Tag: recipe

Jambalaya Juggle

jambalaya
~ Fiona ~ Leave a comment

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 pilaf, risotto 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?

~ Fiona ~ Leave a comment

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.

Dad’s Famous Tattie Scones

~ Fiona ~ Leave a comment

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.

Tripping the Light Fantastic

~ Fiona ~ Leave a comment

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.

Saucy tomatoes: otherwise known as Passata

~ Fiona ~ Leave a comment

When I met The Husband, he fended for himself and it wasn’t long before he informed me that a kitchen should never be without onions and tomatoes:  no tasty main meal (other than breakfast), could exclude onions.  Add tomatoes, he maintained, and you have the basis of a good meal.  I didn’t disagree, but over the years, I’ve learned that there are some dishes that don’t need onion.  However, it’s the tomatoes that have my attention, today.  We both love them and have our own associations with their cultivation.  The Husband, when he was beef ranching in Zimbabwe, and had the dubious pleasure, on occasions, of overseeing the harvest of the fruit for the local cannery.  He also talks of the dire gastric consequences, for workers, of eating not just sun-ripe but sun-hot tomatoes.  Talk about learning the hard way….

tomatoes_brinjals2016
Brinjal and tomatoes (Moneymaker) from our 2016 crop

Tomatoes and brinjals are all members of the deadly nightshade (Solanum) family, as are potatoes.  You’ll see the similarity looking at their flowers, not the leaves, which are poisonous.

Dad’s tomatoes

I remember my parents (my father, actually), growing tomatoes every year until they moved into a retirement home.

SAM_6908
Mum & Dad outside their house in Marshall Street, Grahamstown, a few months before they moved into the retirement home. And the last picture I took of them together.

Dad grew Moneymaker tomatoes from seed.  Rarely anything else.  This variety is a medium-sized, high-yielding tomato with excellent flavour.  They were sewn in June and would germinate in very cold weather – the little seedlings felt the cold.  They’d often be blue.  Really.

Before they retired and living in a small town, they would go home for lunch.  The pinching back and inspection of the annual tomato crop was a lunchtime ritual.  Pinching out the side shoots and staking them ensured tall, robust plants, that would eventually be weighed down with delicious red, sweet fruit.  I remember tomato-filled trays on every surface in the kitchen and sometimes the diningroom.  Now, the same is happening around our home. Tomatoes were never stored in the fridge.  It ruins the flavour.  Tomatoes served from the fridge infuriated The Dad.  Now it infuriates me…

For some reason, Mum didn’t often preserve tomatoes.  Only twice do I remember my mother “doing” anything with them:  once when a hail storm damaged the not-yet-ripe crop, she made green tomato chutney and on another, she made ketchup.

Now me, on the other hand, I’ll bottle anything.  Almost.  It’s a standing joke among some of our friends who warn The Husband that he might end up pickled and/or in a jar!  Besides that, and enjoying tomato, both tinned (bottled) tomatoes and a basic, traditional Italian tomato sauce, are useful and versatile.  Since first making it in about 2014, I make passata whenever I can get my hands on a goodly quantity of tomatoes.  The recipe is courtesy of the Katie Caldesi’s 2012:  Italian Cookery Course (Kyle Books, Great Britain) a gift for my 50th birthday.

Warning

Be warned, though, if you embark on this journey: passata takes an enormous quantity of tomatoes and a considerable amount of time to make a relatively small quantity.

Caldesi_cover_Passata
My first attempt at making passata in 2014

This year (2021) we have a bumper crop of tomatoes so Passata is back on my agenda.

Passata

The basic ingredients, other than tomatoes include garlic, onions, carrots and celery as well as, of course, olive oil.

In terms of quantities, I generally double up the ingredients for the two-step process:

For the first step

Ingredients

200ml olive oil
2,5kg cherry tomatoes (I use both cherries and “ordinary” tomatoes – more often the latter)
200g carrots, diced
200g celery, diced
225g white onion, diced
3 cloves garlic
10g salt (which I omitted)
5g freshly ground black pepper

Chuck all these ingredients into an enormous saucepan (my stock pot just coped with the double quantity).  Cook over a medium heat, stirring and squashing the tomatoes to break them up.  Bring to the boil and reduce heat and simmer for about 50 minutes.

