Six decades, only six songs? Impossible

17 August 202217 August 2022 ~ Fiona ~ Leave a comment

Whenever I hear Abba’s Waterloo, my eleven year old self remembers the first “pop” song that appealed to her – the very first time she heard it.

It was a weekday afternoon and the radio was on – we had one of those radiograms that had the radio in the middle, a turntable on one side, and a cubby hole for the records on the other. No, Waterloo was not the first seven single I bought. That was this song from a local singer, and about not my father, who was also a Jimmy, but rather he who sang about his Long Haired Lover from Liverpool. My mother subsequently developed a long lasting love affair with Abba and bought each album as it appeared. They were played to death on that record player. In my teenage and adult years – and still in some circles – it just wasn’t done to admit that one was an Abba fan. My mother was NOT a Waterloo fan, but she loved Chiquitita…

As a fourteen year old, I remember a drilling – gymnaestrada – competition at school. Every class participated in it each year. I only remember 1977 and the song: Knowing me, Knowing you. We won.

Not quite the task

I’ve not really begun, and already I’m way off track. The task set, here, was to select one song ~~that best reflects~~ for each decade of one’s life.

A confession

I recommended the theme, and the Silver Bloggers’ team agreed. I should have known better. Music – popular – I admit – has played an important part in my life – with a little jazz on the side. Going on five years ago, someone challenged me to pick my favourite song. I simply could not and, instead, wrote a kind of musical “back story” to my life. Similarly when I tried and forced myself, eventually, to pick my top 3 lead singers. I couldn’t.

It’s that old story: be careful what you wish for. I had created a tall order. For myself, anyway.

Focus

Reading those posts – you need to, for some of what follows to make sense – I confirmed a suspicion: I’ve written a lot about my favourite songs. That backstory to my life, though, is a combination of musical memories and poetic license: I did have to search for some songs to weave into the story. Just for fun. I do conclude with some real, and for me, iconic favourites. In getting to my top 3 lead singers, on the other hand, I picked songs and people that take me back to people and places at specific times in my life. Or, which reflect – with hindsight – what was happening for (or to) me, in that phase of my life.

So, in thinking about the six decades from the 1960s to the 2020s, I realise I have set myself a hard task. In thinking about it, I had to create a framework for myself. I tried to divide my life into phases and thought about what song takes me back there. In some parts of my life, a lot happened in ten years and at others, there’s an almost ten year blank.

So, as usual, I’m taking liberties and I shall be doing phases rather than decades.

Pre-school: the 1960s

One of my earliest musical memories is Sandy Shaw’s Puppet on a String. Somehow, it always takes me back to the first home I remember in South Africa: an apartment in Port Elizabeth. I don’t have vivid memories of the place other than of some of the things I did with my Dad. He worked for the municipality and St George’s Park was within walking distance – even for a wee girl of about four – and I’d occasionally go with him when he had a weekend duty. I think, though, that this is the song that marks that phase:

Donovan’s Mellow Yellow, it seems, is a song I’ve always known, although I didn’t really get to enjoy or understand his music until I was in my 20s. I have a funny feeling that my mother’s decision that yellow was my favourite colour, was based on my probably constant humming of this song.

I loved singing and would often ask my dad what I could sing for him. His stock answer:

Over the hills and far away…

And he meant it.

Back to Donovan: I had a colleague in the mid-80’s who had a yellow tie, and whenever he wore it, I’d greet him with a

They call me mellow yellow….

He was a dyed-in-the wool Afrikaans South African. His expression told me he’d never heard the song…

Primary school: 1970 – 1975

I have already mentioned my Waterloo moment. There is though, another 1970s song that will forever take me back to this part of my life. My parents had friends who would invite us to lunch at the military base and in the mess. There was, of course, “piped” music and one Sunday, I distinctly remember singing along (much to my mother’s horror) to a song, in the middle of which she exclaimed:

I cannot stand this!

Charisma’s Mammy Blue, now rarely heard on the radio, never fails to take me back to that time, my little frock and bobby sock, as well as of course, my very irritated mother.

