Dear Dreb
I hope you are well and that your wardrobe remains infused with the delicate fragrance of braai smoke. I would like to report on a series of braais I held recently that all involved an American and a South African/Australian who has spent much of his life in the USA. Now don’t get me wrong here. I have searched my soul for xenophobia and have decided that it is correct for all South Africans to show kindness and empathy to foreign people.
The problem I face is that these particular foreigners are fantastic people and my daughter really likes their daughter. This makes it very difficult for an experienced South African braaimeester to utter barely concealed jibes to the effect of “Australians cannot braai and their barbecuing skills are worse than English pommies” or “I find it strange that all American barbecues seem to involve huge vats of deep-fried fat”. I invited these people with some trepidation and bought caseloads of alcohol in case anything turned nasty.
The first braai they attended involved the usual waterblommetjie bredie and a rump steak. I started chatting to the SA/Aus lad and he distracted me to the point that I forgot to add baby potatoes with the waterblommetjies. I simply pretended that I had decided to spurn the potatoes on purpose but was not sure he believed me. I also forgot to check my liquid levels but managed to be more convincing this time around. I simply poured in some sauvignon blanc as if it were water and managed not to drink the remains of the wine straight from the bottle.
It was at this point that the braai started to become unstuck or in fact very stuck. The Cape rains had increased in intensity and I expertly manipulated a rump steak onto my indoor fire. This fire was very hot on account of the use of Namibian hardwood and the steak immediately erupted into flame. I attempted to ignore this, but by now the stench of charred cow swirled around the lounge. I then turned the steak and attended to my steamed Basmati rice. You can imagine my shock when said Aussie chirps quietly “I think your steak might be burning”. I sprinted to the lounge but it was too late. The steak was not only charred. It continued smoking and I had to use my tongs to bash off flaming pieces of carbon. I sliced it and left muttering an apology that I hoped nobody heard.
The next weekend I invited them again with the sole impression of re-asserting my braaimeester status. I cleverly invited a long time friend and her children so that the foreign family would not unduly distract me. This time I had marinated a leg of lamb in sherry, garlic, rosemary and a hint of coffee. I also bought another caseload of alcohol for emergency purposes. I fired up the Weber (forgetting that it is an outside oven) and served everyone with drinks. I then carefully laid my leg of lamb in the middle of the divided fire. At the time I was vaguely aware that my right hand and arm hair were burnt and smelt awful but brushed it off as part of my macho exterior. The foreign couple then suggested a walk on the beach and I felt it was my duty to point out that South African nature in combination with a South African braai is an ultimate art form. We returned from the beach with soaking children and I realised that my lamb was already overcooked. Once again I had been terribly distracted. I yanked the lid off the Weber and my leg of lamb had twisted itself over the coals. The heat of the Weber could have cooked another 3 legs of lamb and would probably have also burnt them. Once again there was the un-mistakable stench of charred sheep. I removed it to ‘rest’ and quickly dispatched a bottle of red wine down my throat. I then reprimanded my braai helper and told her that her roast potatoes were under-cooked even though they looked fine to me, which made me feel a little better.
I got the SA/Aus/USA lad to carve the meat hoping that he may take some blame for serving charred lamb, but instead everyone praised his carving skills. My braai then got totally out of hand. One of the child guests was very sick but felt a lot better after depositing the content of her lunch over my lounge couch. The American leapt up, despite my warning not to leave the table under any circumstances, and raced off to help. She ended up washing my entire lounge covers and cleaning everything. I waited until all was done and then offered help. I decided to pour a full glass of whiskey to assist with the residual stench but was relieved that this recent event had made everyone forget the charred lamb.
We then watched the Argentina South Africa rugby match. Watching rugby with foreign people is very strange and particularly awkward when people of Australian heritage are in the same room. They were astounded at my roars of ‘Bokke’ even when it seemed we were about to lose and my wife had to tell me in no uncertain terms to keep quiet and be decorous.
I have since spent the rest of the weekend pondering my braaing disasters and have come up with the following conclusions:
- Even if foreign people are the best people in the world, they are still very dangerous and can help you ruin your braai.
- All braais for foreign people should be cooked beforehand and kept in the warming drawer.
- Alcohol and children do not mix and it is strongly advisable to drink copious glasses of water in-between drinks.
- Foreign people are fantastic at dealing with child disasters and should be invited to any event where children are present.
I would deeply appreciate your insights on these matters and I suggest we keep this correspondence to South Africans only.
Shayfish
Deep South Region
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