Carrots – yes ways – three ways

Foreword

This post first appeared in 2015, and since then, the recipes have gone through a number of developments/iterations/whatever word you’d like to choose.  Originally, it was carrots, two ways.  Now, I’ve added a third.

Growing carrots

One of our earlier harvests – around 2104

Our soil is rocky and very clayey.  Certain root vegetables grow, but very differently from what one would expect.  Short and stubby or a bit twisted, so they’re right at home.

However, working the garden the last eight ten or so years (with a break thanks to the drought and other crud), has improved the soil quality:  fewer stones helped along with our own compost and locally sourced manure.  Of course, crop rotation – a necessity – also helps.  Carrots are a crop we can grow all year round – with patience.  They are a slow crop.  They are also versatile because they are great for eating raw and cooked;  hot or cold; in salads and as sides.

Putting up my hand

Let me nail my colours to the mast.  Again.  I am not a fan of the local traditional carrot salad which is just too sweet, or the salad of finely shredded carrots with pineapple and raisins.  They are in the same category as coleslaw – with slightly less vehemence.

As happens when there are two of you, and a crop is ready to harvest, the choice of accompaniments for meals becomes somewhat restricted.  We go through patches of wonderful (and ongoing) crops of carrots, but there is a limit to the number of carrot sticks one can eat.

But now –

I can get quite creative with carrots and love growing heirloom ones of different colours.

Carrots make great table decor. Especially with my bunnies which often graced the Sunday Supper table.

A word to the wise:

Don’t be conned by the lovely colours of heirloom carrots:  I thought they’d make my pretty pickle extra pretty. Well, they did, until the colour faded into the pickling brine…overnight!

“No!” to the death boil

I definitely don’t do boiled carrots.  I had too many of them as a child – boiled to death, they were.

A few years’ ago, thanks to celebrity chef, Jamie Oliver, I learned about finishing carrots off in the oven.

I subsequently found the recipe, by which time the practice of parboiling* and finishing off in the oven, had become a Fiona SOP.  I have to agree with his sentiment that the practice makes the carrots “meatier”;  it certainly does intensify the flavours and it’s become my favourite way of preparing carrots – whether they have the full Oliver treatment or not.

* save and freeze the water you drain off – for gravy or vegetable stock

Photo: Selma

The “pukka” Oliver treatment involves orange, herbs, butter and garlic.  Of course.  Bung them in a pot with some salted water, bring to the boil for about 10 minutes.  Drain and spread on a baking tray with butter (or olive oil), squeeze the orange juice over the carrots, doing the same with the garlic.   Now, whack that into a pre-heated oven for about 15 minutes.  Serve hot or cold. With extra herbs.

I have also created variations – with or without the oranges and herbs – used my spicy plum jam as a glaze and served them cold with blue cheese on a bed of rocket (arugula).

Rocket and me

Contrary to popular opinion, I’m not overly fond of hot, peppery stuff and for years I really didn’t like rocket in anything other as one of the leaves in a green salad.  When it was the vogue to have rocket with everything, I was often found to be picking it out of my salad or asking for an alternative.  Yes, I can be that customer, and if it can’t be done, I’ll find an alternative restaurant dish.

Then, a few years ago we visited Babylonstoren and toured the garden.  I left with their book which is less about recipes than it is about ingredients and combinations that work.

Among these was beetroot with rocket and goat’s cheese (chevin to be precise).-It’s become another favourite combination.  The sweetness of the beetroot works really well with the pepperiness of the rocket, rounded off with the saltiness of the cheese.

That combination gave me the idea of trying carrot with rocket as I did for this dish – and with the saltiness of blue cheese.

 

Monster rocket leaf from the garden

I am now a whole lot more adventurous open to recipes that include rocket and am now exceedingly annoyed if anyone tampers with my self-sown rocket plants.  Because, theoretically, once you have rocket, you always have rocket.  Unless someone frantically weeds it all out.  This monster plant survived the last weeding frenzy.

Which brings me back to carrots.

Going back some a few years, I built a stash of carrot recipes, many of which I’d rejected or not tried. Because, well, just because.  Then, because of Sunday Suppers, and because I keep an eye open for dishes that are vegan and vegetarian-friendly, I have a somewhat different lens.

Among the recipes is one with almonds, olives and cranberries.  Yes, you guessed right:  with rocket as more than garnish.

I gave it a go.  It’s a winner.

The best carrot salad(s)

Carrot salad with rocket, almonds and olives

What makes this salad best of all, is its versatility and with various additions or subtractions, it can form a main course for either vegetarians or vegans. What’s more, it stores well so one can make it ahead of time.

In summary:  roast the carrots, slivered almonds, garlic and salt and pepper.  Set them aside and then combine with pitted olives.  Serve on a bed of salad (and rocket) leaves dressed with apple cider vinegar and honey, or spicy plum jam. Garnish with more rocket leaves and flowers.

In a jar – better storage and/or for a picnic

Regular readers and followers of my Insta feed know that I have a stall at the Saturday morning market in McGregor.  Last winter, I resumed my soup offering (which had ground to a halt because I served the soups at Sunday Suppers).  Now the seasons are changing and the weather’s warmer, soup’s not quite so popular and instead of ditching the jar idea, I am now offer either a seasonal soup, salad or meal in a jar. This wasn’t the first – that was the Butternut and Lentil salad that everyone raves about.

Remember I said that this salad stores well?

It really does. It also looks very pretty in jars.  I sold a few at the market and those I didn’t, I stored in the fridge.  As a test.  The rocket leaves stayed crisp, for a full seven days. That makes it a great market/street food product and a winner for the busy person who plans and prepares ahead.

The full, recipes are available to download here.

Oh, and if you do download the recipes, buy me a coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine….?

Post script:

The spicy plum jam to which I refer, is a condiment I’ve been making for a number of years.  I did share the recipe, and that post, like so many others, went the way of an erstwhile website host.  A new post – with the now tried and trusted recipe – will appear during (or after) plum season.  I shall be making more.

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma

Post script
If this post might seem familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:

  • re-vamping old recipes. As I do this, I am adding them in a file format that you can download and print. If you download recipes, buy me a coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine….?
  • and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts.

I blog to the Hive blockchain using a number of decentralised appplications.

    • From WordPress, I use the Exxp WordPress plugin. If this rocks your socks, click here or on on the image below to sign up.

    • Join Hive using this link and then join us in the Silver Bloggers’ community by clicking on the logo.
Original artwork: @artywink
    • I also share my occasional Instagram posts to the crypto blockchain, Hive, using the new, and really nifty phone app, Dapplr. On your phone, click here or on the icon, and give it a go.

A pretty pickle

I’m in a pickle:  I have been revamping a post from a while ago.  About carrots.  After creating a variation of a salad I’d done before and I wanted to add it.  I discovered not only that it had disappeared, but the references to other posts no longer worked.  Not because they were wrong, but rather because the posts no longer existed. Like this one.

A bit of a pickle.

And pickles need time.  And revamping posts take time.  Especially when one realises how far one has come in the nearly five years since the original post in 2016.  Water under the bridge, as they say.

However

The McGregor Board offering at the 2015 McGregor Food and Wine Festival

Another reason for revisiting this is keeping my promise to “pretty up” the recipes and make them available to download in a printable format.  The pickle (the real one) that’s the subject of this post, has become one of my “signature” products at the local market.  I first made them for the McGregor Food and Wine festival in 2015.  It no longer happens…and which is only partly attributed to the dreaded C-lurgy.  Since that first effort, I’ve adapted the recipe slightly and learned a few things.

Colourful Pickled Vegetables

The 2021 fennel seed harvest

When I decided to have a stall at the Food and Wine Festival that year, I wanted to do something different.  But something that would work on a ploughman’s platter and, of course, with wine.  I was not going to do picalili.  I’m not a fan.

I’ve adapted this from a quick pickle recipe and, to be honest, the end result is better because, well, at the risk of repeating myself:  pickles take time.  The brine includes a number of different herb and spice seeds, like cumin, coriander, mustard and fennel.  This last comes, in abundance, from the garden.  Among other essential ingredients are garlic, ginger onions and apple cider vinegar.  And turmeric.

