Where did the practice of preparing food for road trips die to? More importantly, what brought about its death?
When I drive home for Christmas, there is a spring about an hour away (now that the road to Lusikisiki is tarred) from home where my dad used to wash his car when we went to Kokstad for December shopping. He always paid a visit to the dealership he bought his cars from, and said he wanted them to see that the car was in a good condition. Either didn’t want white salesmen to look down on him for driving a dirty car, or wanted to show them that blacks could take care of cars. I suspect the latter.
It used to take us about two and a half hours through muddy terrain to get to this spring and we had a set routine when we got there. Dad and the three lads would wash the car, and mom and my sister would whip out the flask with coffee, sandwiches and cold chicken. Then we would continue on our way to Kokstad to do groceries and buy the gifts that Father Christmas would give us.
I really used to enjoy those trips, as well as the ones across the Transkei to my mother’s home. For those who do not know Transkei, there are no service stations along the way, and the food in the ones in town is below par. Except for a place that was called Golden Egg in Mthatha. You thus had no option but to make your own food for the road. This December I drove the same route to Kokstad en route to Mount Frere with my mom and I asked her why she didn’t bring food along. She laughed and said that the trips now take less than half the time, and the cars are faster. A five hour trip then can now be done in less than two hours.
I think from a rural point of view she is right. Roads used to be gravel, more like mud actually, back in the day and you spent half the day driving from one end of the Transkei to the other. People in the Republic have had tarred roads forever, but you don’t see an X5 parked in the middle of nowhere and people munching sandwiches and the like. I think two things are to blame here: airlines and service stations.
Lets be honest, very few people these days would drive from Johannesburg to Cape Town. Its just too long, and probably costs the same as flying there. A huge number of people that used to drive long distances now simply fly and hire when they arrive at their destination. What about the ones that cannot afford to fly?
These guys now make use of the convenience stores at the filling stations along the country’s major routes. Eating while traveling is no longer cool, especially parking under some mimosa tree in the Free State and having a roadside lunch. It’s better to stop at the filling station and order a hamburger or Dagwood and watch the world go by.
With GPS things have moved a notch up. It can actually tell you the nearest restaurants and you simply get their number through directory enquiries, and then your food is ready when you get there. No time wasted.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Friday, January 11, 2008
An inevitable product of the middle class: gourmet junk……..
I think the pioneering spirit of the middle class (all races) is going to give birth to a new way of life in terms of junk food. Come to think of it, I think gourmet junk is already here.
Junk food hasn’t really changed much since the days we were kids. You simply progress up the quality ladder as your financial situation gets better. You start of with Chomp, graduate to Kitkat and then you make it to the Top Deck and Mint Crisp. Tax payer status affords you the luxury of buying Lindt and company trips overseas are incomplete without a trip to the duty free shop.
Gourmet junk can be classified into two categories: upgrade junk and nouvelle junk.
An example of upgrade junk is the chocolate analogy I have mentioned above. Local chocolates are no longer good enough; it will has to be Lindt and Toblerone. It has already become company etiquette to bring a bar of chocolate for your colleagues when you go on one of those ‘benchmarking’ trips overseas.
Pringles used to be the gourmet crisp of choice, but the tonsil scrapers from Woolies seem to have taken over. This must have something to do with the Pringles packaging. I can’t imagine a boerseun being able to stick his hand in that container to grab the last five or so crisps. The Woolies ones are very innovative in flavour, and are cut from potatoes and simply fried, not like the others that are probably ground into a paste, moulded and dried into corrugated crisps.
On the cooldrink side, its no longer classy to buy two-litre bottles. That is student fare. You buy the sexy, 200 ml cans. Ideally Coke Light, Lemonade or Ginger Ale. The brightly coloured, tongue staining soda is for your country cousins.
Sweets have also had some form of revolution. When was the last time you had chocolate éclairs? These days its about sour this (still called sweets though), snake this, worm that. Truly speaking, the change here has been the packaging. You no longer have to buy a packet of 144 sweets that takes a month to get through.
Nouvelle junk is something altogether. It is delicacies that we can now afford to buy and eat en masse. Take dried fruit for example, it used to be a treat a couple of days ago but these days you find people snacking on dried mango everyday. Biltong has also undergone a facelift, it no longer hangs above the counter at your local butcher; you now get it nicely packaged in convenience stores. In a few years time, I am sure we will see free range beef biltong.