High School: 1976 – 1980

I was twelve when I went to boarding school in 1976. Happily. I escaped my mother and home where I felt trapped. While boarding school was very rigid and I was considered a goody too shoes, I lived in my head, doing my own thing within those rules. There were difficult times and one of my most horrible memories was the initiation. The “newpots” had to dress up as bunny girls and dressed like that, we were subjected to all manner of humiliation and finally compelled to perform at a concert. For an introvert it was traumatic. To this day, dressing up and opening myself to that kind of humiliation fills me with horror. Nor will I be part of anything like that. If I were to pick a song that summarises that time, it would probably have to be this one:

I did relate to Sandra Dee, but never saw myself finding my Danny.

University: 1981 – 1985

Each of these five years is a lifetime. I started growing up and started the journey to becoming myself. Choosing just one song from that phase, was difficult. The 80s was, seriously, my era, so in selecting, I’ve chosen, again, songs, the titles of which reflect what I was learning to do and be. That said, I do love them both. For different reasons. Both have elements of brass and big bands, a love of which I shared with my dad.

First up, Joe Jackson. Many of his hits punctuated the first couple of years at uni – as I was learning to step out, myself.

Not only do I enjoy the ska that was Madness, but I was also, in my own way, learning to go one step beyond…

Work and more: 1986 – 1990

I think I had more fun, and did more partying in my first year as a working girl than I’d had in my entire life. Every Friday, the party began at around 3 or 4 in the afternoon. A bunch of us would adjourn to an establishment about four or five blocks from our inner city Johannesburg offices, for our weekly “seminar”. We’d put the grand sum of R2 into a pool and that would buy the bunch of us at least two rounds of beer. Yes, I drank beer in those days. Who didn’t?

We’d hang around there until we discovered who was playing that evening. If we liked the band, we’d stay. We always stayed for The African Jazz Pioneers. This transports me back to those evenings – instantly.

In 1990, after Nelson Mandela’s release, but before democracy, they were one of the first mixed groups to play at the Nico Malan Theatre (now Artscape) in Cape Town. I was on holiday in Cape Town and dating (sort of) a then member of parliament and we went to see the show. It was weird. There was that huge band, all formal, in dinner jackets, playing to a seated, un-dancing audience.

Returning to the 80s, and that same venue, another iconic local band we never missed, was Bright Blue. Their iconic Weeping is embedded in the soundtrack to my life but the song that takes me back to those heady nights when we literally danced till dawn, either at Jameson’s or at some or other illegal shebeen in Soweto, is this one:

It was a happy, dancing time and I met genres of music that this little white girl had never experienced (too many and much for now). I was enchanted and hooked.

Democracy and divorce – 1990s

The 1990s is the decade that, when I looked back, seemed like a complete blank. Of course, it was not. South Africa went to the polls for the first time – as a united nation. This always takes me back to that time.

I left Johannesburg and followed my heart to the Eastern Cape where I started an entirely new life as a self-employed gig-worker. With him, I moved to Cape Town. Married. Had to start a new work network. Again. Then. Divorced.

This was an essential and defiant anthem.

2000 and beyond

Sanatna, of course, featured for me in the 2000s. Although this song came out in 1999, the album won a load of Grammy awards in 2000. It was also in the last decade that Santana performed in South Africa. A highlight, which I enjoyed with The Husband (we married two years into the new millenium – another story…).

At that show, Santana played not only Smooth, but one of my favourite – ever – guitar instrumentals and which I shared in that other post.

If I did have to pick a that sums up South Africa (and perhaps the world at the time) for that decade, it would be this one:

Then, for the current decade – which is still a toddler – dominated by nothing but probably world’s worst pandemic since the Black Death, if not the Spanish Flu. I began the decade filled with hope for (yet another) new beginning… It’s a song and dance that somehow seemed to lift not just South Africa but the world.

Now

I admit: I’m not really “into” new music. That said, we love local live music gigs – when we can. We (The Husband and I) have a reputation of being both first. And last. On the dance floor.

Long may we (all) dance.

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

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.

lastly, graphics are created using partly my own photographs and Canva.