Which vinegar, and why

I’ve used both white wine and apple cider vinegar for this pickle.  I now tend to stick with the latter:  it’s a softer vinegar and better flavoured.  Oh, and also this brine makes a great addition to a vinaigrette if you retain it after you’ve eaten the pickles.

Vegetables

One of the challenge of this pickle is that not all the vegetables one needs are in season at the same time. Here, carrots are available and grow all year round;  the cauliflower is a winter crop and the bell peppers, spring and into summer.   Consequently, and  sometimes, I do fiddle with the ratios and with the cauliflower is the base vegetable.  The turmeric turns it a lovely golden colour.

The quantities are hard to work out exactly, but there is more cauliflower than other bits – the ratios are more important.

Packing the jars

Although I often mix the vegetables, I do monitor the distribution of vegetables between the jars.  I have ended up with a tail-end jar of mostly one vegetable which ends up on our table rather than in my market stock.

Don’t be afraid to press and pummel the vegetables into the jars.  They shrink a little during the pickling process,  anyway.

Once the jars are packed, pour over the hot brine.  This is a messy process and if you’re worried about turmeric stains, take the necessary precautions.  Distribute the seeds and other solids between the jars, making sure that there is sufficient “space” for expansion when they’re sterilised.  Before putting the lid on, make sure there are no lurking air pockets:  tap the jar and poke a plastic or wooden (not metal because of the vinegar) skewer, kebab stick or swizzle stick down the sides to liberate any bubbles.

Do not over tighten the lids: when the jars cool, they will seal, forming a vacuum.

Processing and sterilising

Place the jars in a large (stock) pot and fill with water (do this on the stove – don’t try to lug the full pot and the jars from the sink to the stove and give yourself a hernia … or worse…)  Oh, and before you begin, put a tea towel at the bottom of the pot so that the jars don’t rattle around.  Bring to a boil and then reduce heat and simmer for 10 minutes.  Remove from the water and allow to cool.  The lids should all pull in and form a vacuum at the top of the jar as they cool.

These pickles keep their crunch and can be stored for a good few months.

What else I’ve learned

For this batch, we had lots of red onions and some beautiful heirloom carrots, from the garden, and I thought that they would add to the colour of these pickles.  They did.

But only for about a week:  the vinegar bleached the colour out so that the red carrots ended up just being orange and the red onion lost its blush and went slightly yellow from the turmeric.  The flavour is not affected and the pickle is just as pretty because of the red of the pepper, the gold turmeric which is absorbed by the cauliflower and, or course, the orange of the carrots.

This time, and because they were baby carrots, I left a bit of the stalk on them and then quartered them longways.  Just adds to the character and texture of the pickle.

The full, recipes are available to download here.

Oh, and if you do download the recipes, buy me a coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine….?

Finally, the post that links back to this – with the carrot salads – will be out soon.

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma

Post script
If this post might seem familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:

  • re-vamping old recipes. As I do this, I am adding them in a file format that you can download and print. If you download recipes, buy me a coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine….?
  • and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts.

I blog to the Hive blockchain using a number of decentralised appplications.

    • From WordPress, I use the Exxp WordPress plugin. If this rocks your socks, click here or on on the image below to sign up.

    • Join Hive using this link and then join us in the Silver Bloggers’ community by clicking on the logo.
Original artwork: @artywink
    • I also share my occasional Instagram posts to the crypto blockchain, Hive, using the new, and really nifty phone app, Dapplr. On your phone, click here or on the icon, and give it a go.

 

Marvelous Malva

I can’t remember the first time I ate this dessert.  It’s one of our favourites – when I “do” dessert.  I don’t often.  I don’t have a sweet tooth.  I am was not much of a baker.  My chef friend and market pal reckons mine are among the best she’s tasted.  I brimmed with pride when she said that.  

Confused

I do remember thinking that its name confused me.  I knew that malva(lekker) is a marshmallow (sweet) in Afrikaans.  In my head (and mouth), the dessert bore bears no resemblance to marshmallows.  

That’s just the beginning.  Because, of course, I am fascinated by words and need to know how things get their names.  

When I developed an interest in herbs – edible and medicinal – I discovered that Malva is a plant genus into which the mallow falls.  This includes the indigenous South African geranium – scented and otherwise.

The red geraniums one sees in Mediterranean window boxes, as I did in my trip to Mallorca in 1999, all originate not far from where I grew up.  I remember them from the regular trips between boarding school in East London and Grahamstown.  They grow wild through the cracks in the road cuttings on either side of the Great Fish River.  Some of the scented ones grow in our garden.  I use them for iced teas and garnish in summer, but that’s another story. 

All of that’s a long way of saying that nobody, least of all me, has any idea as to why this pudding is called “malva”.

Many roads lead to The Sandbag House

Of course, I’ve digressed.  I had wanted to tell the “proper” story behind this recipe last week – ahead of South Africa’s Heritage weekend and having already “done” some heritage food.  I was derailed by having to revisit this post to give the context I needed:  Sunday Suppers @ The Sandbag House and the smorgasbord of guests who sat around our tables. 

The note in the banner for this post is from guests from Germany.  They insisted on a photograph with me, and which they subsequently sent via WhatsApp:

Malva pudding was also on that evening’s menu, and as I recall, they also went home with a jar of my spicy plum jam. 

January 2020

Unexpectedly, last February, and before lockdown, I received a WhatsApp message.  It went along the lines of…

Hello, we so enjoyed our dinner.  The Malva pudding was the best we had in South Africa.  We are planning a dinner with a South African theme.  Would you be able to send me the recipe?

Well, I had to scrabble around a bit.  My recipe is not in any of my books.  I wasn’t sure if I’d ever typed it up.  It’s in my very tatty, dog-eared file.  Too tatty for a photo.  Typing it up had been on my ever-growing “to-dos” forever.  Now, I had to do it.  I did. 

It went, through cyberspace to Sweden.  

The thanks:

Thank you so much! I’m very grateful. I will make Boboti and Malvapudding for my guests. I will share photographs.

Then the pandemic was declared.  I don’t know whether they had their South African dinner.

Another back story

Our Sunday Suppers were a thing.  That delightful Swedish couple joined us for the penultimate supper at which we had guests:  January 26th, 2020.  There were two other diners.  A couple who live in America. She is South African and they are were annual visitors to South Africa to see her mother and family.  During the evening’s conversation, we learned that they’d tried to join us before Christmas, but we’d been full.  This time, they were determined and drove from another town. 

The menu and our Swedish guests’ note in our book, that evening.

The proof of the pudding

Malva pudding is, as I’ve already said, a baked dessert.  I have no idea why I offered this menu in mid-summer because all of those are winter dishes.  We must have been having an unseasonal cold snap.  

I don’t know where my recipe comes from, or who gave it to me.  For years, this was a dessert I didn’t do because a chef friend of ours in Cape Town is the Malva King.  It was often his contribution to one of our gatherings. 

Traditionally, it’s baked in a large square dish and served in squares with custard, cream or ice cream.  Personally, I prefer custard.

Perfect Practice

They say two things:  practise makes perfect and with practise comes the confidence to experiment.  This was case with much of Sunday Suppers, especially the desserts – and my graduating to individual desserts.  As I did with the Malva Pudding.

Mini Malva puddings: just out of the oven (left) and then ladled with the sweet, creamy syrup (right)

Fortunately this recipe serves ten, and I use the ten little enamel cups I bought a few years ago.  Much to The Husband’s confusion.  I used these often during the time of Sunday Suppers.  They, along with a few other bits and bobs have gathered much dust on shelves in this time of disuse. 

Enamel “crockery”

One finds enamel mugs and flatware in virtually every South African kitchen.  In my childhood, in middle class and white households they were reserved for the servants.  Perish the thought.