Caldesi says that the mixture should then be passed through a sieve or passetutto to remove the skins.  I tried that once and it’s seriously time-consuming and tiring.  So, this time round, I followed her alternative suggestion and stuck in the stick blender and puréed the mixture.

For the second step

Additional Ingredients

3 tablespoons olive oil
100g white onion, finely chopped
1 fat garlic clove
salt (which I omitted) and freshly ground black pepper
3 sprigs of basil
2 tablespoons sugar, as necessary (I find that if I don’t add salt, sugar is often not necessary;  also if the tomatoes are sun-ripened, even off the vine, they are generally sweeter than those that ripen artificially)

Heat the oil in another, large, clean pot (I used the base of my pasta pot) and add the onion.  Stir and season with salt and pepper.  Cook until soft (7 – 10 minutes).  Add the basil and garlic.

Add the puréed mixture and cook until it reaches a sauce-like consistency.  Depending on the water content of the tomatoes, this could happen relatively quickly or could take a while – anything from 10 minutes (I should be so lucky) to an hour.

Pour into sterilised jars and boil again.

The quantities in the recipe should yield about 1,4 kg.  My 5 kg of tomatoes produced 11 jars (and a bit).

You can download a printable version of this recipe here.

Quick pasta supper

I’m thrilled with this batch:  it’s delicious and some of the half-filled jar was used to make us a quick pasta supper that night.  It consisted of homemade pasta, with passata stirred through it, and served with a drizzle of basil pesto and a locally made mature Gouda.

Final word

I first wrote this post in 2014, so not only was it due for an update especially given this year’s fantastic (and currently ongoing) harvest, but I have promised a recipe to Mary – she of the famous flatbreads.  So, Mary, this is for you!

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.

Original artwork: @artywink
  • lastly, graphics are created using partly my own photographs and Canva.

 

Aubergines – awful or awesome?

~ Fiona ~ Leave a comment

In our house, we call them brinjals, and other people call them melanzane or egg plants. You either like them or you don’t – like a friend’s daughter who, when she was little, announced to her mother

I don’t want to eat allmyjeans!!

It took a while to work out that then little girl, now a beautiful young woman, meant aubergines…

We grow brinjals – the variety we have grown, are beautiful, shiny and a glossy deep, deep purple, and feature in cuisine from all shores of the Mediterranean, and the Middle East. Smaller varieties, in other colours, are a feature of Asian food.  We’ve grown them, too, and I’ve served them – stuffed as a vegetarian option for Sunday Supper.

We always have brinjals in the fridge. Our regular Sunday breakfast includes a slice of fried brinjal, something I used to feel somewhat guilty about until Tim Noakes’ flip to a high-fat diet!

I have, subsequently, made some changes to my own diet that echoes those tenets.  That, however, is a story for another time.

Versatile

Brinjals are really versatile.  One can do much more with them than the relatively popular Melanzane Parmigiana and Moussaka in which they are centre pieces.

I must also mention that brinjals are not as fiddly to cook with as they used to be: most recipes recommend that you salt and allow them to stand for half an hour to remove the bitterness. Modern horticulture has developed brinjals that are no longer bitter. I never salt brinjals anymore, and I don’t recall the last time we had a bitter brinjal.

So, here are two awesome, really quick and easy things to do with aubergines, followed by a special request:

Ratatouille

Brinjal, together with courgettes are an integral ingredient of Ratatouille, the dish that famously turned food critic, Anton Ego, into a warm human being, fond of rats…

Its fancy name (pronounced rat-a-too-ee) belies how easy it is to make: sauté a chopped onion in olive oil, followed by one or two cloves of garlic, chopped, a diced robot of bell peppers, brinjal and courgettes (zucchini), adjusting quantities so that they are in proportion. Finally, add two or so skinned, chopped tomatoes. Some recipes suggest mushrooms and no brinjals, while others include both. It’s up to you. The most difficult part of this dish is not to overcook it – you want lovely liquid from the various vegetables but you don’t want them to turn to mush, so watch the pot!  As it’s just about done, add a good handful of fresh, chopped oreganum and/or italian parsley.