The dying memories of the 1980s: looking back to look at the now

19 July 202231 July 2022 ~ Fiona ~ Leave a comment

For the last couple of days, I have been musing on the heady, awful and wonderful days of the mid-1980s. At the moment, there’s a kind of pall hanging over South Africa which is a function of the nearly fifteen years of electrickery drama, ongoing corruption and impunity, only the surface of which Zondo has scratched. This is compounded with a growing sense of unease. The crime rate is burgeoning country wide. Closer to home, in the village, it seems rife. That is contradicted by the actual statistics that the local police presented at a recent village meeting. However, in a small community, each crime seems personal: the perpetrators are often habitual criminals who grew up here, and we know by sight, and have fallen by the wayside. The victims – rich and poor – are often people we know.

It began on Sunday

My reflections began on Sunday with the news that Jessie Duarte had died. Not quite ten years my senior, she was a significant character the South African political landscape – that the general (white) public knew about – just before and since 1994. My connections with her are vicarious: I had reason to deal with both of her brothers in the 80s. One, because of his drive behind establishing a coalition of non-governmental organisations. The other, well, it’s not important now. What is important is that at the time, we all had a single goal: a South Africa where people of different races had the same rights and suffrage. Somehow, through it all, we were young people who had fun and lived life to the full. Regardless.

Monday

Monday, that’s yesterday, was Mandela Day. For the first time since its inception in 2009, I did nothing remotely connected with its spirit. I can’t remember what I did in 2020 – blame it on Covid. In 2021, and when we were in yet another lockdown, I played a minor role in a client’s campaign for the day. At least. This year, I sort of reflected more on how Nelson Mandela would have been profoundly sad at how his legacy has been destroyed.

A death on Mandela Day

Yesterday afternoon as I thumped away at my keyboard to meet an already missed deadline, I heard the announcement that gangster-turned-poet, Don Mattera, had died. I only had one encounter with him. I was all of 22 and it was in 1986 and on a day that was significant in the “struggle” calendar. As I carry on reflecting, and his particular brand of politics, I think it must have been Sharpeville Day in March. He addressed us – staff of a “struggle” organisation. I don’t remember what he said or the poem he read, but I remember things about that day like it was yesterday. Of the man, I remember his presence. Not because he was a hulking man but rather because of his loud, clear message of peace at a time when South Africa was on fire. Already a devout Muslim, he had a gentle strength about him that gave a lie to his past life as a gangster. The room was filled to bursting – probably nearly a hundred of us, hanging on his every word.

Why is this significant, today?

Much of what we did at work in that organisation, every day (and at home), in 1986, was illegal in South Africa. It was illegal for people of different races to work together. It was not the done thing to create equal education for folk of other races. What that meant: an education that encouraged questioning, free speech and genuine intellectual development. It was illegal, that day, for many of the folk in that room to gather in numbers greater than 10, let alone sing Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika. And we did. Both. With sombre delight and gusto.

Work and play hard

This photo is of me, sitting at a black colleague’s desk, that same year. We were young folk

from across the spectrum of South Africa’s race groups who worked together and had fun together. We’d have “seminars” at Jameson’s on Commissioner Street each Friday afternoon. When we were done, and the band was not to our taste, we’d adjourn, often to Soweto and continue the ~~discourse and debates~~ party until the wee hours of the morning. White folk were not supposed to venture into the townships, period. Let alone young white women – as one policeman at a road block one evening delighted to advise. He also tried to terrify my friend and I with stories of what would happen to us if “black men got their hands on you.” We figuratively closed our ears, let him finish his tirade, wound up the window and drove back to Yeoville in silence.

Part of my “play” included volunteer work with Johannesburg’s street children. The detail’s not important and again, we were an eclectic bunch of people living the future South Africa.

Friends and colleagues enjoying a day in the country with the street kids in our care – 1986/7

Looking back to look forward

I’m grateful for the reflection that the news of both Duarte’s and Mattera’s death foisted upon me. Yes, things are difficult – very difficult – in this country. But there are things that today’s young people – mercifully – will never experience:

Two particular memories live with me. One, as a child, I never understood why, when my father took our helper home on a Saturday at lunch time, she – a grown woman – had to sit on the back seat and I, all of about 7, sat in the front next to my father. Just in case, I learned as an adult, they had “relations” across the “colour bar”.