Before that, though, and now, they are the sensible utensils for camping and the fireside (braai).  I remember them in piles in the trading stores of my childhood and youth in the Eastern Cape. 

Using them to serve Malva pudding, a traditional Afrikaans dish, which probably harks back to the great trek, just makes sense to me.  Sometimes they sparked conversations.  Sometimes not.

Regardless, this traditional South African favourite is a hit every time.  Download the recipe here and if you do, please buy me a coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine….?

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma

Post script
If this post might seem familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:

  • re-vamping old recipes. As I do this, I am adding them in a file format that you can download and print. If you download recipes, buy me a coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine….?
  • and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts.

I blog to the Hive blockchain using a number of decentralised appplications.

    • From WordPress, I use the Exxp WordPress plugin. If this rocks your socks, click here or on on the image below to sign up.

    • Join Hive using this link and then join us in the Silver Bloggers’ community by clicking on the logo.
Original artwork: @artywink
    • I also share my occasional Instagram posts to the crypto blockchain, Hive, using the new, and really nifty phone app, Dapplr. On your phone, click here or on the icon, and give it a go.

Not killing mother

In December 1999, I spent my last Christmas with my father.  Three days earlier, we’d bade my mother a final farewell.  As I’ve probably said before, her death was a shock.  Six weeks prior, she’d had surgery.  By all accounts, it was successful although the procedure meant a protracted stay in hospital.  Cleared of nasties, she was doing well and then suddenly took a turn for the worse.  Back in ICU;  back into theatre, twice; organ failure and dialysis; in and out of a coma.

Skipping the long version

If you aren’t inclined to reading, scroll down to the short version.

Things in common but not friends

Let me be clear.  I loved my mother, but she and I were not friends.  It was, to say the least, an uneasy relationship.  We had little to say to each other and although we would have had things in common, now, I doubt they would have been enough to have transformed our relationship.  Some of my profound enjoyment of traditional crafts – knitting and crochet – I get from her. And cooking.  She was a good cook.  My parents’ dinner parties were legend.  The celebration for my 21st birthday was a garden party which, except for the cake, she catered.

Mum and me at different times in our respective lives.

This collage, is of photos of Mum and I.  At different times in our lives. The first time I came across the one of her in the centre, it was like looking at myself.  I’ve never forgotten that weird feeling.  The bottom right photo is one of me, at about the same age.

Opposites in magnets (and in life), attract, but the like poles repel.  Perhaps that was my mother and I:  too alike. It took fifty-odd years to acknowledge that – even after she had died and I found that photograph.  More than twenty years ago.

No conversation – then

Having little in common, there wasn’t much to talk about. I don’t remember any profound or really adult conversation with her.  Only once, that I can remember, did I ask for advice about cooking.  When I cooked my first Christmas turkey nearly thirty years ago.  Next time I wanted to ask her advice about something – also cooking related – some eight years later, I couldn’t.  Although it made me momentarily sad, it did make me remember her kitchen ritual for the sauce I had wanted to make.  Also for a Christmas meal:  traditional British bread sauce which is traditionally served with roast chicken or turkey.

Not a baker

After she died, my sister wasn’t interested in our mother’s personal recipe book – to which I refer, pretty frequently.  My now famous chicken liver paté, and which I sell at the market is hers, and in that book. She also had two different editions of the Good Housekeeping Cookery Book.  I got one, my sister, the other.  I still use it and it taught me how to make marmalade and it’s my go-to for certain basics.

While my mother was an excellent cook, she always said she couldn’t bake.  One vivid memory of such an effort was a birthday cake.  My sister had commanded pink.  Pink. Very. Pink,  it was.  And hacked sculpted to turn it into a cake shaped cake.  For years and for some reason, I believed that I, too, could not bake.  That I have become a relatively accomplished baker of certain desserts, shortbread, biscuits and now, sourdough bread is, to say the least, ironic.

A selection of baked desserts that I used to serve at our regular Sunday Suppers

The absence of conversation, however has changed.  Over the last year or so, I’ve had more conversations with “mother” than I had with my real Mum in the thirty six years I knew her.

Blame it on Lockdown

Last year (2020 in case you’ve forgotten), and when we were in hard lockdown a chef friend in the village started a Facebook group – what’s for supper? It started, among other things, my now ritual photographing of our supper, stretching the imagination (and the budget) as far as it (would) will go.  The other starter was, literally a starter:  a mother or natural yeast for making bread.

Having been scared of yeast, I resisted baking bread.  Also, it’s not something one can do on impulse.  Until then I had tried baking bread a couple of times and had long wanted to literally do it from scratch.  That included my own “mother”.  With no other distractions, let alone plans, and with encouragement from Pixie who, at that stage, had her own, well established jar of glop, I started my journey.

Uncle Ritchie and Auntie Doris

The first “rule” of making one’s own mother, I’m led to believe, is giving her a name.  Of course, being who I am, I was not going to give her a conventional name.  Not female.  I chose “Uncle Ritchie” because he was the only baker to trade I’ve ever known.  I remember the bakery next door to his and Auntie Doris’s (she of my birthday cake) house. And the big ovens…  Nearly forty years ago, it was demolished to make way for a block of flats (apartments).  I digress.

So, in late March, my sourdough journey began.  I mixed equal parts of flour and water in a jar, religiously closing the top, feeding Uncle Ritchie every day.  On day two, I think, there were a couple of bubbles.  Then, a few days later.  Nothing. Dead.  Like baker Uncle Ritchie has been for the last thirty something years.

I killed suffocated him. I’d closed the lid too tight. He couldn’t breathe.

Rinse and repeat

I don’t do well being challenged thwarted.  I was determined to try again;  if Uncle Ritchie wouldn’t oblige, I was sure Auntie Doris would.  She’d come through for me before.  So again, I mixed equal parts of flour and water in a jar, religiously closing the top – not too tightly, but tightly enough to keep the fruit flies out.  I  fed Auntie Doris every day.  On day two, there were a couple of bubbles.  Then more. But I noticed a layer of water forming at the bottom of the jar. A few days or so later the water had risen to the top.

I had drowned Auntie Doris!

Third time lucky

I was not going to accept defeat.  Not from a fungus.

The universe was sending me a message.  I’d resisted, right from the beginning, the obvious choice – my own mother’s name.  Her given name was Ursula, but she was always known as Ula (pronounced Yoo-la).  “Ursula” has significance for another reason:  it’s the name of a former teacher who became a mentor and good friend.  I tried again.

By the end of April, Ursula was a bubbling jar of glop with a veracious appetite and which needed to be used.

It had taken just over a month, bit with hindsight, seemed longer.  As everything did when we were in that hard lockdown.

The short version

For detailed instructions on making your own natural yeast, download them here.

The first sourdough bake off

Having consulted GoG*, I found that although Ursula was growing out of her jar, I didn’t really have enough for anything worth while, and I found recipes for “discard”. As it’s called, and for when mother grows out of her dress jar.  My first effort was scones (or as my American friends call them, biscuits).  I chose those because I wasn’t confident of my kneading skills and, and, and….

For a patch, I made those quite frequently.  I took a batch along or our first skelm social engagement when lockdown restrictions eased a little.  They were a hit.  The recipe’s here.

If you download recipes, buy me a coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine….?

Graduation

Then I graduated to rolls and bread.

Early efforts at sourdough bread loaves and rolls

I’ll save stories of those journeys (and how they ended up on my market stall) for another episode time.

*Good old Google

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma

Post Script

  • In search of English writing, research and editing services, look no further:  I will help you with –  emails and reports, academic and white papers, formal grammar, spelling and punctuation
    more information here
  • If this post might seem familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:
    • re-vamping old recipes. As I do this, I plan to add them in a file format that you can download and print. If you download recipes, buy me a coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine….?
    • and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts.
  • I blog to the Hive blockchain using a number of decentralised appplications.  From WordPress, I use the Exxp WordPress plugin.  If this rocks your socks, click on the image below to sign up –

Image: @traciyork

  • I also share my occasional instagram posts to the crypto blockchain using the new, and really nifty phone app, Dapplr. On your phone, click the icon below, and give it a go.