Cheese platters are also migrating towards nouvelle junk. Cheese used to be something you only ate on special occasions, skewered with polony at kiddies parties or Melrose spread. Apartheid deprived blacks of gourmet cheese like Brie, Gruyere, Gorgonzola, etc. Nowadays we even know the deli guy on a first name basis.
Junk is undergoing an evolution and with every evolution there are those that sadly do not make it.
I miss those fish flavoured Kreols, the ones that looked like Niknaks. I also miss Fruit Chews.
Maybe we should petition to get Kreols back.
Junk food hasn’t really changed much since the days we were kids. You simply progress up the quality ladder as your financial situation gets better. You start of with Chomp, graduate to Kitkat and then you make it to the Top Deck and Mint Crisp. Tax payer status affords you the luxury of buying Lindt and company trips overseas are incomplete without a trip to the duty free shop.
Gourmet junk can be classified into two categories: upgrade junk and nouvelle junk.
An example of upgrade junk is the chocolate analogy I have mentioned above. Local chocolates are no longer good enough; it will has to be Lindt and Toblerone. It has already become company etiquette to bring a bar of chocolate for your colleagues when you go on one of those ‘benchmarking’ trips overseas.
Pringles used to be the gourmet crisp of choice, but the tonsil scrapers from Woolies seem to have taken over. This must have something to do with the Pringles packaging. I can’t imagine a boerseun being able to stick his hand in that container to grab the last five or so crisps. The Woolies ones are very innovative in flavour, and are cut from potatoes and simply fried, not like the others that are probably ground into a paste, moulded and dried into corrugated crisps.
On the cooldrink side, its no longer classy to buy two-litre bottles. That is student fare. You buy the sexy, 200 ml cans. Ideally Coke Light, Lemonade or Ginger Ale. The brightly coloured, tongue staining soda is for your country cousins.
Sweets have also had some form of revolution. When was the last time you had chocolate éclairs? These days its about sour this (still called sweets though), snake this, worm that. Truly speaking, the change here has been the packaging. You no longer have to buy a packet of 144 sweets that takes a month to get through.
Nouvelle junk is something altogether. It is delicacies that we can now afford to buy and eat en masse. Take dried fruit for example, it used to be a treat a couple of days ago but these days you find people snacking on dried mango everyday. Biltong has also undergone a facelift, it no longer hangs above the counter at your local butcher; you now get it nicely packaged in convenience stores. In a few years time, I am sure we will see free range beef biltong.
Cheese platters are also migrating towards nouvelle junk. Cheese used to be something you only ate on special occasions, skewered with polony at kiddies parties or Melrose spread. Apartheid deprived blacks of gourmet cheese like Brie, Gruyere, Gorgonzola, etc. Nowadays we even know the deli guy on a first name basis.
Junk is undergoing an evolution and with every evolution there are those that sadly do not make it.
I miss those fish flavoured Kreols, the ones that looked like Niknaks. I also miss Fruit Chews.
Maybe we should petition to get Kreols back.
Friday, January 4, 2008
Did we ever have a market culture in South Africa?
Thanks to DSTV and BBC Food, I don’t have to travel to the corners of the globe to see what other people eat as well as their culinary habits. That is why I was the cheese guru at a recent New Year’s Eve braai I had with some friends. Most of my fellow darkies didn’t know what to do with the platter of cheese, crackers and blueberry preserve.
I have always marveled at how food plays an integral part in some societies and the town/village life thus revolves around the market. The food market in Marrakech (see attached picture) is the size of four football pitches and is part of a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The hallmark of markets is fresh produce, well relatively speaking. Markets in Chennai might not sell you the freshest produce, but by Chennai standards it is very fresh. This is due to the absence of a long logistics chain that involves a central collection point, grading, distribution, etc. Its from farm to stand within a day.
My first encounter of a ‘market’ was in the former Transkei. There was a place called kwaNtozonke near the Mthatha taxi rank that was set up by the government to house informal traders in one building. This serviced mainly the people who commuted by taxi. It was only later on in life that I finally realized why my parents never bought from the market. It wasn’t really s market, but more a hub of informal traders. None of the people grew the fruit and vegetables they sold. The bananas were still trucked from Durban, the apples from the Western Cape. Prices were cheaper at the super markets and the fruit fresher.
As a country that relies so much on agriculture, I have always been surprised at the lack of markets in South Africa. My mom still grows vegetables on her two hectare plot in the middle of town, and she sells some to neighbours etc. Most she gives to needy kids at her school, who in turn help her with the garden chores. The absence of a market in my hometown has thus had an impact on the amount of pocket money I got as a student. It probably saved me from being an alcoholic. Story for another day.
