Look out for our Winter Menu starting in May!

The Communal Feast, Winter 2011 will be published here before the end of April.

Jason learns about sprouting:

‘Sprouting’ reminds me of those science experiments we did in junior school.

Old ball jars with a stick across the top and a string dangling into a saturated salt solution to observe the formation of crystals or skewering an avo pip with toothpicks so one could suspend the tip in water and watch it grow.

‘Kitchen Garden’ are the company that supply the complete kit for growing sprouts at home; Ball jars, mesh covers, wire racks and drip trays included. Portia did a trial run with a set of six when she put the Mozambican Sprout Salad onto the menu. This proved to be such a hit for Lunch that she decided to put it on the Communal Feast as well. She bought another two shiny, chrome racks with jars to make a total of 18. With these we could produce enough sprouts for lunch and dinner!

Through some experimentation with placing the sprouters in a sheltered spot outside she dicovered she could increase their dose of sunshine and made really big, green, tasty sprouts. Once brocolli sprouts, radish, mung bean, alfalfa, black urad and onion are all blended in a salad you have a most delicious combination – Nutty, tangy, piquant, spicy and herbal flavours are all found in the humble sprout.

To enjoy the benefits you have to commit to the discipline of ’sprout farming’. Each jar of sprouts must be rinsed with tap water 3 x a day and then one must also harvest the fully grown sprouts using a carving fork (or similar impliment) to pry them out of the jars where they can become tightly grown. Once the jar is empty one must immediately start the process all over again to keep the production going.

In the interest of domestic harmony and because I am the official vegetable buyer for the restaurant, I volunteered to take over the sprouting duty. All went smoothly for the first few weeks and my sprouts were looking good. Then, for no apparent reason, two jars of brocolli sprouts went off. A putrid smell eminated from the jars when I came to rinse them. So I chucked them out onto the compost heap and chalked it up to experience; hoping it would not happen again. Next week it happened again. This time the restaurant was really busy over the World Cup and the kitchen had to pop out and buy sprouts at the supermarket. Portia, wearing her ‘chef hat’, was not amused. ‘The sprouts from the supermarket taste awful!’ she complained. ‘ They are only half sprouted AND they are hard enough to break your teeth!’ The next day I was relieved of my duties and ‘farming’ was resumed by the chef. Portia says she meditates while doing her sprout ritual and that way they’ll pick up the good vibrations and keep growing beautifully.

Which they have, of course.

Next week I’ll publish the recipe for our delicious Mozambican Sprout Salad with Nut Mayonnaise.

Onion Sprouts

The other day a lovely lady came up to me and asked if I was the one who made the cookies. She said her young daughter, who is an absolute ‘cookie monster’ loved them; and when she told her that they were wheat-free she said “NO WAY!” So she’d come to ask me where she could buy more of the wheat-free chocolate chip cookies. I don’t believe I’m unusual in saying I find it hard to take compliments, but I was so glad to hear that I had been able to change one person’s perception about gluten-free food. Perhaps I’d even been able to contribute to her daughter’s health, which has been my motivation for creating healthy and yummy baked goods.
Baking has certainly not always been a passion of mine; I used to be afraid of the oven. All I observed was that you had to wear huge gloves when you reached in, and when you opened the door to do so, billows of steam would rise out, along with the popping crackling sound of the thing that was cooking in there. All I could see was a million ways to burn myself. I burnt myself this weekend on a cookie tray, the experience was a testimony to how far I’ve come since my fearful days, or perhaps how many cookie’s I’ve baked. It was nothing, not even that painful, I’ve grown to understand the oven. I’ve grown to even enjoy the oven, and the simple way it toasts things up, or grills things brown; which is so satisfactory in a way the stove never really is. But most of all, the smells!
You know you are a Foodie when: you pour over recipe books, and flip to the mouthwatering food pages in a magazine, just to look at the pictures. You know you’re crazy when: you discuss your relationship with your oven; and how it’s deepened in intimacy over the years. Well, I’m definitely crazy; and far too excited for the nearing Christmas holidays. They are an excuse to bake every recipe you’ve ever drooled over in a magazine, and then eat the product- raw or cooked!

Portia asked, our daughter, Lumai to write about our recent trip with her cousin from Scotland.