The second is more like a series of bad dreams and they’re all associated with buses like the one in the photo. We used public transport. Sometimes, colleagues from “another” part of town headed to “our” side of town for a visit after work. Some bus drivers simply looked the other way. Others – one in particular, and whom we referred to as the nazi – took great delight in making sure they couldn’t get on the bus. Except when in the company of white colleagues. One afternoon, a friend (the tall one with the white hat among the street kids) and I hopped off on the way because he said –

Why don’t we stop for a beer?

So we got off in Hillbrow which, at that time, was already quite cosmopolitan even though it was designated as a “Whites Only” residential area.

Except.

The ~~first~~ only place we chose didn’t turn us away, and although I knew it was an all hours joint (for e-ver-y-thing), the server said we could only have lemonade. We left. Got back on the bus and went to my house. And ate, drank (beer and wine) and made merry.

Now

That is the type of experience to which South Africa’s youth can never be exposed – or shouldn’t, anyway. That kind of discrimination is now illegal. They never have to spend their lives looking over their shoulders for fear of just living their youth.

This is Mandela’s legacy and which we should celebrate. Every Day.

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

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.

lastly, graphics are created using partly my own photographs and Canva.

Pickled Fish: a South African Tradition

13 April 202214 April 2022 ~ Fiona ~ Leave a comment

Pickled fish is an iconic traditional South African dish. I first ate pickled fish at the ripe old age of about seven. It was the starter for Christmas lunch: the first I really remember. I was instantly smitten. Auntie Doris made it every year and for all the years we “had Christmas” at number 10, I looked forward to it – more than the Christmas cake or the Christmas pudding. In the intervening years, I don’t remember eating it very often.

Regional traditions

I grew up in the Eastern Cape, and not in a coastal town. I think I’ve mentioned that although both my mother and I enjoyed eating fish, my father didn’t. Fish was not a regular menu item. I have no recollection of eating pickled fish other than at Christmas. It was only when I moved to the Western Cape that I was assailed with stories of the Easter pickled fish tradition.

Making pickled fish

I have no recollection of what spurred me on to making pickled fish. I do know that the first attempt was probably nearly 20 years ago. I don’t remember the occasion. I do remember two things:

Consulting the lovely lady in “our” spice shop who not only gave me a recipe, but a few tips.
Hearing celebrity chef, Jenny Morris talking on the radio about making pickled fish. Not long after, her regular newsetter – and recipe – arrived in my inbox.

I carefully copied, pasted and saved the email recipe. After printing it out, I filed it with the other. They still “live” together.

“My” recipe is “born”

I now make pickled fish twice a year. Before we moved to McGregor, it had become our standard Christmas starter and a tradition that continues. Because of this, in addition to the traditional Easter “season”, I also sell it at the market.

An lockdown-related aside

I know I’ve told this story elsewhere, but it bears telling again:

When we went into a hard lockdown, two years ago in March, Easter fell earlier than this year. Feeling the fear and now “un-normal” things were, l naively decided to try to retain some semblance of normality, if not cheer. So, I posted on our community notice board, something to the effect and that I was taking orders for pickled fish. As I had done, twice a year for the last several.

I say, naively, because ~~our~~ my understanding of the lockdown had not included word for word interrogation of the regulations. I discovered, thanks to vitriolic keyboard “police”, that even my suggestion could not be countenanced.

So, began for me, a very difficult patch. That was just one incident. Perhaps I will write about the others. Suffice it to say that I retreated, folded my wings and embraced the black that came with being locked down.

I recognise that, only now, am I beginning to re-emerge and really heal. Partly, too, because at least three of those self-appointed keepers of the village wellbeing have ~~been spat out~~ have left.