Jambalaya Juggle

jambalaya

There were certain things about Sunday Suppers that were always a juggle: the kitchen arrangements, for starters.  It’s an open plan space and in large part occupied by the stove and other appliances.  Working surfaces are limited, so I have to be super organised.  To begin with, there was a lot of juggling which, with practise and better organisation, became a lot easier.  Like ensuring I’ve got all the bits out and don’t have to go thundering around the house to fish out dessert dishes or ice bowls or…  It doesn’t really matter as long as didn’t have to make like a duck, diving for food in a pond when guests were enjoying supper.

Jambalya recipe

One-size-fits-all

JambalayaDifferent seasons also presented juggles of a different kind.  Each week’s menu needed to suit carnivores, vegetarians and increasingly, vegans.  Somehow, somehow, in summer this is easier to do.  Not that I am complaining.  I enjoy(ed) the challenge and I enjoy discovering dishes that are sufficiently versatile that they can accommodate a range of dietary requirements.  One of these is the humble jambalaya.

A couple of years ago, I had a short stint doing street food type suppers for a friend of mine who had a little wine bar in the village.  When winter approached, the type of fare had to shift from a boerewors roll (a type of hot dog) to something that might be a little more substantial and which would stay hot.  For various reasons I canned the idea of stir fry (I don’t have the equipment and when the wind howls – as it does – the gas flame just blows out).  Similarly, paella and risotto went the same way, but for different reasons, but my research – which was focused on the vegetarians – threw up a Jambalaya recipe.

Jambalaya

I had only ever heard or read about Jambalaya in novels set in Louisiana or New Orleans.  The word had certain appeal.  I liked the basic ingredients – onions, peppers, butternut squash – and, of course – herbs and spices including chilies.  I had found a one-size-would-fit-all dish:  with the addition of slices of chorizo or similar some cooked chicken or shrimp, I had found the solution.

That first attempt was a hit.  I came home without as much as a grain of rice.  I have since looked a little more into the origin of the dish and, like the bredie* I wrote about a while ago, it’s a great example of the fusion of foods from different cultures, and reflecting the history of Louisiana:

Jambalaya has its origins in several rice-based dishes well attested in the Mediterranean cuisines of Spain, West Africa and France, especially in the Spanish dish paella (native to Valencia), West African dish jollof and the French dish known as jambalaia (native to Provence). Other seasoned rice-based dishes from other cuisines include pilafrisotto and Hoppin’ John. (Source)

I have, since making that the first time, made adjustments, some necessitated by my own preferences and others simply because of what may (or may not be available).  One of the key changes is to replace the herbs with McGregor Herbes de Provence and to roast the butternut to add later and/or to use it as a garnish.  A third change, for vegetarians, has been to add chickpeas (plain or spiced – recipe to follow in time) or lentils.

So, without further ado, here is my basic jambalaya:

Basic, slow cooked Jambalaya

meat or vegetarian proteins added later

Serves 8

The quantities are such that the basic dish, once prepared can be split into two, making it easy to do both meat and vegan meals at the same time.  It’s also done in a slow cooker which is not just easy, but really encourages great flavour development.

Ingredients

1 tablespoon olive oil
2 onions, finely chopped
4 sweet bell peppers (all colours, chopped)
1 chilli (de-seeded if you don’t like heat) and chopped
1 clove garlic, finely chopped
½ bunch soup celery, finely chopped
1 tin peeled, chopped tomatoes or 2 – 3 fresh tomatoes, skinned and chopped
1 tsp vegan Worcestershire sauce
1 – 2 fresh or dried chillies, chopped
2 cups rice
2 cups vegetable stock
25g (sachet) tomato puree
2 tsp smoked paprika
2 tsp McGregor Herbes de Provence
½ tsp cayenne pepper (optional)
salt and pepper to taste

Jabalaya recipe steps

For vegans

1 tin of lentils or chickpeas or other spicy vegan substitute

For carnivores

1 large chorizo sausage and/or left-over bits of cooked chicken or frozen mixed seafood

What to do

  1. In a large pan, heat olive oil over medium heat. Add onions, peppers, andJambalaya and peas celery to oil.
  2. Cook onions until they begin to soften, about three minutes then add in garlic, chilli and tomatoes. Continue to cook for 2-3 more minutes
  3. Add the Worcestershire sauce and rice. Cook rice in mixture for 1-2 minutes before adding liquids.
  4. Finally, add remaining ingredients.
  5. Once combined, pour into the slow cooker and set to low.
  6. Do not disturb for 3 – 4 hours, but watch the liquid. Once it’s all been absorbed, open the lid and stir.  If the rice is not cooked, add more liquid and replace the lid and allow to cook until the rice is soft.
  7. At this point, add your choice of additional ingredients, replace the lid and allow these to cook/heat through.

Serving suggestion

Serve with roasted vegetables like butternut, cauliflower and broccoli or a side salad to make a hearty, complete meal.

Jambalaya serving suggestion

Download the recipe

A while ago, I decided (for my own convenience and yours, to create downloadable versions of the recipes I dream up. You’ll get the full jambalaya recipe here.

Post script

This is another of those posts that I’m finding and fixing.  Brings back memories of a very different time.  It seems so long ago, but it isn’t really.  Just eighteen months.

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma

Post script
If this post might seem familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:

  • re-vamping old recipes. As I do this, I am adding them in a file format that you can download and print. If you download recipes, buy me a coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine….?
  • and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts.

I blog to the Hive blockchain using a number of decentralised appplications.

    • From WordPress, I use the Exxp WordPress plugin. If this rocks your socks, click here or on on the image below to sign up.

    • Join Hive using this link and then join us in the Silver Bloggers’ community by clicking on the logo.

Original artwork: @artywink

    • I also share my occasional Instagram posts to the crypto blockchain using the new, and really nifty phone app, Dapplr. On your phone, click here or on the icon, and give it a go.

A stew is as stew – or is it?

Words fascinate me and I confess to choosing to eat something – just because its name appeals to me.  I live in a country with eleven official languages – plus dialects.  Also, in South Africa, are peoples of Bushman descent whose languages are ancient and have either been lost, or are in danger of being lost; some have never been codified (written down). I ruminated about this when Jan Boer gave us oorskot (surplus) peaches. Because I have blogpals all over the world, I often wonder about the etymology of words, as I did when I decided to make a bredie a while back.  Bredie is a winter favourite and typical of Dutch South African cuisine.  Because my heritage is British, it’s not a word that was used in my childhood home.  We would have a stew or a casserole – identified by it’s main ingredient, i.e. beef, chicken or lamb mutton.

Etymology

As is my wont, I began thinking about the etymology of bredie expecting it to have its roots in India or Malaysia.  The dictionary, says that a bredie (n) is a

Southern African a meat and vegetable stew

Its etymology was unexpected, but when I thought about it, very obvious.  It was the Portuguese – in the 15th Century – who first rounded the Cape, in the form of Bartolomeu Dias (or Bartholomew Dias, my primary school history taught me), on his way to the East.  He was the first European to have anchored off the South African coast;  there is a monument to his exploits in the Eastern Cape, near Alexandria, and not far from where I grew up.  The Portuguese went on to colonise not only bits of Africa (like Angola and Mozambique), but also India. “Bredie” has its roots in the Portuguese word, bredos or “edible greens.”

Now I know why every bredie – in one incarnation or another – includes vegetables.

The most common popular, is a tomato bredie which, come to think of it, really does show its Portuguese roots.  It’s not my favourite because it’s too reminiscent of boarding school and university cuisine .  The two that I prefer, and make, are butternut and waterblommetjie.  Waterblommetjies (little water flowers) are indigenous and grow in the natural waterways, ponds and dams in the Western Cape, and flower in spring.

An original fusion food

Stews are a fantastic, nutritious way to use inexpensive cuts of meat – and they are usually the most flavoursome.  I am not fond of beef and I find that stewed beef can be like eating blocks of soft wood.  It was also going to be a one-pot supper.