For my weeklong school break between terms we escaped to the Cederberg. On arriving in Suikerbossie we were greeted with a ray of sunshine, however, it promptly excused itself to make way for rain that pelted us for the next four days. Not the weather I’d hoped to introduce my 18-year-old cousin, Anja, to the Cederberg with, nevertheless, coming from Scotland she was not very bothered by it. Unfortunately our place at Suikerbossie had no walls, or doors, for that matter. The wind and water howled through the place that was only suitable for warm weather. However, fortunately we have friends who own a cabin in the same area, and there we found refuge for the next week.
It was a wonderful break. Most days we shamelessly stayed in pajamas all day. We woke at 9, then played cards and ate scones for the rest of the morning. When afternoon came Mom dug into the pile of old House and Leisure magazines that lay beside the couch, and Dad and Leo went down to the river and tried to swim with inflatables. My cousin and I would sit quietly, either reading or drawing; and now and then I’d look up at mom. She’d shoot bits of ideas at me, or Dad, if he had given up on the icy river. “Hey, look at this,” she’d hold up the magazine for us to see the tiny detail in a picture she was practically covering with her pointed finger. “What do you think? Wouldn’t that be great for Lunch, just hanging the boards like that? Oh! Or maybe putting cloths behind it, that would be interesting, hey?” “Oh yeah, let’s see?” Dad would say coming closer and leaning forward, then he’d frown, “oh, I need my glasses to see that,” and go hunting for them, by which time Mom had already flipped the page and was beginning to read something else interesting out loud.
It was at times like those that I saw the Africa Cafe, Lunch and the kitchen shop. Not as places catering and offering wonderful things to customers, but as the true manifestation of Mom’s passion and inspiration. It wasn’t work for her, it was play; and if I ever wondered how my parents came up with the Africa Cafe I could see it right there. Mom sparked up every 15 minutes with a new idea, and Dad nodded his head as he mapped out how it would be brought to life.
We didn’t spend every day inside. We did manage to take a walk, once; and I did get to drag Leo, Dad and Anja, to the picturesque orange orchard for a photo opportunity. I am an aspiring photographer, and though Leo is extremely photogenic, he’s a little less willing than my cousin, so she was my model for the holiday. As the oranges were so plentiful and readily ripe, we bought a bag; we didn’t have much space for more than one. Yet, as they’re serving complimentary freshly squeezed orange juice to Lunch customers, it was well worth making room for the oranges on the seat beside me for the ride back to Cape Town.
On our way back to Cape Town we took a detour to Robertson. It was a little out of our way, but Mom had heard from a friend of a place called SPACES that was some sort of artistic warehouse, so I was interested to go. Naturally on the day of departure the weather was pristine, not a cloud in the sky, and the sun glowing off the post-card perfect scenes that lay before us as we set off. I am completely in awe of such beauty- photographer! I have my learners license so I drove us a little of the way to Robertson, but eventually I let Dad take over; my shoulders were a little tight. SPACES turned out to be an art décor place, with wonderful, interesting, what I’d call vintage-y, furniture, kitchen gadgets, bedding, clothes and other fun gift-y bits and bobs. It was a lovely leg stretch, and again mom’s eyes went whizzing around at the interesting light fixtures and displays, but we didn’t stay long. After a drink of Frankie’s Ginger beer, we headed on back to Cape Town.
On entering the city there’s a definite change in energy, perhaps unrecognizable to some, but I definitely felt it as the mountain appeared through the haze across the sea. Ah, there’s just no other city like it, I feel Home. I’m so grateful for the break, it’s back to school for me now, but somewhere between the stillness, the rain and the oranges, I found a piece of peace that I’ll have for the next term.

Last week I took some time off and went up to Natal to visit my mum.  The day I arrived I had the good fortune of being invited to a traditional Hindu wedding with over 800 guests!  I was really excited about the food.  You may or may not know that the largest Indian community outside of India reside in South Africa and a large percentage of South African Indians live in Natal.  As a vegetarian I was really excited about the food.  Hindu weddings are usually vegetarian and the food is often cooked over an open flame which really adds to the flavour.  After the ceremony which was filled with so much inspiring wisdom we were served Vegetable Biryani – a simple and humble dish which when cooked right is full of yummy flavour.  Portia has served an excellent Vegetable Biryani in the restaurant in past years.  Try out this recipe for yourselves:

Ingredients:

2 cups Basmati Rice

1 cup Mixed Vegetables (cauliflower, potato, carrot, french beans)

150 gms Green Peas

3 Finely Sliced Onions

2 Finely Sliced Green Chillies

Salt to taste

1 tsp Red Chilli Powder

2 tsp Cinnamon(dalchini) and Caraway Seeds(zeera)

4 Cloves (laung)

1/2 tsp Black Pepper Powder

4 Tomatoes

1/2 cup Yogurt (curd)

4 tbsp Vegetable Oil

1/2 tsp Mustard Seeds

3 tbsp Dry Fruits (cashew nuts, raisin)

Method :

Wash the basmati rice well before cooking.  Take rice with 3-3/4 cup water and a little salt added to it and 2 tbsp of dry fruits.  Cook it in a pot on the stove.

