A Durban-style fish curry evokes memories of my childhood in Kwa-Zulu Natal and my grandmother preparing freshly-caught fish in masala pastes to fry or red-hued, gently simmered fish curries over the weekends to enjoy with the family at the table.
On cold mornings, I recall my mother bustling about in our suburban South African kitchen, ladling out bowls of creamy mealie meal papor porridge. Hot from the saucepan, she’d stir in a little more milk and sugar, and occasionally, a cube of cold, unsalted butter and a tablespoonful of tinned golden syrup.
Want to live to be over 100? In the Caucasus Mountains of Georgia, a region with no shortage of centenarians, one rumored key to longevity is a thin, mildly tart fermented dairy product called matsoni.
In response to his intention to close Gaggan for good in 2020, Anand insists it’s best to “finish at your peak.” Passionate about the technique and produce of Japan, Anand, and his friend and frequent collaborator, chef Takeshi Fukuyama, plan to establish a 12-seater restaurant, GohGan, in Fukuoka.
On South Africa’s palm tree-lined east coast, within the humid port city of Durban and its surrounds, a unique style of Indian cuisine has evolved over the course of 158 years. Locals say you can’t leave before you try one of the Durban curries: smouldering hot mutton curry studded with potato chunks called “gravy soakers,” fiery fish curry spiked with black tamarind and curry leaves; or bunny chow, a hollowed-out quarter-loaf of white bread filled with curry.
Strewn across the Seven Hills, Lisbon’s azulejo (ceramic tile)-covered buildings stack together forming countless arches through which the famous yellow eléctricos, or trams pass, rickety over the cobblestones that are shiny with wear.
You are ten-years-old when you first taste black tea and honey, only the tea is a rich amber hue and the honey is tempered with a slice of gnarly-skinned Eureka lemon from the backyard. Your grandma and aunties drink milky Ceylon tea like fancy Five Roseswhen there are guests or Trinco for daily consumption, with three teaspoons of white sugar, buttered Marie biscuits on the side.
They say there’s nothing like the smell of bacon frying in the morning. That’s true, in part. After all we were also accustomed to the grand British fry-up thanks to our colonial past.
The salty tang of fresh kelp lifts on a crisp breeze, across the cream-colored sands of Die Krans in Paternoster, once the lookout for fishermen monitoring the weather. Kobus van der Merwe stands on the verandah of his sparse 20-seater restaurant, a 130-year-old fisherman’s cottage called Wolfgat, about two hours from Cape Town, overlooking this point.
When the late U.S restaurant critic Jonathan Gold wrote about food, he invariably commented on the irrational fear white Americans have of their neighbours, forging connections along the way. Ishay Govender breaks it down in our local context.(@IshayGovender), For Sunday Times, August 2018 The future is female.. Image: Yandisa Nazo/Ekse Lens Recently, a [...]