Back into the pickle

Over the years, and because I’m not a fan of deep fried foods, I decided that I would take Ms Simply Spice’s advice and bake my fish. Not fry it – either with or without batter – which is the most common way of doing it. That, and my use of fresh ginger and the ratios of curry powder are the result of trial and error. My go-to curry powder is a blend called mother-in-law. Yes, it has a bite as the name suggests. And it has good flavour. One of the women who cared for my ailing father, and of Cape Malay descent recommended it. I’ve not looked back.

Flavour roots

As I’ve learned more about the smorgasbord of traditional cuisines with which South Africa is blessed, and as I’ve learned about cooking and preserving in general, I realise that pickled fish is deeply rooted in the miscellany of cultures that make us who we are: Malay and often Muslim, Dutch, Catholic and Protestant. The consumption of pickled fish on Good Friday has Catholic roots; the spices and sweet curry flavouring: Malay and Muslim. I love it.

Advance planning and long life

Last but not least: don’t decide to make pickled fish tonight for tomorrow. It needs to pickle. It needs at least three days. That means its a great dish for preparing ahead and copes well with being left over.

Market sales

I don’t know how long ago I started making pickled fish to sell at the market. Considering I’ve had a stall at the market for nearly ten years, it must be at least six or seven. This year, at least six weeks ahead of Easter, I had somebody asking if I’d be making pickled fish this year. Well, umm…is the duck’s…?

On the back of that, I canvassed my usual customers and had I made my regular batch, I’d have sold everything before it got to the market. This year’s batch is the largest I’ve made in years.

Pickled Fish

A traditional South African recipe

2 kg Firm fish (Yellow tail, kabeljou, snoek, hake, angel fish)
Oil (For baking/frying)
3 cups vinegar (red wine vinegar adds an extra depth of flavour)
1 cup water
25 ml turmeric
15 ml curry powder
25 ml black pepper corns
25 ml crushed, fresh ginger
4 large onions, finely sliced
6 lemon leaves
2 bay leaves
1 cup sultanas
40ml cake flour

Cut the fish into portions, season and dust with flour and a little of the curry powder.
Bake in a moderate oven for about 20 minutes or until cooked; turn half way through.
In a large, stainless steel, ceramic or enamel pot combine the vinegar, water, sugar, turmeric, curry powder, salt and pepper corns. Bring to a boil.
Add the onions, lemon and bay leaves. Simmer for about 10 minutes. Be careful not to overcook the onions – keep them crunchy.
Place the flour into a small bowl or jug and gradually add a little of the sauce to make a smooth paste. Add this to the sauce and stir over a high heat until it thickens.
Add the sultanas.
Starting with the onions layer them with the fish in a glass dish (do not use plastic or metal). Pour over the sauce. Cover and allow to cool before putting it into the fridge.
Allow to stand for at least three days before eating. Keeps for up to three months.
Serve at room temperature with brown bread and butter.

Appetizer, Main Course

South African

If you find that awkward to print, you’ll find a downloadable copy of the recipe here. If you download it, buy me a coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine….?

To all are celebrating religious and cultural festivals over the next few days, I send blessings.

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

Post script

I am participating in @traciyork‘s twice-yearly Hive Blog Posting Month.

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.

lastly, graphics are created using partly my own photographs and Canva.

Marvelous Malva

29 September 202114 November 2021 ~ Fiona ~ Leave a comment

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

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.

- 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 stew is as stew – or is it?

12 August 202112 August 2021 ~ 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

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.

- 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.

Heritage food – my take

21 May 20219 August 2021 ~ Fiona ~ 1 Comment

Foreword

This post, in its original iteration appeared in 2018. On another platform. I have, for a number of reasons, been trying to ~~systematically~~ restore “missing” bits. It’s a mixed blessing: some I choose not to restore. Others, like this, make me realise how much our lives have changed in the last year and now, more.

This was the story of one of our Sunday Suppers. We hosted them for three years. We’ve not hosted one since January 2020. We’re still asked if we “do” them.

I do miss them, but honestly, until we understand Covid better, it’s kind of scary allowing strangers into one’s home and private space. I hate admitting that I (we) have developed a serious dose of stranger danger. I do, paradoxically, admit that we are a little lax in our village bubble. That said, I don’t miss the obligatory hugging and kissing that characterised so many social encounters – especially with acquaintances and people one has only just met and with whom one has, at best, a tenuous emotional connection.