This brings me back to the bredie:  traditionally it’s made with mutton or lamb – fat cuts like rib or neck.  I prefer the latter – there’s less fat and more meat and it’s equally flavoursome.  I’ve already alluded to the vegetable components that make the variations on the theme. The constituent vegetable determines the spice (or herb) flavourings that are added (which, incidentally, also cut the fat).  This is the influence of the East – India and Malaysia – making the bredie an original fusion food.

The Boers were descendants of the Dutch colonists, and who trekked to the hinterland of South Africa;  the Malay folk were slaves and religious exiles sent to Africa.  Much of the food in South African homes is a fusion of our rich history.

Butternut Bredie

You will need an appropriate quantity of lamb or mutton stewing meat (I used neck), one or two onions, a  green pepper (or a chilli if you like a bit of heat), a clove of garlic, a thumb-sized piece of fresh ginger and a stick of cinnamon;  butternut – cut into cubes or chunks and potato, similarly prepared.

Sauté the chopped onion, pepper/chilli, garlic and ginger, and then seal the meat in the same pan.    Put the meat into the slow cooker and then deglaze the pan with a little water or stock to make a gravy.  Add the remaining vegetables and then pour the liquid over that and put on the lid.

“Fire up” the slow cooker and leave it alone to develop into a wonderful rich bredie – a good few hours.  The vegetables will be tender and the meat will be soft and fall off the bones!

A note about the fat:  for those who are Banting, it’s not a concern.  For those who don’t like it – there was much less fat than I expected.  Don’t shun fat – that’s where the flavour comes from!

Bredie served with rice and sambals for a Sunday Supper a couple of years ago or so.

Traditionally, bredies are served with boiled rice, but I’m sure it’s good with pap (corn porridge or grits (for my American readers) – a bit like polenta) and other vegetables.

Download the recipe

A while ago, I decided (for my own convenience and yours, to create downloadable versions of the recipes I dream up.  Download a PDF version of the recipe (and its variations) here.

A last word

A stew is not a stew when it’s a bredie!

Disclaimer:

The original iteration of this was posted a couple of years ago.  I’ve been able to “re-constitute it” because the original is stored for posterity on the blockchain and using the @exxp plugin, was able to download and tweak it to post back up here.

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma

Post script
If this post might seem familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:

  • re-vamping old recipes. As I do this, I am adding them in a file format that you can download and print. If you download recipes, buy me a coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine….?
  • and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts.

I blog to the Hive blockchain using a number of decentralised applications.

    • From WordPress, I use the Exxp WordPress plugin. If this rocks your socks, click here or on on the image below to sign up.

    • Join Hive using this link and then join us in the Silver Bloggers’ community by clicking on the logo.

Original artwork: @artywink

    • I also share my occasional Instagram posts to the crypto blockchain using the new, and really nifty phone app, Dapplr. On your phone, click here or on the icon, and give it a go.

It’s no bull…

It’s a funny old world we live in.  As I write, we are in day 501 of South Africa’s National State of Emergency (aka lockdown), and thanks to the vagaries of the Interweb and erstwhile hosts, this is the second iteration of a post with this recipe.  The original post was three years ago.

How things have changed since then.

Back in the day

It’s strange looking back.  Those days seem, in so many ways, so carefree.  We invited strangers into our home.  Weekly.

As you know, I have, for the past eight or so years had a food stall at the local pop-up market, and for those who are not familiar with where we live:  McGregor is a village in the heart of the winelands and with about 650 households, dependent on tourism and agriculture.   It’s somewhat off the beaten track (you can read a bit more about it here). Four or so years ago, there was no eating establishment open on a Sunday evening, so I suggested to The Husband that we host simple (ha!) Sunday Suppers in our home.  A service to the community.

The groups would have to be small – the house is small and we’d have to re-arrange things to make it work as a pop-up restaurant.  Also, we are not fans of being forced to sit with strangers, so we were not going to do a long table.  That also presented certain challenges.  Especially in winter when we couldn’t possibly have people spilling on to the veranda and into the garden.

Well, you know, there are two old sayings:

You’ll never know until you try it

and

Be careful what you wish for

Sunday Suppers @ The Sandbag House

Then using yet another idiom, be careful of words spoken in jest:  Sunday Suppers, for a while, became a regular and expected thing in the village.  But I run ahead of myself.

Camera shy

About a week into this new adventure, good friend and fabulous photographer, Selma sent me a message.

“I’d love to document one of your Sunday Suppers.  Can I?”

“WHAT?  Are you out of your mind?  It’s complete and utter chaos.  I don’t think I want all that sin exposed.  Besides, I’m camera shy and most certainly won’t be dressed for success.”

“No, man,” says she, “It’ll be of your hands and the food, the table, and, of course, the cats.  Mostly the cats.  We do weddings, you know.  You cannot imagine the mess that goes on there, hahaha!”

That last bit is, of course, the most believable part of the statement.  So I discovered. After I was convinced.

“I’m going to be in the village because…, blah, blah, fish paste….”

I was persuaded.  Anyhow, she arrived in the village and said, “I’ll see you on Sunday.  What time do you start prepping?”

“Well, actually, I’m going to be doing quite a lot on Friday so that things are a bit more manageable on Sunday.”

“I’m on my way!”

So began my first (and only) ever experience of being in front of the camera and I do admit that I had fun.  Mostly because Selma loves what she does, is more than good at it, particularly persuading reluctant subjects to conform to her whims.  The results of the two days’ shoot are here and also appear in this and many of my other posts where they are duly acknowledged. She has given me a gazillion fabulous photographs to use.  And I did (and do):  virtually every time I put together the weekly menu which was posted in the local online newsletter and in the social media.

All photos: Selma’s and of that Sunday Supper earlier in July 2017.

Then, the food

Putting out the menus also meant that I got requests for recipes – from a Swedish guest (more of that another time), and from friends, as happened here:

So think about it I did, and here’s what I sent:

Slow cooker Oxtail

(serves 4 with mash)

1 oxtail (probably about 800g to 1kg)
4 – 8 carrots (peeled (or not) but left whole) – makes for prettier presentation (and they don’t turn to mush)
1 onion finely chopped
1 or 2 cloves garlic
vegetable oil
1 cup beef stock (250ml)
1 glass red wine (125 – 175ml)
1 bay leaf
Fresh / dried herbs of choice:  thyme, rosemary/McGregor Herbes de Provence
2 tablespoons seasoned flour (+ extra to thicken towards the end of cooking)
Salt & pepper

What to do

Roll the oxtail pieces in the seasoned flour to cover and then brown in a large frying pan or skillet, with a little oil.  Place in the slow cooker.  top with the carrots.  In the pan, add a little more oil if necessary and sauté the onion until glossy and transparent.

Add the herbs of choice and sauté for a little longer.  Then add the stock to de-glaze the pan.  Then add all the liquids to the slow cooker.  If the oxtail isn’t just about covered, add a little more water.

Cover and cook on high for about 5 hours. If you have more time (like 7 hours), set the cooker to on auto or low, and let it be.

About an hour before serving, check the consistency of the gravy.  If not to your liking, remove a little of the liquid and add it slowly to a dessertspoon (or more) of flour until you have a smooth paste.  Gradually add this to the stew and leave for an hour.  If you are using commercial stock (cubes), only add salt at this stage,  but if you add the potatoes, wait until just before serving because potatoes tend to absorb the salt.

Serve with mashed potatoes, the whole carrots and a green vegetable like beans or broccoli.

Download the recipe

A while ago, I decided (for my own convenience and yours, to create downloadable versions of the recipes I dream up.  The Slow Cooked Oxtail recipe’s available for downloading here.

If you download recipes, please follow the link buy me a virtual coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine….?

Of course, one could serve this with polenta or rice.  My friend served hers with rice (one of the children doesn’t like potatoes).  If you serve with mashed potatoes, give them a zing, and which I did last time I served oxtail for Sunday Supper, by adding about a tablespoon of wholegrain mustard to the mash.