Cut all the vegetables into small thin pieces and fry in oil. Fry the green peas also.

Take 1 tblsp oil in a pan and add mustard seeds, green chilli, cinnamon and caraway seeds powder, cloves, black pepper powder and stir for about half minute. Then add onions and saute them for a minute ot till they get pink in color.

Add salt and red chilli powder and stir.

Add fine chopped tomatoes and fry till they are properly cooked.

Take the yogurt and make it fine by putting in a blender for just 2 rotations. Add this fine yogurt and stir well.Heat it for about 10 seconds.

Add all the fried vegetables.

Add the cooked rice and mix well with very light hands so that the rice grain doesn’t break. Cook for about 3 minutes.

Take this vegetable biryani out in a rice serving dish.

Garnish with dry fruits and green coriander leaves.

Serve the vegetable (veg ) biryani hot with raita and pickle.

Happy New Year.  Yes it is late I know.  I tend to fall into a festive season slump.  That is probably closest to the truth.  However were I to offer justifications or excuses for the absence of any posts recently it would go something like this:

Luthando who manages the restaurant most nights took 3 weeks leave.  Those of you who have dined with us over the past 8 years may have met him and will remember him for his sweet smile and easy going attitude.  Easy going he may be but slow he is definitely not!  We are always trying to get him so slow down as he rushes up and down the stairs trying to make sure over a hundred people are getting what they want when they want it.  So without Luthando around Jason and I were sharing the nights and the late locking up.  And that’s my excuse – too many late nights left my brain feeling tired and mushy .

Here we are then in 2010 with a wonderful buzz in the restaurant as we are almost full still every night with lots of couples and families from all over the globe, many of whom are trying to escape the snow in Europe.  It definitely feels like a year of celebration.  The credit crunch will hopefully come to and end and the start of a new decade is always something worth getting a little tipsy over.  Of course everyone in South Africa is feeling excited about the World Cup Soccer later in the year.  I try to remember to celebrate something each and every day because we truly do have so much to be grateful for.  Mostly I am grateful to our beautiful planet for sustaining our existence and I hope that as we enter a new decade, we as a species learn to respect not only one another, but all life and remember to live each and every day for the highest good of all, remembering our oneness.

As we enter this new decade, may your hearts be filled with joy, love and laughter!

At The Africa Cafe we are not only famous for our food but for our decor as well.  We include our vibrant tableware in this category as each piece is carefully and caringly hand-painted at our ceramic studio with bold colours and patterns, bringing some of the art of Africa on to every table top.  Having the opportunity to also be involved in the creative process of these beautiful wares is a real privilege, but most of the credit has to go to those who work for us and do the painting. Our craftspeople come from the winelands, the city and the township. Some are trained and some learnt on the job. One picked grapes for an estate, another painted gold-leaf onto a lion on top of City Hall for six weeks.

Our head of design is Mfuneko Dingiswayo who was born in Langa, a township of Cape Town, in 1979.  His passion for his craft has been shown numerous times in the awards he has won for his beautiful one-off works as well as the success of the designs he creates for our various ranges of tableware and functional art.  Currently the Hornbill Bird Jug which Mfuneko created as a menu for the restaurant 3 years ago has been flying out of the studio faster than it can be produced!  Those who have recently dined with us will definitely have noticed the baby that was born of the original idea and which we use for our salad dressing.

Mfuneko Dingiswayo

This morning I was walking in Newlands forest and staring at my favourite section of the mountain with great fondness in my heart and I thought I must whip out my cell phone and snap it to share on the world wide web.  Cape Town is one of the most diverse cities in the world with world class beaches, mountain ranges, forests and spectacular valley’s all within 15 minutes drive from the CBD.  This is just one of the many reasons why I love living here and why I believe Cape Town is definitely a destination every nature-loving traveller should visit.  I invite you to sit back, take a long, deep breath and let the joy of my sky, my forest and my mountain fill your heart with peace as only nature can.  Happy Friday! Remo

The Invitation
by Oriah Mountain Dreamer

Chief Seattle – 1853

“The President in Washington sends word that he wishes to buy our land. But how can you buy or sell the sky? the land? The idea is strange to us. If we do not own the freshness of the air and the sparkle of the water, how can you buy them?