I digress, of course…

Heritage, my adopted country and food

In South Africa, in September, we celebrate our combined heritage. Like so many countries, we are a bit of a melting pot but in South Africa, heritage is also the site of much contestation. However, I won’t go into that, except to say that Heritage Day precipitates two things. One, a public holiday and the other, South Africa’s shared love of gathering around a fire on which a meal is cooked. Yes, the barbecue. In South Africa, though, it’s the braaivleis or shisa nyama that is virtually universally traditional. Needless to say, when this particular commemoration spawned a public holiday on a Monday, the Sunday Supper menu reflected that. So it was, in 2018, when I had already been thinking about the menu, but had not come up with anything, I get this direct message on Instagram:

“Are you by any chance doing lunch/dinner on Sunday 23 September. Can you recommend a place to overnight in McGregor! Thought we would come and test your kitchen and catch up??”

Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather. Ms Jolly Hockey Sticks, Dr Groundwater and I had all been – yes, you guessed it – at university together. All of us in the Geography department and she and I in the same residence. Other than bumping into her at a local market more than 20 years ago, and hearing Dr Groundwater elucidate about the drought and his speciality on a local radio station, I had seen neither of them since those days; other than her following my Instagram account, we are not in touch.

In addition to their advance booking for Sunday Supper, dear friends, Mr & Mrs Gummi, from Cape Town, were to booked into our Little Room and yes, especially so that they could be here for Sunday Supper.

Boot on the other foot

Now, there is something you should know about Mr Gummi. Not only are he and The Husband dedicated carnivores and bosom buddies who hail from the same part of the world, but Mr Gummi is a former restauranteur and chef. We met him – and them – in his restaurant. It’s one thing having a casual braai or a dinner around the table in one’s home, and quite another when, so to speak, the boot is on the other foot: there is just a little pressure.

South Africa and Scotland

Back to the menu. Of course, it needed a heritage theme. In my wisdom, I decided it should reflect both South Africa and Scotland. I am a naturalised South African; the Scottish connection is both about The Husband’s and my heritage and the village whose Scottish heritage is reflected in its name, McGregor. With my kitchen constraints, it was neither practical to do a “common or garden” braai nor given that Sunday Suppers had developed a set format of starter, main and sweet. Two things that had been part our first heritage menu in 2017, featured: the starter of a paté made with local, smoked fish, and the sweet.

The final menu

The starter was two pâtés served with crostini. Followed by a braaied Springbok fillet and Fiona’s Scottish Milktart. None of the diners was vegetarian. I cannot remember what that option was…

The two patés: I cannot give you specific recipes for either, except to explain what they consist of, and how I make them.

Two pâtés

Angel fish pâté

This is a pâté usually made with a smoked fish (snoek) which is a rather coarsely textured, very bony, oily fish. I prefer to make it with angel fish – the flavour is more delicate than the heavy, salted smoked flavour of the snoek. Either way, both fish are readily available if one has access to fresh fish or the sea.

I make the pâté with fish that’s is left over from a main meal – usually done on the braai – cooked over hot coals, on the skin, not turned. It’s basted with a mixture of olive oil, butter, parsley, garlic and lemon juice. The Husband reckons he only knows how long to braai the fish for because I make just the right quantity of the libation. I’m not so sure, but I’ll take it!

The cold fish is separated from the skin and flaked into a bowl into whichI add a spritz of dry white wine, followed by a dollop of cottage cheese, salt and pepper to taste, and finally, in this instance, wild garlic leaves and either chives or green onion tops.

Combine these ingredients until the correct consistency is achieved – without mashing or puréeing – adjusting the quantities and the seasoning as you go along. If you are in South Africa and using wild garlic (Tulbaghia), be judicious with the quantities. It is very (the actual word begins with an “f”) strong and it develops over time, especially when combined with dairy.

Stash the pâté the fridge until you are ready to use it – either in a single receptacle or in individual dishes – depending on what you’re planning to use it for.