So it was

For nearly three years, we opened our home to anyone, at least once a week and it’s no bull that, for a while, Sunday Suppers became a village fixture.

In the kitchen ahead of “Selma’s Sunday Supper” and in front of her camera that July 2017.

By the time guests arrived, the sin is mostly dealt with and guests were greeted with a warm fire (in winter) and pretty tables.

Just one of Selma’s awesome shots from that shoot.

A last word –

We still get asked if we do Sunday Suppers.  We haven’t since February 2020 because we’ve wanted to preserve our (mercifully Covid-free) bubble.  For the moment, our stock answer is that we might.  That said, the village now has Sunday dining offerings, so there’s no real need. For those who really, really want a Sunday Supper experience, we’ll make a plan:  with the proviso that there must be between four and ten to make it viable.

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma

Post script
If this post might seem familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:

  • re-vamping old recipes. As I do this, I am adding them in a file format that you can download and print. If you download recipes, buy me a coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine….?
  • and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts.

I blog to the Hive blockchain using a number of decentralised appplications.

    • From WordPress, I use the Exxp WordPress plugin. If this rocks your socks, click here or on on the image below to sign up.

    • Join Hive using this link and then join us in the Silver Bloggers’ community by clicking on the logo.

Original artwork: @artywink

    • I also share my occasional Instagram posts to the crypto blockchain using the new, and really nifty phone app, Dapplr. On your phone, click here or on the icon, and give it a go.

Dad’s Famous Tattie Scones

Other than beer, there were three things that my Dad cooked.  One was stovies, another soda scones and the third, tattie scones.  My mother claimed she couldn’t bake anything, let alone scones.  Realistically though, neither of these scones were never baked – baking happens in the oven, right?  Rather, they are cooked on a girdle (or as the other than Scottish call it, a griddle) and on the stove top.

Soda Scones on a girdle.

I wish I knew what had happened to our girdle.  I remember its arrival – some time in the early 1970s.  Somewhere between my leaving Grahamstown at the beginning of 1986, and my parents’ departure from this world, the girdle disappeared.  I never remember my mother using it.  Only my father did, and it was always and only scones.

My Dad at 42. Photo: Grocott’s Mail, 1970

He didn’t make them often and it was generally on a Saturday or Sunday morning.  Dad only ever used a recipe for the soda scones, but never for the potato scones, so until I consulted Google, I’d never seen one and I always make them by memory and from watching my Dad.  He always made them when there was left over mashed potato.  I am not a fan of mashed potatoes and even less of bubble and squeak but if they’re going to end up in scones, I’m in. That said, there are some dishes that work best with mash.

Like this leftover chicken dish – a winter favourite – that works best with mash. A couple of blog pals have suggested that I share how I plan meals – especially that I also plan for leftovers.  Technically, that means, in my head, that they’re not leftovers at all!  So, the idea’s on the ever-growing list and promises to keep.

Tattie Scones

Potato scones are really easy.  Really.

Ingredients

Left over mashed potato

I leave the skins on the potatoes, so my mash is always a little rustic. Of course, mash is best with milk (or even yoghurt), butter and salt and a good grinding of black pepper.

The other ingredients are cake flour – about 150 – 250 ml and then extra for dusting the working surface and for the dry fry.  Some recipes include baking powder.  My Dad never did.  I don’t.  Perhaps I should.

What to do

Turn the mashed potato on to a generously floured surface and break it up and sprinkle more flour over it.  Work the potato and flour to bring it all together to form a firm dough – add flour as you need (you see what I did… ) – until it comes together to form a light dough.

Then, roll it out to about a 1 cm thick on a floured surface.

Use a knife to cut the dough into triangles.

Heat a heavy pan and sprinkle with flour and dry fry the scones until they’re golden brown. Keep warm on paper towel while preparing the rest of the scones.

Serve warm with butter and toppings of choice. I prefer just butter and freshly ground black pepper.  I generally do them for lunch and depending on the quantity, sometimes there’s soup or something else to fill the gap.

As easy as pie, and as delicious.  A printable recipe is available here.

A last word or three

During last year’s hard lockdown, a friend started a Facebook group – What’s for dinner? I may have written about it in previous posts. The point is, I made these during that time and, as one did (because what else did we do?) I shared pics.  More than one person asked for a recipe.  I know I sent it to her.  I thought I’d blogged about it.  Clearly not.  So perhaps I dreamt it all – along with a whole lot of other things during that very weird time.

I started this post last Sunday – Fathers’ Day.  Kind of apt, I thought.  As I finish it, and prepare it to post, there’s a strong possibility that we’ll be returning to some sort of harsher lockdown.  I do hope that sanity prevails on the part of government and people.  We cannot afford a shut down. We cannot afford for people not to be sensible and take the appropriate steps to stop the spread of this awful virus and its variants.

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma

Post script
If this post might seem familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:

  • re-vamping old recipes. As I do this, I am adding them in a file format that you can download and print. If you download recipes, buy me a coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine….?
  • and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts.

I blog to the Hive blockchain using a number of decentralised appplications.

    • From WordPress, I use the Exxp WordPress plugin. If this rocks your socks, click here or on on the image below to sign up.

    • Join Hive using this link and then join us in the Silver Bloggers’ community by clicking on the logo.

Image: @artywink

    • I also share my occasional Instagram posts to the crypto blockchain using the new, and really nifty phone app, Dapplr. On your phone, click here or on the icon, and give it a go.

Fabulous Fungi

It’s a truism that if one’s never had or enjoyed something, one doesn’t miss it. When I was in my 20’s, I discovered that I had a problem with caffeine.  And, a couple of years later, with  pseudoephedrine.  Both give me a buzz, stop me from sleeping and the latter gives me serious nightmares.  That’s more than twenty thirty years ago.  Learning to cope without that after dinner coffee was difficult.  Learning not to drink coffee – even the inexpensive stuff that’s not supposed to give you a kick – after lunch, was equally difficult.

I have learned not to miss it.  I am terrified of medication that might include either.  That first experience with pseudoephedrine was so bad, I still remember the consecutive nights of no sleep. My body and head ached with the worst dose of influenza, ever, in my twenty-something years.  I was exhausted and try as I might, I could not sleep.  I didn’t know why.  In desperation, after three days and nights of sleep deprivation, not getting better and in tears, I phoned for an urgent appointment with my doctor.  She changed the medication:  a nose drop replaced the decongestant tablet.  I slept like a baby – for days – and began to get better.

Insight

The way I show people I care, is through cooking and food.  I love cooking; I love flavours as do many of our friends.  Fortunately, neither The Husband nor I have food allergies.  It’s an affliction The Husband understands:  his father was allergic to mustard;  it would send him into anaphylactic shock.  Even in minute quantities.  I have learned to understand it thanks to my reactions to pseudoephedrine and caffeine.  The consequences of too much caffeine although not life-threatening, are such that it’s just not worth that glorious cup of coffee after dinner or the late summer afternoon iced coffee. I’ve learned to live without it after dinner and at least I get to enjoy it with breakfast and before midday.

The pseudoephedrine nightmares stop when the course of medication ends.  I weigh up the benefits of some nightmarish sleep against none at all.

Why the digression?

Another truism (and idiom) is that birds of a feather flock together, so many of our friends enjoy food, flavours, cooking. Some are or have been chefs, restauranteurs and publicans.  One is allergic to mushrooms.  So allergic that even if a smidgeon of mushroom finds its way into a dish, she’s ill for days.  It’s an allergy she’s had since childhood.  We’ve been at dinner parties where she’s eschewed the main and politely only eaten rice (with whatever available condiments) and garlic bread.

I know enough about her enjoyment of flavours to know that if she were able to eat mushrooms, she’d be hooked.  My sharing our marvellous discovery of edible mushrooms in our garden was, though, entirely lost on her.  It made me sad.

If you look behind this chap, and to the left, there are at least another five poking their heads out from under the little rocks.