More recently, I’ve taken to roasting the peppers and then adding them towards the end, which I did here:

Serve hot or cold – with pasta, beautiful bread or rice – accompanied by a sprinkling of cheese (mild or strong, depending on your preference).

Ratatouille makes a lovely side dish, vegan or vegetarian meal.

Grilled Brinjal salad with a chilli yoghurt dressing

This is a variation on a platter served at Jakes in the Village, a few years ago, and a favourite spot when we lived in Cape Town.  We enjoyed it so much, I experimented and have now made it my own. The salad consists of slices of brinjal, grilled, placed on a bed of leaves and drizzled with a yoghurt dressing. This simple dressing is made from plain yoghurt, a little chilli jam (or fresh chilli, chopped and some honey) lemon juice, salt and pepper, and olive oil. Of course, garnish with fresh coriander which works so well with chilli!

100_2870

In this salad, I added fresh avocado and dill.

Keeping a paté promise

This post was one of my first – back in 2014.  It makes me realise how far I have come – blogging, cooking and taking happy snaps of my food.  I do admit that some of those early posts have been consigned to cyber oblivion.  No blockchains then.  Again, another conversation for another time.

This morning, a friend reminded me of a paté I used to make.  Often.  I first ate it in the home of a former uni lecturer and world expert in Dickens.  She subsequently gave me the recipe book from which it came.  Some time in the last nearly twenty years, I lent it to someone, I don’t know whom, and I’ve never had it back.  I’ve continued making the paté – from memory.  In the original version of this post, I gave the recipe somewhat en passant: just a list of ingredients and a basic process, but not much else.

Peculiarly, I have been thinking about this recipe because it’s the season when our market is quite busy and vegetarian options in greater demand.  I learned that it’s not like the chicken liver paté and hummus that are constant good sellers, so I’d not done it for a while.

It is not the middle eastern baba ghanoush of which I am not fond.  Perhaps I’ve not had a “good” one.  Equally, it’s possible that I’ve had a “good” on a meze platter and not known what it is.  It is vegan.  My bringal paté is not, but the cottage cheese can be substituted with vegan cheese.  It’s simple – roasted brinjal, cottage cheese, garlic and fresh herbs.  A remembers it from happier days when we sat in our Cape Town garden enjoying spritzers and not talking shop or, heaven help the world, Covid.

Here we are, 14 years ago in that same garden – a party that marked my 20th year as an independent consultant in my previous day job

Good times as colleagues and friends and good to remember them now – and to be able to keep a promise.

For you, A, and now I’ve applied my mind, the recipe is here.

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

Photo: Selma

Post Script

Looking for that gift for someone who has everything? Shop with Pearli in my evolving Redbubble shop –

And then there’s more:

  • 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 because of this.
  • If you’re interested in a soft entry into the world of crypto currency and monetising WordPress blog, use the fantastic plugin to post directly to the Hive blockchain. 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.

In yet another aspect of my life –

English writing, research and online tutoring services
writing – emails and reports, academic and white papers
formal grammar, spelling and punctuation
more information here

Charming Chutney

~ Fiona ~ 3 Comments

Chutney is an important feature of traditional South African cooking, and particularly those South Africans with Dutch and Malay heritage.  It’s an essential accompaniment to curry as well as being an ingredient in a number of traditional recipes including bobotie.  As are apricots – in chutneys, in jam – and which are also eaten dried, stewed or fresh.

