What do you get if you send a man who would struggle to boil an egg, a proud carnivore and a mum whose two-year-old has somewhat sapped her energy in the kitchen on a vegetarian cookery course at Howth's The Kitchen in the Castle?

Cooking is cool. Cooking is popular and cooking is fashionable. Walk into any book shop and shelves are lined with celebrity cooking tomes. Turn on your TV and you'll happen across any number of cooking shows. It is, quite probably, the new rock'n'roll. Now that we're in the worst depression this side of a Morrissey convention, home cooking is on the rise -- it's cheaper, healthier and tastier than the fare that many restaurants serve. So, we decided to send three of writers of differing culinary abilities to The Kitchen in the Castle Cookery School in Howth, north county Dublin, to see what -- if anything -- they'd learn from the experience ...

I am an appalling cook. The only reason I have a kitchen is because it came with the house. It is the least used room in my modest abode. In fact, I've only been in it a few times to do anything other than fetch a beer from the fridge or boil the kettle. (The plastic wrapping may even still be on the oven. I'll check the next time I take a wrong turn and end up in there.) If I am left to fend for myself for any length of time, I'll usually revert to ringing the local pizza delivery company, the staff of which I see so often I consider them close friends.

So when I was asked to do a cookery course, my default setting of cynicism evaporated rapidly. Even when I learned it was a vegetarian course -- a way of life and diet that I had hitherto considered pointless -- I was still determined to give it a shot. After all, my son can cook better than me and being upstaged by a six-year-old takes its toll on any man's ego.

Despite informing them in advance of my absolute inability to cook anything much beyond the books, the teachers at The Kitchen in the Castle -- Howth's answer to the Ballymaloe Cookery School -- Edwina and Margaret were ridiculously patient and said that my lack of experience wasn't necessarily a bad thing as long as I was prepared to make an effort.

And make an effort I did. In the early stages of the day, I made an admirable attempt to contravene the accepted laws of physics by burning water. Margaret, displaying a serenity that would leave John the Baptist in the ha'penny place, decided that my talents best lay in chopping stuff up.

While the logic of allowing me to play with a sharp knife is dubious, there are few things that give men-folk a greater sense of purpose than cutting up dead things with a blade -- even if they are vegetables.

My main problem with cooking is that it looks so bloody easy. Follow the instructions, leave everything simmering, sprinkle some herbs on and reap the dividends. But it's the multi-tasking which gets me.

Even though some of the best chefs in the world are male, there is something about keeping an eye on a couple of pots that sends me and most blokes I know into a tizzy.

Perhaps sensing my apprehension at keeping an eye on more than two rings and remembering when a tray of aubergines had to come out of the oven -- a stream of expletives and the unmistaken odour of burning may have been the giveaway -- Margaret finally arrived at the conclusion that I'd not be rivalling Jamie Oliver in the kitchen-confidential stakes any time soon.

Not willing to admit defeat, she decided that I would master at least one dish that I could introduce into my pizza-heavy diet. A tomato sauce seemed to offer the best hope of redemption. Quick, simple (relatively speaking, anyway) and it'll keep in the fridge for up to a week. Ten minutes later, after blending some tomato, garlic and olive oil, the sauce tasted pretty edible. And it wasn't half as difficult as I expected.

Of course, the best part of the day was sitting down and eating all the food we'd prepared. The others were even vaguely complimentary about the sauce. A couple of days later, I tried to make it again. Admittedly, it didn't taste as nice as the one that I made in The Kitchen in the Castle. But at least I didn't burn the house down. Now that's progress.

I've loved to cook ever since I was a snapper pulling at me mammy's apron strings, demanding to lick the bowl. However, having the sweetest tooth known to man means that over the years I've concentrated my efforts on making cakes and desserts. Although I've been veggie for well over a decade, to be honest I've been pretty lazy about expanding my current repertoire of Spanish omelette and Quorn del oven.