Mushroom Memories

I grew up with a horticulturist father.  We always had a vegetable garden and it’s from him I inherited green fingers and my constant love of eating our own produce: whether we planted it or not.  Not having grown up in this country, he didn’t forage here, but I know that as a child in Scotland, he did.  This means that when field mushrooms seasonally popped up in the rolling lawns of the gardens he curated, they’d end up on our table.

The rolling lawns of the Grahamstown Botanical Gardens that “grew” my childhood memory’s mushrooms.

One of the workers would pick them in the early morning and bring them to our house.  My mother would “tidy them up” and they’d sit, gills down.  They dropped their spores like dark brown fairy rings on the white ceramic.  I remember my father laboriously explaining what made edible mushrooms identifiable including their smell.  For as long as we lived in that house, and when the conditions were right, we’d have mushrooms from “the gardens”.

Not all mushrooms are magic

Along with his enthusiasm for mushrooms that didn’t emerge from a plastic an polystyrene package, came my father’s caveat that not all mushrooms are edible.  He cautioned against foraging unless one knows what one’s doing.  At that age and stage in my life, he didn’t elaborate on those “other” mushrooms that create magic of a different sort…. That said, although cautious, I’m not averse to finding out whether we might eat fungi that grow in our garden.  There are a lot.  I believe that along with the mushrooms, we have fairies…

Over the years, I’ve photographed the mushrooms that have popped up.  The bit of research I’ve done over the last couple of weeks suggests that the top left two frilly jobs might, just be edible.  We now know, and live to tell, that the mushrooms in the bottom right picture are edible.

amaKhowe

Nearly a month ago, The Husband called me into the vegetable garden:

Have you seen the huge mushrooms in the vegetable patch?

We stared at them in awe, not quite sure what to do, and then went about our day.  Then more came up;  they reminded him of the mushrooms that grow out of the ant nests where his cattle grazed in Zimbabwe.  It was Friday.  Then on Saturday, there were more, including this magnificent specimen.  In the interim, I had asked a market mate about them and he offered to bring his mushroom book to the market.  Then I realised that there are inevitably folk with hidden knowledge and talents who’ve been in the village for years.I picked that huge MoFo.  I have two regrets:  not weighing it or taking a photograph of the harvested creature. It occupied virtually the entire diameter of this bowl.  Yes, that’s a teaspoon to give a sense of scale.

At the market, we discovered that a knowledgeable Mushroom Man lives in the village and has, forever.  He’s a regular at the market, so when he trundled by, The Husband presented him with the creature.  His eyes lit up –

amaKhowe!

Are they edible?

Yes, they are de-li-cious!

He told us how this particular mushroom is always associated with ants (termites).  Years ago, he continued, he and a few other folk would harvest these and field mushrooms in the horse and cattle pastures (the then open plots) around the village.  They’d do it in the early dawn and before anyone else discovered the treasure.

He inspected it:  pointed out the gills, that it had a cap and “frill”, deeply breathing in the aroma of earthy mushroom.  He echoed my father’s judgement –

It smells right.

So delighted was I, that in gratitude, I asked him if he’d like it.  His eyes lit up and accepted without hesitation.  He went on to advise that we should harvest the remaining crop because they “go over” quickly. I promptly followed his instructions. This was the first haul.

amaKhowe from our garden with the same teaspoon to give a sense of scale.

Symbiosis

Many fungi are parasitic and/or symbiotic.  This mushroom – its name, amaKhowe is isiZulu, and means “wild mushroom”, only grows in the presence of ants.  Termites – of whatever variety – are essential to their very existence:

This mushroom (Termitomyces umkowaani) is a large, finely fleshed beefsteak mushroom with a cap that can grow up to 30 cm in diameter. They have a sweet and mildly nutty flavor. This mushroom species belongs to a variety of mushrooms that depend on the activity of termites for their “cultivation,” and grow in a symbiotic relationship with the insects inside their nests. The termites transplant the amakhowe spores to their nests, where the fungi break down wood and dried grass, decomposing materials like cellulose and lignin, which the insects cannot digest, and [this] form[s] a biomass that is rich in nitrogen and can be consumed by the termites. When it rains in the spring, within 24 hours the fungi produce the aboveground portion of the mushrooms that is consumed by humans.

Source

This confirmed that “our” mushrooms are, indeed, the same mushrooms that The Husband remembers from his youth.  As it turns out, the section of our garden, and those stone paths that separate our vegetable beds are often crawling with large ants.  As I think about it, the garden is a maze of ant nests – ants of different varieties.  We have subsequently harvested mushrooms from other parts of the garden and now watch more carefully – in the hope that they push their way from the depths of those nests.  I am amazed at how they displace earth and stone.

These mushrooms, although emerging in autumn, did follow rain and significant flying ant activity.

The best ever Shroom Risotto

As usual, my mother is a reference for how ingredients were commonly used.  As I recall, she used mushrooms in a sauce (often with red wine) and fried, for breakfasts, and that’s about it.  I, on the other hand, will use mushrooms in a variety of ways.  I’m reminded of another restaurateur friend who wondered what anyone sees in fresh shrooms – they’re tasteless!

They are, if one doesn’t develop the flavour:  slow cooked with olive oil (and butter if you do that), white wine and parsley or thyme does it for me.  Somewhere, I also have a recipe for a light pickle with dill and make a ‘shroom and nut pate…  All are delicious.

Beefsteak Mushroom King

In addition to the isiZulu name, these are known as beefsteak mushrooms, so I decided we needed a meal that made them king.   Not many of them were beautiful, so stuffing and eating them whole was not really an option.  It was either pasta or risotto.  I settled for the latter because it’s a dish that allows complex flavours to develop.

R-L: Prepared with tough skins peeled; two, “perfect” specimens sautéed whole, the rest chopped and sautéed with olive oil, butter and white wine.

Basic Risotto

Risotto is not difficult to make.  Rather, it is like a small child:  you can’t leave it to its own devices.  It’s also best made with arborio (glutinous) rice.  Simply sauté a finely chopped onion in a generous quantity of olive oil and add finely chopped (minced) garlic.  At the same time, prepare the stock (broth) – either chicken or vegetable – and keep it warm.  I use the latter or my own home made chicken stock if I have some (I make and freeze it).  Once the onion is transparent, add the rice and stir to coat and cook a little.  Before adding the stock, add the white wine and once that’s absorbed, repeat the process with the stock until the rice is cooked and the mixture is the appropriate consistency.

Finally, add the bits with which you want to eat the risotto – in this case, the mushroom.  The final two and traditional ingredients is a grating of Parmesan cheese and chopped parsley.  If you’d like a recipe with quantities and instructions, download one here.   If you download recipes, buy me a coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine….?

In case you think I’m a soak…

I am aware that this meal seems awash with wine.  I do like to cook with wine, and yes, often it’s in the glass to the right of the stove.  This time, though, it’s not about the alcohol, it’s about the flavour.  There is something about the flavour that dry white wine brings to both mushrooms and risotto that it would be a cardinal sin to omit it.

A last word

Unless you’re absolutely certain that the mushrooms or fungi you forage are not toxic, don’t touch them.  As one wag put it, you only need to taste it once

In addition to the source already quoted, and for South Africans, I found at least two useful (and active) pages on Facebook as well as the Mushroom Guru website.  I have no doubt that there are similar local resources wherever one can forage for fungi.

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma

Post Script

  • Twice a year Traci York hosts a challenge to bloggers to post daily for a month. I’ve participated (or tried) for three years I’ve known her via the blockchain.  Twice I’ve succeeded.  It’s that time of the year again, and I’m giving it a go – on the Hive blockchain.  WordPress bloggers are also invited to participate.

Source: Traci York

  • In search of English writing, research and editing services, look no further:  I will help you with – 
    writing – emails and reports, academic and white papers
    formal grammar, spelling and punctuation
    more information here
  • If this post might seem familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:
    • re-vamping old recipes. As I do this, I plan to add them in a file format that you can download and print. If you download recipes, buy me a coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine….?
    • and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts.
  • I blog to the Hive blockchain using a number of decentralised appplications.  From WordPress, I use the Exxp WordPress plugin.  If this rocks your socks, click on the image below to sign up –

Image: @traciyork

  • I also share my occasional instagram posts to the crypto blockchain using the new, and really nifty phone app, Dapplr. On your phone, click the icon below, and give it a go.