November is apricot season around our village. Lorries, laden with crates of golden, ripe fruit, make their way down the hill, past our house to the markets and/or to the canning factory in a nearby town.  Everywhere one looks, there are apricots, and so it was on Friday evening when we arrived at our “local”, also frequented by the farmers from hereabouts.  We were a little later than, usual and as we walked in, there was a crate of apricots with a pile of cardboard trays next to it, sitting on the tailgate of one of the regulars’ bakkies (pick-up).  We hadn’t long arrived, performed the necessary greeting rituals, and acquired our drinks when The Husband leaned over to tell me that Jan Boer had informed him that we had a tray of apricots to take home.

“O koek!” I thought (as they say in the local lingo), “that’s a very lot of apricots for just two of us!”

Last year, we also had the fortune to be given a load of apricots.  Those I preserved in syrup – not as successfully as I would have liked.

So, with a plentiful stock of preserved apricots on hand, I figured I’d try to make chutney.  I also had to move smartly because apricots, do not keep well, particularly if they are ripe and ready to eat – as these were.

Not common: chutney with fresh fruit

I consulted my collection of recipe books, only to discover that none had a recipe for a chutney with fresh apricots.  So I had to invoke GoG (Good old Google) and see what I could find out.  Although  I did find a few recipes, I wasn’t entirely sold on some of the spice combinations.  What was common to all the recipes, including in the hard copy oracles I had consulted, was the ratio of fruit to sugar and vinegar.  I could also get a sense of the requisite quantity of spices.

The next step was to determine whether the chutney would have an Indian or Malay inclination.  I consulted The Husband;  we settled for the latter which is characterised by ginger, coriander, fennel, cumin and garlic.

The result:  fantastic!

I was thrilled to bits with not just the flavour, but also the colour and consistency.

For once, I recorded what I did at every step of the way.  In my notebook.  It’s not a journal, technically, as it’s the book in which I often write notes and ideas for blog posts.

Apricot Chutney

The ingredients are simple, fresth apricots, sugar, vinegar and spices.

For each kilogram or part, also the following

1 onion
1 clove of garlic
15g of fresh, grated ginger
1 teaspoon each of yellow and/or black mustard and fennel seeds
½ teaspoon each of ground coriander and cumin
a sprinkling of coarse salt (do not add too much salt – the proverbial pinch is really all it takes!)

Ratios

All chutneys have fruit, sugar and vinegar in the ratio of 2 fruit to 1 each of vinegar and sugar.  Some recipes call for granulated, brown or molasses sugar, and others for spirit, white wine or cider vinegar.  I had to use what I had available in sufficient quantities and settled for ordinary granulated (white) sugar and the vinegar was a combination of apple cider and white spirit vinegar (roughly 1/3  apple cider vinegar).

What to do

Pip the apricots; peel the onions and garlic, and roughly chop.  Blitz in the food processor in batches, transferring each to a large stock/jam pot.

Add the sugar and vinegar and stir, and finally, add the spices.

Bring to the boil, stirring from time to time to make sure that the mixture does not catch and burn on the bottom of the pan.  Reduce the heat and simmer for 2½ to 3 hours, continuing to stir, until it has reduced, the consistency is chutney-like and the mixture is a deep, rich colour.

Bottle, hot, in sterilised jars.

The flavour

The flavour surprised and delighted us:  neither The Husband nor I, are fond of a sweet chutney and the apricot chutneys I remember tasting have tended towards being too sweet.  This is has a piquant, warm spicy flavour without serious heat.  I might, with another batch, consider adding some chilli for a chutney with a bit more bite.

So charmed were we both with this apricot chutney, that we tried it with our braai and boerewors (spicy South African sausage) that evening.  We decided that it will make a good accompaniment to not only the traditional fare, but also cheese, ham and turkey.  It’s likely, therefore, to be gracing our Christmas table this year.

Save a printable version of the recipe here.

First published on Fiona’s Favourites WordPress blog in 2015 and updated in November 2020.

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


Photo: Selma

Post Script

I am doing my best to post every day for November as part of @traciyork’s twice yearly #HiveBloPoMo challenge. This is my third attempt. All my posts are to the the Hive blockchain, but not all from WordPress.  Details about the challenge (on the blockchain) are here and on WordPress, here.