You will get a market or two in the big cities in South Africa, but although these start as food markets other goods such as crafts from Zimbabwe, kangas and counterfeit soccer jerseys. Food then becomes an added feature.
Is the absence of markets brought about by people growing the same things in their gardens? I don’t think a market selling tropical fruits in Limpopo would survive if it serviced the local economy. Everybody has a mango tree in their back yard.
Or am I just too blind too see that markets cannot really survive in world where supermarkets have a monopoly over the food industry?
Time will tell.
I have always marveled at how food plays an integral part in some societies and the town/village life thus revolves around the market. The food market in Marrakech (see attached picture) is the size of four football pitches and is part of a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The hallmark of markets is fresh produce, well relatively speaking. Markets in Chennai might not sell you the freshest produce, but by Chennai standards it is very fresh. This is due to the absence of a long logistics chain that involves a central collection point, grading, distribution, etc. Its from farm to stand within a day.
My first encounter of a ‘market’ was in the former Transkei. There was a place called kwaNtozonke near the Mthatha taxi rank that was set up by the government to house informal traders in one building. This serviced mainly the people who commuted by taxi. It was only later on in life that I finally realized why my parents never bought from the market. It wasn’t really s market, but more a hub of informal traders. None of the people grew the fruit and vegetables they sold. The bananas were still trucked from Durban, the apples from the Western Cape. Prices were cheaper at the super markets and the fruit fresher.
As a country that relies so much on agriculture, I have always been surprised at the lack of markets in South Africa. My mom still grows vegetables on her two hectare plot in the middle of town, and she sells some to neighbours etc. Most she gives to needy kids at her school, who in turn help her with the garden chores. The absence of a market in my hometown has thus had an impact on the amount of pocket money I got as a student. It probably saved me from being an alcoholic. Story for another day.
You will get a market or two in the big cities in South Africa, but although these start as food markets other goods such as crafts from Zimbabwe, kangas and counterfeit soccer jerseys. Food then becomes an added feature.
Is the absence of markets brought about by people growing the same things in their gardens? I don’t think a market selling tropical fruits in Limpopo would survive if it serviced the local economy. Everybody has a mango tree in their back yard.
Or am I just too blind too see that markets cannot really survive in world where supermarkets have a monopoly over the food industry?
Time will tell.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Ladies, let me help you out!
If one were to do research on why most relationships ultimately fail, you would probably find sport as one of the reasons why most of them fail. For real! They will never tell you this though. Same goes for weddings. I think the reason marriages fail is because people get this urge to address a crowd of friends, family people. etc. The guy getting married has never really addressed 300 plus people, and the wedding is his entrée into public speaking. For some it’s also the last. If you want to do it again; the only way to do it is to get a divorce and remarry!
Ladies need to understand that sport is to men what shopping is to women. Men are lucky because shopping is pretty costly and not an every weekend and Wednesday thing. In a good season, my beloved Arsenal can play up to fifty games and I watch all the ones they broadcast. No lady can drag a guy to 50 shopping sprees. Except the British WAGS and people like Khanyi Mbau.
You need to be part of this sport obsession we have, and not fight it! Here is a scenario: your man’s team is playing at 16h00 on Saturday afternoon. Your first option is to moan about this and insist on equality in the living room, want to watch the series channel or worse still, bury the remote control. Secondly, you can use this time to get closer to your man.
How to you get closer to your man while he is watching sport? Food! This is what I would call ‘real quality time’. My lady slips out an hour before the game and returns with some fruit, crackers and cheese, and something to drink. That would not only stop me from biting my nails but would also give me a chance to teach my lady a thing or two about sport. Even place bets, etc. on who is going to score and all that stuff.
The food has to be something that is easy to prepare and eat. Sushi, chicken wings, a fruit salad, etc. would work well. Dried fruit would also work well. Is also vital to make sure the guy is well hydrated, sport is pretty tense affair and emotions can get a bit heated.
Trust me ladies… This is the real way to a man’s heart. Embrace the sports lover in him and take care of his needs during the two hour affair with the other love of his life. Console or congratulate him in the way you know best at the end of the game.
Set a condition though: This quality time is for you and him only, it will not happen when his mates come over to watch sport.
Ladies need to understand that sport is to men what shopping is to women. Men are lucky because shopping is pretty costly and not an every weekend and Wednesday thing. In a good season, my beloved Arsenal can play up to fifty games and I watch all the ones they broadcast. No lady can drag a guy to 50 shopping sprees. Except the British WAGS and people like Khanyi Mbau.