Tripping the Light Fantastic

When I wrote this just over a hear ago, South Africa, had been in the throes of loadshedding.  I was reminded of this post because it marks a nasty trip that I took.  I cannot believe that was a year ago, and how much, in so many ways, things have not changed.  Loadshedding has made an unwelcome return.  And a lot has.  But that’s for another time.

Lights out

If you play(ed) SimCity as I did in the mid-1990’s, you’d have known these outages as “brown outs” your city grew too big too quickly.  It’s about the only computer game I’ve played (other than one or other game of solitaire), and that on an already ancient ICL Elf and before the advent of a GUI.* Fortunately, this time round, and even though Eskom descended to level 3 loadshedding, for some reason, they haven’t flipped the switch in McGregor.  Last year, when they did and when the lights came back on, I tripped the light fantastic.  Literally.  They were scheduled to go off at 22h00 hours.  They did.

We had forgotten and were engrossed in some Friday, end-of-the-week easy-to-watch drivel on the box.  Although it was full moon, the moon was on the “wrong” side of the house, so it was as dark as night.  I ferreted out my phone, lit a candle and headed upstairs.  I asked asked The Husband who was making our ritual cup of tea, “You’ll make sure all the lights are off, won’t you?”

“Yes dear,” was the long-suffering reply.

Never giving it another thought, I settled into bed and did a little candle-lit reading before we “turned out the light”.  What seemed like about two minutes later, I wake up and the house is ablaze.  In my sleeping stupor, I need to turn the lights off. As usual for January, we were in the throes of a heatwave.  So, heading towards the stairs, I realised that the soles of my feet were dry and slippery.

“Put on your flops,” said the little voice in my head.

“Ag, no,” said the other sleepy, more stupid voice in my head.

Three quarters of the way down the thirteen-step flight of stairs:  slip-trip.  Crash.  M-o-a-n.  Like a the wounded cow I was.  I landed on my posterior which is relatively well padded, but where my spine ends abruptly because the coccyx is long gone.  Because of chairs having been pulled from under me when I was about six or seven.   Thanks to the momentum, I fell backwards with the spot marking an old spinal injury, perfectly positioned to catch the edge of the step above.

M-o-a-n

G-r-o-a-n

The Husband roused from his stupor to find a mo(o)(a)ning cow at the bottom of the stairs.  He helped her to her feet and up the stairs.

Fortunately, I had a card of painkillers in the bedside table and took a couple.  Let’s just say that they didn’t really help.  Everything hurt.  Front, back.  Moving was agony.  The following morning, was market day.  There were things to do.  Somehow, they got done.  The Husband lifted, carried, fetched and bent.  I could do none of it.

Market day

Somehow, the market I did.  Slowly.  I sold all the jam tarts (bar one which The Husband enjoyed) and the cheese and sun dried tomato muffins that I would normally not have made.

As things happened, my market friend, Chicken Pie Janet, had been laid low with a muscle spasm, so I done a few different things not in my usual repertoire.  That said, I’ll never do chicken pies.  According to her customers, nothing could ever match hers.

Full House Sunday Supper

After the market, I get back into the kitchen to prepare for Sunday Supper.  For the first time in a month, we had had enquiries, and they had converted into bookings.  We had a full house.  Probably the last full house Sunday Supper since.   I’ll come back to this.

The menu for that week’s Sunday Supper was simple.

But.  My usual practice is to prepare the soup and dessert on Saturday afternoon and the main on Sunday.  There should have been very little “big” prep for the main course.  I had cleaned out The Country Butcher’s stock of apple-smoked chicken.  There were be eight diners and ten people to feed (including The Husband and I), and none of them was vegetarian or vegans.  I was concerned that I would run out of chicken.

Plan B

Hastily, I had to conjur up a plan B and remembered the gammon that had escaped Christmas.  For the first time, in Sunday Supper’s two-odd year history, guests had options for their main course.  In addition to the mango and smoked chicken, I added melon and ham as an alternative.

In a fair amount of pain, I had to think of the least agonising way to do that, so I cooked it in the slow cooker.  It cooked at the same rate that I was able to move.  Somehow, I got myself through Saturday and by about 6pm, the soup – a banting take on a vichyssoise – and the cheesecake (with grating help from The Husband) were done.  Recipes for these to come – in time.

Sunday dawned and every bit of my torso ached and hurt when I moved.  Just getting myself from horizontal to vertical was a challenge.  Bending from the knee was mandatory rather than recommended.  The day was a steady, achy plod to get things ready for the main course and set the tables.  The Husband always rearranges the furniture and sweeps.  He had to help drape the cloths, the white and blue, from Russia with love, had its Sunday Supper debut.

Cheesecake with fresh granadilla (TL) and the caremelised leek and cauliflower soup (BR); the tables ready and waiting for diners.

Chilli Lime Mango Salad – Three ways

This is a great meal for hot summer days or evenings.  Sunday was day two of what had been a six-day heatwave with temperatures in excess of 35ºC (95ºF).  This time, when I set the menu, I trusted the man in the weather app.  It was also the time of year when we can have diners who are omnivores, vegetarians or plant eaters – from all over the world.  This salad fits all those bills.  The champions of this salad include fresh mangoes, three fresh herbs dhanya (coriander/cilantro), mint and chives as well as onion rings.  The dressing is equally simple:  runny honey, lime juice, chopped chilli and olive oil.

Serve on a bed of leaves and with couscous, or on a bed of noodles, with a side of green salad.  For carnivores, chicken is the the of protein of choice and feta feta cheese with cashew nuts for vegetarians; for plant-based eaters, either lose the feta or substitute it with a vegan cheese.

Most of the ingredients for the salad and dressing – from our garden. Red onions are prettier, but white will do if you don’t have any.

Download a printable version of the recipe here.

A last word or two

It would seem that our diners enjoyed their evening.

With hindsight, and now I’m in a lot less pain and a lot more mobile, I have absolutely no idea how I pulled Sunday off.  Next time there is loadshedding, I hope not to be tripping the light fantastic.

A year or so, on

Looking back, I still have no idea how I managed to do either the market or Sunday Supper.  Our diners had no idea that I was in such agony.  I am glad.  It was also an object lesson on what one can  achieve if one sets one’s mind to it.

As I mentioned, that evening was probably the last, and possibly ever, full house for Sunday Suppers.  The COVID-19 virus wave was beginning to spread.  We were watching what was happening to the east and to the north.  Waiting.  It was coming and I shared my initial thoughts in a rant and commented on how what have now become known as the “non-pharmaceutical interventions” worked.  Funny how, nearly a year later, and even with the roll out of vaccines, and as this very catchy virus that can make people very, very sick, mutates, it is these practices that have become mandatory in virtually every country in the world.

Manadatory mask for stepping out in public:  with the not mandatory but essential in McGregor sunnies and sun hat at the market.

How things change.  How things have not.

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa


Photo: Selma

*Graphic User Interface – for the unitiated.  Invented by Steve Jobs and adopted by Bill Gates and responsible for mice.

Post Script

  • In search of English writing, research and editing services, look no further:  I will help you with – 
    writing – emails and reports, academic and white papers

    formal grammar, spelling and punctuation
    more information here
  • If this post might seem familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:
    • re-vamping old recipes. As I do this, I plan to add them in a file format that you can download and print. If you download recipes, buy me a coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine….?
    • and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts.
  • I blog to the Hive blockchain using a number of decentralised appplications.  From WordPress, I use the Exxp WordPress plugin.  If this rocks your socks, click on the image below to sign up –

Image: @traciyork

  • I also share my occasional instagram posts to the crypto blockchain using the new, and really nifty phone app, Dapplr. On your phone, click the icon below, and give it a go.