Homemade maaskaas (cottage cheese) pâté with wild herbs

Making cottage cheese is easier than you think. In South Africa, you can buy cultured soured milk. I have, when I could get really, proper (how’s that for English) full cream milk, soured it and made cottage cheese from that. Full fat milk is getting harder and harder to come by, so at the suggestion of a friend, I cheated and bought the maas. I haven’t looked back and I make it regularly, treat it exactly the same way:

Put a colander into a large bowl to catch the whey and then line the colander with muslin. Dump in the maas and tie up the muslin. The whey will drain out and you will need to pour that away if it fills quickly (on to your pot plants or into the compost because it’s actually full of goodness). It will need to hang for at least 24 hours, but better for 48 and you will have cottage cheese of the most fabulous creamy consistency to which you can add the flavourings you want.

For this supper, I added wild garlic and suurings or wild sorrel to the cottage cheese. I grew up eating these sour little leaves and flowers – in the Eastern Cape they are mauve and where I live, in the Western Cape they are yellow and flower in abundance in spring – especially if it’s been an especially wet winter.

A bit like the angel fish pâté, adding the seasoning and flavourings is a matter of personal taste, remembering the caveat about the wild garlic leaves, and which applies just as much to conventional garlic. When you’re happy, either serve immediately – the flavour is better at room temperature – or store until you’re ready to use.

Springbok loin on the braai

The second course was Springbok loin rubbed with a mixture of my homemade spicy plum jam, Worcestershire sauce and olive oil to which I added a teaspoon of crushed coriander seed, a crushed clove of garlic and about a dessertspoon of fresh, grated ginger. Having marinated for about four or so hours, the loins were braaied (grilled) over hot coals until they were medium rare, and then removed and allowed to rest.

Some will say that this is too rare but remember two things: venison is not just well matured but has no fat marbling which makes it dry and easy to overcook. Secondly, as I had to keep it warm and avoid overcooking while waiting for diners to be ready for their main courses, I always elect to take the meat off when it was under-done and allow it to rest.

In terms of quantities: Springbok is a small animal and one loin serves about two people.

A diner’s plate of springbok fillet medallions, jus and vegetables with herb butter.

Fiona’s Scottish Milk Tart

The dessert, when I served it for the first time last year, was an instant hit and has become a regular feature of Sunday Supper menus.

It consists of the filling of a traditional South African melktert (milk tart) served with a side of Scottish shortbread in either a lovely little glass or, more prettily in my mother’s Royal Albert coffee cups.

By all accounts, it was a menu and a meal that was a success!

* direct translation is “grilled meat” and usually shortened to braai pronounced “bry” – like “fry”

** shisa, according to an online dictionary, means to heat or to burn

*** nyama in many of the Nguni languages, including isiZulu and the one I am most familiar with, isiXhosa, is meat

In closing – it could take a while…

Blockchain

That I have been able to recapture much of this blogpost, albeit updated and edited, is thanks in no small measure to blockchain technology. What is on a blockchain can’t be deleted – even if your website disappears. The folk from @exxp, @fredrikaa and Martin Lees (@howo), the programmer behind the WordPress plugin have set up a front end that enables one to download – in text – everything one has posted from WP to the blockchain. So, although the image links were lost in the original post, the text was not. Fortunately, the file names were saved and I could find and reload the images.

Not just for Gen Z and Milennials

People of my vintage tend to glaze over when I mention that I blog to a blockchain. I’m not going to pretend that I understand much if any of the details. The social blockchain community of which I am part, includes folk of all generations. From all over the world.

Recently, fellow S’Affrican, contemporary and blogpal @lizelle started an online community that is home for the ~~more hesitant~~ less geekish and technically inclined. I don’t like being pigeonholed or boxed, so the eclectic focus of this community and the multi-generational (40 – 100 year) span of Hive Silver Bloggers is a space in which my equally eclectic interests fit. It’s recently been noticed by some of the blockchain ~~big cheeses~~ whales which means @lizelle is doing something right. I know that. She and the community deserve support.