Looking for that gift for someone who has everything? Shop with Pearli in my evolving Redbubble shop –

And then there’s more:

  • 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 because of this.
  • If you’re interested in a soft entry into the world of crypto currency and monetising WordPress blog, use the fantastic plugin to post directly to the Hive blockchain. 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.



In yet another aspect of my life –

English writing, research and online tutoring services
writing – emails and reports, academic and white papers
formal grammar, spelling and punctuation
more information here
 

A burger’s a burger, or is it?

broad bean
~ Fiona ~ 2 Comments

I associate burgers with quick food.  They are, if one gets them “done”.  They’re not if they’re home made from scratch.  I make both meat and plant-based burgers.  One has to go a long way to find a good vegan or vegetarian patty.  Especially at a restaurant:  I’ve had some really memorable (for all the wrong reasons) ones.  The first vegetarian was – going on 34 years ago – in a burger joint in Johannesburg.  Instead of a slab of rubber, it was a huge, juicy black mushroom.  That joint went on to become one of the biggest local burger franchises in the country, and which last time I had one of their burgers, still set the bar for me.

But, I digress, as usual.

Garden Loot

We do eat meat, and as I keep on saying, The Husband is an avowed carnivore.  That said, he does enjoy his greens vegetables and, over the last nearly twenty years that we’ve shared a life, he’s had to endure many a meat-free meal.  Initially, it was with great reluctance and surprised relish.  Now, he’s less reluctant, but I do get very skew looks when I introduce something new to the repertoire.

So it was with these burgers.

This year, thanks to good rain and regularly watering the garden, we’ve had a surfeit of garden loot.

One spring afternoon’s harvest

The first pickings are young, tender and sweet.  As the season progresses, and the crops mature, they’re less so.  Also, as one picks, it’s easy to miss pods so some do get a trifle long in the tooth.  Not one to let much go to waste, I always look for ways of better dealing with “tougher” beans and peas. Let’s also be honest, one does need some variety when there are just the two of you and what feels like a year’s supply of, well, whatever.

That’s not always the case with broad (fava) beans – the season is short – and besides enjoying them as they are, they’re really versatile.  Anyhow, since I wrote that, some six years ago, we’ve moved to eating more meatfree meals.  On a Monday, at least, we’ve joined the  Meat Free Monday movement and often the meal is entirely plant-based.

I really do enjoy searching out new recipes and ways of doing things.  So it was with these burgers. If not the accompaniments.

The broad bean crop was coming to an end and beans were coming in thick and fast.

Five litres of broad beans

A while before, I’d been looking for not just things to do with beans and came across this burger recipe.  At the time, what a waste of broad beans, I thought.  Not so, when the beans got somewhat bigger and more chalky.  I admit, too, that there’s something about getting your mouth around a burger and messing all over one’s hands, face and just generally, that’s rather satisfying!

So, I gave them a go:

Broad bean burgers

These burger patties have a chickpea base with the broad beans added in towards the end of the process.  The flavours – mint, coriander, cumin and harissa – are southern Mediterranean and middle eastern – and delicious.  So much so that when I made these the first time, The Husband had a second helping and declared that they could become a regular part of the repertoire, expressing regret (again) that the season for broad beans is so shortlived!

The first time we ate them was on flatbreads which we folded over the patty.

We agreed that the simple leaf dressing of olive oil and lemon juice and the yoghurt dressing was nothing short of heavenly.  His –

You can do these again!

Is all the confirmation I needed.  So I have, and the next time – with equal enjoyment, I served them with my home made, brown sourdough rolls.

If you’d also like to make these, download the recipe here.

Before I go

I have blogpals in different parts of South Africa and the world.  Three, in particular, encourage and inspire me as I continue to experiment in my kitchen – and especially with plant-based food.  Katie (@plantstoplanks) in Atlanta, a personal trainer and nutrition coach, whose WordPress site is full useful information, and The Kitchen Fairy (@thekitchenfairy) in Canada, who shares cooking videos via YouTube and Instagram. Much closer to home, is Lizelle (@lizelle) in Durban.  Thank you all for your encouragement and inspiration to grow my repertoir and confound The Husband’s taste buds!

