Around May 2017, around the time, my regular blogs became increasingly sparse, as one chapter in my life ended, and others began. One of these was Sunday Suppers @ The Sandbag House.
Two years later we were still doing it. Menus went out weekly to a WhatsApp group and via various social media and e-news channels in the village. The menu for the second anniversary supper, was the same, except for the soup. The third anniversary, courtesy of the pandemic, didn’t happen. We haven’t done a Sunday Supper, or planned a menu in over a year.
At around the time that we marked the first anniversary of Sunday Suppers, we implemented a suggestion from regular diners, and started a book in which they could leave notes. It’s also an interesting and easy way to keep track – mostly of the countries from which our village visitors came. In the those years, we hosted folk from England, Ireland and Scotland; Sweden, Denmark and Germany; Spain, Italy and India. We welcomed old friends – from far and near – and made new. I was surprised by university friends, neither of whom I’d seen since those days, who came to McGregor – especially for Sunday Supper. That was a trifle nerve racking, I confess. Then they recommended to friends, Sunday Supper @ The Sandbag House. And the friends came.
Not long into the journey, friend and photographer, Selma decided that she wanted to document (her word), a Sunday Supper @ The Sandbag House. Her photographs are infinitely better than I could have wished. We did have great fun and, I have forgiven her:
I don’t want to be in front of the camera, I whined.
You won’t be, she assured me, batting her blue eyes at me, smiling broadly.
All photos in this collage and the header image: Selma
I a great deal from Suppers @ The Sandbag House. Not least that we could do it, and I learned that I could/can do things I never thought I could. Don’t get me wrong, I have most definitely not morphed from being a home cook into a chef, but there is truth in the old adage, practise makes perfect.
At the beginning, not only do I like doing pretty tables, but I figured that if the tables were pretty enough, people would forgive the food.
Like wine and cheese do, I improved over time
Perfection has not been realised, but there was most certainly a significant improvement in things like desserts – never my forté – and how they are presented. I discovered that I can bake and make mousse.
As I said, thanks to the pandemic, Sunday Suppers came to an abrupt halt. Now, and ironically last Sunday morning, I had a WhatsApp message:
I know it’s late, but can I book supper for three….
Politely, I recommended another establishment. Which brings me to the next point: we started Sunday Suppers because there was no spot in the village where folk could get supper on Sunday evenings. Now there is. At least one spot. And we cannot do walk-ins. And with Covid, and even vaccinated, would we be putting ourselves and our guests at risk?
I originally wrote this two years into Sunday Suppers and the original post went the way of many others. I was going to simply re-post as
is was. Then that Sunday morning message and a subsequent conversation made me think and wonder. Whether we’ll do Sunday Suppers is a question we’re now also asking. I guess, well have to answer the question. Properly. Right now, the answer is:
I don’t know.
Until next time, be well
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa
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.
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