant.
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The kitchen was where we spent most of our time. We had a four-ring electric hob and an oven, which was not ideal to cook with, but we managed. The sink overlooked the back garden, where the girls could play while being supervised.
Weather permitting, we used to have barbecues in the garden almost every weekend. We would invite family, friends and colleagues to eat with us, and we would give them leftovers from the restaurant, such as lemon tart or prune-and-almond tart. Food that wouldn’t last until the Monday as well.
We also worked on the first series of Gourmet Ireland in the kitchen. We didn’t have time to be house-proud. If guests were coming, we ran a vacuum cleaner over the place and installed a bunch of flowers — that was the extent of our interior design.
The house was decorated with furniture we shipped from California — most of which came from back-yard sales. They were classic wood pieces, and we still have them.
During the week Jeanne and I were like ships that passed in the night as we juggled long hours in the restaurant with parenting. She would get up at 4am to go to the restaurant to bake the breads and pastries. I would fall in from dinner service at about 1am, and would be up again at about 5am with the baby.
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I played music to wind down. I listened to Motown, Steely Dan, the Doobie Brothers, INXS, Talking Heads, the Doors and David Bowie. The guys in the kitchen introduced me to the likes of Massive Attack and Prefab Sprout. U2’s Achtung Baby was another big soundtrack to that time in my life.
We lived in the house until 1994. During that time we had the attic converted, which added a further two bedrooms. The conversion was done by the guy who did the fit-out for us at Roscoffs. It was rough and ready and kid-proof.
Living in Bangor, we used to take advantage of its proximity to beautiful beaches. Paddling about with the kids, catching crabs and enjoying the fresh air was a great way to unwind. We’ve since moved into Belfast, where we bought an art deco house. Jeanne finally got her wish and has redecorated the property.
Interview by Alanna Gallagher