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

Photo: Selma

Post Script

Looking for that gift for someone who has everything? Shop with Pearli in my developing Redbubble shop –

And then there’s more:

  • 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 because of this.
  • If you’re interested in a soft entry into the world of crypto currency and monetising WordPress blog, use the fantastic plugin to post directly to the Hive blockchain. 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.

In yet another aspect of my life –

English writing, research and online tutoring services

writing – emails and reports, academic and white papers
formal grammar, spelling and punctuation
more information here

Seriously sizzling – these siss-sters

~ Fiona ~ 2 Comments

I have been making koeksisters for the McGregor Market for more than six years having last made them in the early 1990’s.  At that time, I thought they were horrendously enormous and occasionally trotted them out with tea or as a dessert.

Fast forward twenty or so years:  the world is much more health conscious than it was then, and not having a sweet tooth coupled the new understanding of sugar addiction, I decided to make little ones.  It’s a decision that’s stood me in good stead.

Traditional Afrikaans cookie

For international readers, let me explain:  a koeksister is a deep fried pastry.  There are two types of koeksisters in South Africa;  both are a sweet, deep-fried confectionary.  One has Malay roots and is traditional in the “coloured” community and is rather like a spicy doughnut that is rolled in coconut and colloquially known as a “koe’sister“.  The ones that I make have Dutch roots and are traditional Afrikaans fayre; drenched in a syrup.

Of course, for an immigrant rooinek* to make and sell them in the shadow of the Dutch Reformed Church, is one thing.  To hear ‘n regte, egter boer and person of real, genuine Afrikaans farming stock, or a “coloured” person say that my koeksisters are “delish!” or better still – “they taste like home” – is a source of some pride!

* literal translation of rooi nek is red-neck  – the derogatory term for the pith-helmeted English soldiers whose necks would get sunburnt during the Anglo-Boer war (Source).

A view over McGregor village dominated by the Dutch Reformed Church.

A little etymology on the side

I did a bit of research as I was perfecting my product, and one of the things that I learned is that there is no such thing as a “koeksuster”.  Every search engine I used, chucked up “koeksister”.  So, the literal translation of the name cannot be “cake sister” – a common misconception.  Even in South Africa – I’ve given up disabusing some folk about it.

What I found out

The Afrikaans word for “sister”, one’s fraternal female sibling, is suster. It turns out that the “sis” is alliterative:  omdat hulle so ‘siss’ as hulle in die warm oilie en koue stroop gesit is.  They siss when they’re frying in the hot oil and still sizzling, dropped into the icy syrup.

My recipe is based on a book given to me, nearly 30 years ago, in a past life.  It was also my first ever South African cookery book.  A few years ago, I was looking for a do-it-all local book for a friend and discovered that it was still in print!  What a delight to find my basic South African culinary Bible – the perfect gift for that occasion.

I have, of course, made a few minor (I suppose that depends on perspective) adjustments, i.e. butter instead of margarine, slices of fresh ginger and whole cinnamon instead of the ground-up stuff.

You can download a printable version of my recipe here. If you do, buy me a coffee? Or better yet, a glass of wine….?

Good game played slow

Making koeksisters is a morning’s work.  Not only must the dough rest, but the cutting and plaiting of anywhere between 24 and, in my case 52-odd koeksisters, is a game most definitely played slow.  It’s a labour of (mostly) love that I do at least every other Friday – ahead of the market.

A little more debate

Koeksisters do keep (and freeze) well – for as much as a month – because the sugar is a natural preservative – as are both the ginger and cinnamon.  If you don’t keep them cold and eat them quickly, they do lose their slight crunch.    Once they’ve cooled, completely, seal them into the container to and put them in the fridge or a chiller – the cooler the better.  Over time, their flavour improves as they draw in cinnamon and ginger syrup. Well, mine do – because I leave them in the syrup.

There is no consensus:  do koeksisters taste best fresh and crispy on the outside and soft on the inside?  Or, softer, more flavoursome and dripping in syrup?