You need to be part of this sport obsession we have, and not fight it! Here is a scenario: your man’s team is playing at 16h00 on Saturday afternoon. Your first option is to moan about this and insist on equality in the living room, want to watch the series channel or worse still, bury the remote control. Secondly, you can use this time to get closer to your man.
How to you get closer to your man while he is watching sport? Food! This is what I would call ‘real quality time’. My lady slips out an hour before the game and returns with some fruit, crackers and cheese, and something to drink. That would not only stop me from biting my nails but would also give me a chance to teach my lady a thing or two about sport. Even place bets, etc. on who is going to score and all that stuff.
The food has to be something that is easy to prepare and eat. Sushi, chicken wings, a fruit salad, etc. would work well. Dried fruit would also work well. Is also vital to make sure the guy is well hydrated, sport is pretty tense affair and emotions can get a bit heated.
Trust me ladies… This is the real way to a man’s heart. Embrace the sports lover in him and take care of his needs during the two hour affair with the other love of his life. Console or congratulate him in the way you know best at the end of the game.
Set a condition though: This quality time is for you and him only, it will not happen when his mates come over to watch sport.
Reliving the aromas of an African Christmas............
I have received a lot of heat from mates of mine who opted for the gammon and turkey Christmas lunch. Comments ranged from 'get on with the times' to ' its not our fault you cant find turkey and gammon eLusikisiki'. Well, I will try and get on with the times and hook up some turkey some time this year. Not for Christmas though, it just wouldn't be the same without the slaughtering of the sheep.
Which brings me to my topic.
This is to describe (as best as I can) the aromas that my enlightened friends, as well as the squeamish are missing out on.
Sorghum beer
Sorghum beer has this yeasty smell, not too far from Guiness. The beer is brewed in a separate room from the main house, and the aroma fills up the whole room. It blends well with the smell of home made ginger beer which is also left to ferment in this room. The brewing room is kept under strict guard and only a few people have access to it.
Tripe
Tripe to the uninitiated smells like dung and droppings. That's the way we love it. Supermarkets clean it into this snow white thing, and thus lose that dung whiff. My mom braises hers first, and then lets its simmer overnight. That is the smell we used to wake up to on Christmas day as we went to the living room to look for gifts from Santa Claus. Perfect with freshly baked bread as a breakfast, especially for the hung over people.
Sheeps head and trotters
Food for men. The head that is. The trotters are usually eaten by the boys or female members of the family. The head can be best described a delicacy, eating it is an occasion. It is prepared by first burning the fur over a flame, and then scraping it off. It is then washed and simply boiled with water. Best served cold, it has a burnt wool smell. Parts to go for are the ears and tongue.
These three are unique to South African, and to a large extent African homes. In today's world we live in flats/townhouses where its impossible to brew sorghum beer or slaughter. Trips home thus provide us with an opportunity to enjoy tripe, etc. and savour the aroma.
Maybe I will do some gammon and/or turkey over New Years, but definitely not for Christmas. Hold on! People are hung over then, and all they want is a braai and more tipple.
Which brings me to my topic.
This is to describe (as best as I can) the aromas that my enlightened friends, as well as the squeamish are missing out on.
Sorghum beer
Sorghum beer has this yeasty smell, not too far from Guiness. The beer is brewed in a separate room from the main house, and the aroma fills up the whole room. It blends well with the smell of home made ginger beer which is also left to ferment in this room. The brewing room is kept under strict guard and only a few people have access to it.
Tripe
Tripe to the uninitiated smells like dung and droppings. That's the way we love it. Supermarkets clean it into this snow white thing, and thus lose that dung whiff. My mom braises hers first, and then lets its simmer overnight. That is the smell we used to wake up to on Christmas day as we went to the living room to look for gifts from Santa Claus. Perfect with freshly baked bread as a breakfast, especially for the hung over people.
Sheeps head and trotters
Food for men. The head that is. The trotters are usually eaten by the boys or female members of the family. The head can be best described a delicacy, eating it is an occasion. It is prepared by first burning the fur over a flame, and then scraping it off. It is then washed and simply boiled with water. Best served cold, it has a burnt wool smell. Parts to go for are the ears and tongue.
These three are unique to South African, and to a large extent African homes. In today's world we live in flats/townhouses where its impossible to brew sorghum beer or slaughter. Trips home thus provide us with an opportunity to enjoy tripe, etc. and savour the aroma.
Maybe I will do some gammon and/or turkey over New Years, but definitely not for Christmas. Hold on! People are hung over then, and all they want is a braai and more tipple.
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