So when I saw that The Kitchen in the Castle cookery school was running a full-day course entitled Vegetarian Summer, I thought it would be a good way of breaking out of my culinary comfort zone. Of course, when you come up with a good idea, you're bound to get hangers on, so Garreth and Paddy were also thrown into the mix.

I'm naturally a competitive person, but with Garreth being a total novice and Paddy threatening to smuggle in a chicken, I didn't feel I had too much to prove.

I'll admit, not all of it went according to plan. First our courgette fritters were a bit wonky, then our chocolate macaroons turned out like pancakes. I don't want to point the finger, but myself and Paddy were on whisking duty and while I can vouch for my own efforts, all I'll say is the stiffness of his egg whites left a lot to be desired.

Being used to cooking with a two-year-old attached to my leg, it was nice to have the time to focus totally on what I was doing.

To be fair, the lads did well. Paddy recovered from the macaroon debacle and proved himself a dab hand with a knife, and when I looked over at Garreth he seemed to be keeping things together.

The best part of the day was lunch, when we ate everything that we had made that morning, washed down with wine. The food was so delicious that it was quite an effort to haul our asses back to work.

By the evening, we had chalked up yet more delights, which were once again laid out to enjoy. However, with all my 'testing' throughout the day, I had to forego round two and content myself with the visual feast of our afternoon's efforts.

In short, I cooked, I learned, I ate, I drank wine, and I had a lot fun. No complaints.

The recipes were easy and a damn sight more interesting than what I normally cook. Last Sunday I dazzled my mother (also a veggie) with aubergines stuffed with feta and pinenuts served up with asparagus and roasted red peppers -- she was pretty impressed and frankly, so was I.

Vegetarians huh? To me, they were always long-haired, lettuce-eating layabouts. What's wrong with meat, ya freaks? I never understood them. I'm a fully fledged meat eater. Of the carnivorous sort, just in case there are sniggers from the cheap seats. I was born under the star sign of Leo and I can't think of anything tastier than a T-bone steak or a leg of lamb with some favre beans and a nice Chianti.

Over the last few years, I've become quite fond of cooking. My father-in-law's a wizard in the kitchen and I thought it only right that I follow in his footsteps to keep his and my princess (my missus) content in her culinary needs. I'm competitive too, so my food has to taste better than his, but he is so much more experienced. I was in need of help.

Then, out of the blue my editor asked me to go back to school. "Noooooooooo, is my grammar all bad?" I asked. "Actually Paddy, it's cookery school," said the boss. "Hang on a second, this just might work," I said to myself. "Eh, it's a vegetarian cookery school? Ahh come on, you're having a laugh, vegetarians don't cook! How can I beat the masterchef himself with bleedin' vegetables?"

I was reluctantly packed off to The Kitchen in the Castle in Howth which is run by Edwina St Lawrence. She's not a vegetarian and understood the stereotypes I had in my head. She was going to change all that. Yeah right, good luck there missus.

We were to cook ten meals that day and there wasn't a hint of blood or animal death anywhere to be seen in her gloriously huge and spotless kitchen, except for the enormous antlers of an Irish elk that hung on the wall. They were found on the grounds of the castle and dated back to 3,000 BC. We couldn't tell if he was killed for food or died because of his vegetarian diet, but he did have a name, Elvis. Who, ironically enough, loved burgers.

We begun by making rhubarb ice-cream without using an ice-cream machine. This was a very clever start and the day continued in this vein. I won't go into detail on every meal as I think you should experience the day for yourself, but everything we made tasted like a little piece of heaven. The great thing about this cookery school is that you get to eat everything you make, so if you make a balls of things, it's your fault that the food tastes crap.

I had left the house a vegetarian sceptic and I returned a vegetarian sympathiser and acceptor. I will continue to cook with meat but I now have a few more strings to my bow in the kitchen department. In your face, father-in-law. In your face.

The Kitchen in the Castle run a range of cookery courses, from evening demonstrations to full day, hands-on classes. They also run special courses for children. www.thekitcheninthecastle.com Tel: 01 839 6182

- Garreth Murphy, Sinead Fagan and Paddy Courtney