Finally

This is the third iteration of this post.  The first was in about 2016, not long after I started blogging.  The second was last year and was one of the posts that disappeared when my earstwhile host absconded – with all the posts I’d written over that year.  This, third (hopefully lucky) post is part of the process of revising, updating and sorting recipes so that they’re more accessible and printable.  For me, as much as for anyone who wants to use them.

The significance of three and five-oh

The McGregor Saturday morning market has been a defining feature of my week for the last seven or so years.  Fridays are always kitchen days.  Saturday mornings are occupied (winter or summer and when it’s dry – which is most weeks because we live in a rain scarce region) with packing things up, and heading down the road, setting up, selling and then returning home for brunch.

South Africa’s lockdown meant that for four months, my the week had no shape.

Market changes

The market’s resuming, just on two months ago, was interesting.  Suddenly we had to take steps to control numbers and access to our little “precinct”.

A misty set up for the first “Covid” market in McGregor

We were surprised when, two or so weeks ago, there was a queue of people waiting to come in.  Fifty patrons?  We were gobsmacked.  We had no idea that we ever had as many as fifty patrons at one time.  Ever.  Let alone more.  Or during level 3 lockdown.

Then

Just last week, I hit a personal milestone.  September, a year ago, and because I discovered I had a number of repeat marmalade customers, who nagged and because I had sold out, I started keeping track.  Very old fashioned and low tech.

I had sold fifty jars of marmalade in a calendar year.

Here’s the thing: for more than a quarter of that year, we have had no markets.  It’s only at the market, or direct from home, and with no real marketing or promotion, that I sell marmalade.  This month (September) alone, I have sold ten jars. Four just this Saturday.  To a repeat customer.  They are best customers.

That’s not all – the third five-oh

Although we are in the sixth month of a national state of disaster – also known as Covid lockdown – South Africa moved to level 1 a week ago.  The number of people testing positive for the corona virus seems to be dropping and the country’s recovery rate is at 90% (a discussion for another time).  It was also a long weekend so the village was full of visitors – hoping to enjoy spring weather.  There was, however, a momentary return of winter.  That said, there was a more than healthy turnout at the market.

For the first time in more than a year, the entire batch of fifty-odd koeksisters sold out.

Perhaps rather apt to have sold out of a traditional or heritage food as this is the weekend during which South Africa celebrates its complex and diverse heritage.

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

Photo: Selma

 

Post Script

In yet another aspect of my life, I offer

English writing, research and online tutoring services

writing – emails and reports, academic and white papers
formal grammar, spelling and punctuation
more information here

And then there’s more:

  • 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 because of this.
  • If you’re interested in a soft entry into the world of crypto currency and monetising WordPress blog, use the fantastic Steempress plugin to post directly to the Hive blockchain.  Click on the image below to sign up
  • 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.

Tuck shop tucker

~ Fiona ~ 1 Comment

At boarding school, there was really very little reason to go to the tuck shop.  We used to get sandwiches at break (for my US blogpals – mid-morning recess).  They were always brown bread and usually the freshest of soft fresh.  My favourites were egg.  I still love egg sandwiches.  When I make them, I still grate my eggs they way they were grated for those sandwiches.  Peanut butter or peanut butter and jam (jelly), I could take or leave, and mostly left.  The midday meal was a quick gobble before the final two lessons ahead of the end of the school day just after 2pm.

Clarendon Girls’ High School where I spent five years, and from which I matriculated 40 years ago this year.  I took this photograph ten years ago when I went back for my first school reunion.

Reason besides, I did frequent the tuck shop.  There were certain stand out products that were popular among my peers.  They, and two in particular, became part of my Friday, end-of-the-week ritual.

Pocket money

Each term, our parents put money into our “pockets” which was doled out on request.  These were the days before computers, let alone PCs. Parent communication was either snail mail or a weekly telephone call to or from the ticky box (pay phone).  Back to pocket money – a girl needs cash, right?  The matron had a huge, leather-bound ledger and a cash box.  Each one of us (and there were about 70 of us), had a page on which she kept a running tally of our personal allocation and what we drew.  We had to go to her office, and queue after breakfast to draw money or to get a “sick” note if we needed to “escape” phys ed.  I queued. Frequently.