Sunday Suppers

We do miss them. Not necessarily the not having a weekend and the sometimes bone-aching exhaustion after a busy (and successful) Sunday. We have met some interesting and fascinating people. We (I, perhaps more than The Husband) had fun. I miss the cooking and the sense of occasion that I had the privilege of creating for our guests. We will, possibly “do” them again. If. There is a need, we feel safe, and/or, as we have always said, people (there must be between four and ten) ask us to “do” a Supper @ The Sandbag House experience.

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 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

Join Hive using this link and then join us in the Silver Bloggers’ community by clicking on the logo below:
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 the icon below, and give it a go.

Charming Chutney

24 November 202018 April 2021 ~ Fiona ~ 2 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

Hayley’s going to Change the World – with our help

6 November 20207 November 2020 ~ Fiona ~ 1 Comment

On Monday, my helper came to work and told me that her niece had won a scholarship to go to a conference in New York. She went on to say that, as is often the case, the scholarship wouldn’t cover everything, and that the family would be holding fundraising events in the village. Starting at the end of this month.

Please help set up a Facebook event and help to advertise it?

Well, of course, I would, I am and shall. I didn’t let it end there (why would I?) and asked a few more questions. I discovered that for Hayley to take up this fantastic opportunity, she needs at least another ZAR 30,000 (about US$15,000). As she subsequently said to me: that’s almost a year’s tuition.

Just for a conference.

Actually, though, it’s much, much more than that.

Who is Hayley?

Hayley was born and grew up in this village: McGregor. There are about 7,000 inhabitants in the broader village and valley. It’s in the heart of the Winelands and surrounded by farms. Until pretty recently, the majority of the more middle class inhabitants were of retirement age and older. The village has two primary schools but no high school To get to high school, children take the bus 20km to the next town. Economic activity – other than agriculture (grapes, wine and fruit) is limited which means that jobs – mostly domestic work – and real opportunities are equally limited. Unless one has the where-withall to work online. Or commute to Robertson, Worcester, Stellenbosch or Cape Town.

Then there’s what Covid has done to the economy, unemployment and poverty rates. Driving the first down and the last two up. Especially in the village where tourism is the other major economic activity.

Hayley comes from a family of phenomenal women – I know because some of them work, or have worked, with me. I don’t know much detail, but I do know – again from her aunt – how proud the family are, of her having gone to Stellenbosh University and graduating with a Bachelor of Arts. Now – in this time of Covid – she is writing her final honours examinations in International Relations. Hayley is on a trajectory to start her Masters degree in 2021; she will focus on gender studies and female empowerment.

South Africa and the world need young women like her.

That’s only part of what makes this a big deal.

What is Change the World?

Change the World is an initiative run by Italian NGO, Associazione Diplomatici which has consultative status with the Economic and Social
Council of the United Nations. The Association’s goal:

… to develop and encourage the participation and the education in active citizenship and to facilitate the understanding of the complex dynamics that run the world. AD offers young students a model of inclusive confrontation based on the respect for every diversity: religious, race and political orientation, training them to transversal competences for the world’s global work. Source

Each year, more than 3,000 young people make their way to the United Nations in New York for an experience that models the work of the world body. For three days they roleplay and debate current geopolitical issues and “do” international relations. In the building where UN Ambassadors conduct their daily business.

This is a big deal

Not only would this be the first (of many, I hope) international trips for Hayley, it will be her first trip to the US and The Big Apple. I’ve banged on, before, about how I lurved Manhattan, but this is not about me. Nor is it really about NYC and Manhattan. It’s about the experience, growth opportunity and most importantly, the networks that Hayley will establish. These networks could well play a seminal role in her future and her chosen career.

Help Hayley to Change the World

If you’d also like to help Hayley to not just go to the UN, but to change the world –

Please contribute to her crowdfunding campaign here.

Please share that link and/or this blog with anyone who will support Hayley in her mission to Change the World.

Let’s help Hayley to Change the World

Until next time, thank you, and 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

A burger’s a burger, or is it?

26 October 202010 April 2022 ~ 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.

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.

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

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 –

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

28 September 202029 September 2020 ~ 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

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.