Every part of the earth is sacred to my people. Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every mist in the dark woods, every meadow, every humming insect. All are holy in the memory and experience of my people.

We know the sap which courses through the trees as we know the blood that courses through our veins. We are part of the earth and it is part of us. The perfumed flowers are our sisters. The bear, the deer, the great eagle, these are our brothers. The rocky crests, the dew in the meadow, the body heat of the pony, and man all belong to the same family.

The shining water that moves in the streams and rivers is not just water, but the blood of our ancestors. If we sell you our land, you must remember that it is sacred. Each glossy reflection in the clear waters of the lakes tells of events and memories in the life of my people. The water’s murmur is the voice of my father’s father.

The rivers are our brothers. They quench our thirst. They carry our canoes and feed our children. So you must give the rivers the kindness that you would give any brother.

If we sell you our land, remember that the air is precious to us, that the air shares its spirit with all the life that it supports. The wind that gave our grandfather his first breath also received his last sigh. The wind also gives our children the spirit of life. So if we sell our land, you must keep it apart and sacred, as a place where man can go to taste the wind that is sweetened by the meadow flowers.

Will you teach your children what we have taught our children? That the earth is our mother? What befalls the earth befalls all the sons of the earth.

This we know: the earth does not belong to man, man belongs to the earth. All things are connected like the blood that unites us all. Man did not weave the web of life, he is merely a strand in it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.

One thing we know: our God is also your God. The earth is precious to him and to harm the earth is to heap contempt on its creator.

Your destiny is a mystery to us. What will happen when the buffalo are all slaughtered? The wild horses tamed? What will happen when the secret corners of the forest are heavy with the scent of many men and the view of the ripe hills is blotted with talking wires? Where will the thicket be? Gone! Where will the eagle be? Gone! And what is to say goodbye to the swift pony and then hunt? The end of living and the beginning of survival.

When the last red man has vanished with this wilderness, and his memory is only the shadow of a cloud moving across the prairie, will these shores and forests still be here? Will there be any of the spirit of my people left?

We love this earth as a newborn loves its mother’s heartbeat. So, if we sell you our land, love it as we have loved it. Care for it, as we have cared for it. Hold in your mind the memory of the land as it is when you receive it. Preserve the land for all children, and love it, as God loves us.

As we are part of the land, you too are part of the land. This earth is precious to us. It is also precious to you.

One thing we know – there is only one God. No man, be he Red man or White man, can be apart. We are all brothers after all.”

Imitation is the highest form of flattery or so they say.  Over the years we have been very very flattered.  Lately we noticed that people have been trying to imitate the recipe of our delicious wings and they can be found as close as right around the corner.  But the copy is never as good as the original.  Portia made up the recipe for these wings while on a family holiday in Namibia – Jason tells the story below:

“We were two weeks out on a four week trip ’round Namibia when we discovered an idyllic camping spot at the source of the Tsauchab River. This is the source of all the water that flows into Sossusvlei between the giant red sand dunes. We set up camp in a valley over-looked by steep, rocky cliffs, shaded by Fever Trees. We had Guinea Fowl to wake us in the morning and the barking of baboons to send us to bed at night. Occasionally a startled Kudu would stand in the path as one rounded the corner; in a word, it was very remote.

On the the day after we set camp Portia discovered the chicken wings had defrosted completely and were about to go off. Supplies of fresh meat were hard to find and she new that Lumai, Leo and I would be looking forward to a braai that night. She had to do something urgently!

As usual Portia always travels with a good selection of spices and condiments. Out came the spices, soya sauce and honey. Into the bowl went  the wings and the mixture and that’s where they marinaded until evening.

The day was spent lolling in pools and exploring the fresh spring as the sun baked down. That night as the day cooled off we lit our fire and braai-ed the wings. Leo ate one wing and said to Portia; “This is good. Where’d you get the recipe?’ Her reply,’Out of my head,’ seemed to please him. He loaded his paper plate and worked his way through about ten more.

Portia’s Sticky Chicken Wings became an all-time favourite and she put them on the next menu in the restaurant.”