Tucker

The pupils’ mums ran the tuckshop and the fare, some of which would be frowned upon today, included salad rolls (egg or cheese) on fresh, white hot dog rolls;  vetkoek (deep-fried dough) with curried mince.  And buttery, flaky cheese pies.

The latter two often featured in my Friday ritual necessitated by the ubiquotous fried fish, soggy chips and coleslaw:  after school, I’d head to the tuckshop and order either a cheese pie or a curried vetkoek and a yoghurt.  When I have the opportunity to eat a traditional kerrie vetkoek, those vetkoek remain the standard.

Anyway, not so long ago, there was the inevitable discussion about tuck shop favourites on the “alumni” Facebook page.  I discovered that there is a recipe book from that era which includes a recipe for the curried mince.  The discussion turned to cheese pies and I mentioned that, occasionally, I make them.  There’s no recipe.  They must have been bought in from the local bakery – along with the sausage rolls.

I should not have said anything because, of course, I don’t have a recipe.  Anyhow, I promised that the next time I made them, I’d write down what I do. That meant paying proper attention to weights and measures. And things.

The “girl” who asked for this recipe is in this photograph of the residents of Connaught House, taken in 1976. She and I were in the same dormitory at least once that year, if I remember correctly.  She is at the end, on the right, of the second row from the back.  I am on the grass to the left of the matron’s left knee.

So, Judy, this is for you:  taste memories of forty five years ago.

Old School Clarendon Cheese Pies

The first time I made  these cheese pies was because I had some puff pastry left – from something else I had made.  Until I tasted them, I didn’t think about “our” cheese pies.  One bite and I was transported back to the years between 1976 and 1980, and high school. I admit that I make them with ready-made pastry.  I have made puff pastry:  it’s a mission.  And expensive.  A good quality store-bought pastry is a never-fail, at a far lesser price.  There’s a time when discretion is the better part of valour.  So, this really is a very easy “two ingredient” recipe:

A roll of pastry makes between 4 and 6 pies – depending on how thin one rolls the pastry, how good one is at spacing the rounds and how large you make the pies.  I use a small, plastic side plate as a template (about 16cm) and each pie contains about 100g of grated cheddar.  I seal the edges with milk which I also use to brush the pie and glaze it.  I’m a bit Scottish about using an egg wash: if I’m only making two pies, most of the egg will go to waste.  Bake in a hot oven (210°C) for 15 to 20 minutes until puffed up and golden brown.

Make sure that the pastry is sealed and that no cheese escapes – if you don’t, you’ll have pastry shells.

Pimped cheese pies and canapés

Although there is only one way to eat these cheese pies: hot, out of the oven with an entire bottle lashings of tomato sauce (ketchup), one can shrink and pimp them:

Shrink them for canapés and cut the pastry using an 8 to 10 cm cookie cutter and to pimp the filling, if you use cheddar, mix it with fresh herbs (like oreganum or thyme) and/or thin slices of raw or caremelised onion.  Inspired by a friend in the village and a pastry I ate at her Country Kitchen even before we moved here, occasionally and decadently, I substitute the cheese with a mixture of finely shredded raw spinach, caremelised onion and blue cheese.

If you’d like a printable version of the recipe, you can download it here.  When you do, buy me a ko-fi?

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

Photo: Selma

 

Post Script

In yet another aspect of my life, I offer

English writing and online tutoring services

every day conversation and formal presentations
writing – emails and reports, academic and white papers
formal grammar, spelling and punctuation
more information here

And then there’s more:

  • 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 ko-fi?
    • and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts because of this.
  • If you’re interested in a soft entry into the world of crypto currency and monetising WordPress blog, use the fantastic Steempress plugin to post directly to the Hive blockchain.  Click on the image below to sign up
  • I also share the occasional post on Medium.