Posts tagged with “food”

Holiday Season 2014 – Part 2

Saturday, 10 January, 2015


Preparing food is nogals a big thing when camping.

I’m not much of a cook, but under the watchful eye of my wife I can these days boil water and even some more without causing injury.

Braai is, of course, the preferred mode of cooking. A conditio sine qua non, so to speak, for camping.


A lamb chops and wors combination is a good start. The chicken kebabs we got from the big shop in Mossel Bay went down well. Only, we too late realised that the red bits on it were chili that the chef chose to add to his spices. We don’t actually do chili.

Potatoes, buttered and covered in feta cheese and then wrapped in tinfoil to bake in the coals make a fine side platter.

For quicker food we make pasta, or resort to vetkoek and mince. OK, to go even quicker we sommer attend Koffiestories, the new coffee shop at Gouritsmond.  They serve milk tart pancakes as a novelty.  Pancake filled with milk tart filling.  So what you see is pancake, but what you taste is milk tart.

Potbrood takes a bit of time, but it can in itself make a principal meal.

One morning our angler neighbour’s fishing expedition came to nought, and we decided on an impromptu brunch.  Brunch in the form of sausage, eggs, tamato, pineaple, greenpeppers, onions and toast all done on the pan on the fire.

Die brunch pan

No, not all at once.  Step by step, until you get to the end result.


My neighbour, being the avid angler, comes home from time to time with fish to braai.  These, I’m told, are called “silver”, although it is red.  Perfectly logical mos.


For the past many years a friend donated a lamb for a spit braai for old year’s eve. Due to bad weather, though, the lamb was this time reduced to tjops, ribs, and leg of lamb. The ribs were made in a potjie, with onions, where it simmered for three hours to make for marvelous rib.  Well, so I’m told.  By the time I got to the pot there was nothing left!

This was followed up by roly-poly desert also made in the potjie on the fire.  I managed to get the ‘before’ picture.

Roly Poly

There was no time for the ‘after’ picture.  I did not think the empty potjie would count for an ‘after’ picture.

In the beginning we used to stock the caravan up before coming to Gouritsmond. It turns out, though, that meat is somewhat cheaper at the local shop than in town. So from time to time we got some really good steaks to grill on the coals.

One morning my wife went to buy steak, but she was advised by the lad manning the power tools there that he cut his hand, and there will be not further meat cutting for the day. Which is probably not a bad idea. I also thought one might want to wait a day or two before you buy meat again. Just to be sure, you know.

Some 7km away is the Stoepsit restaurant pretty much in the middle of nothing. That turned out to be a rather nice hangout. The kids went there for a dance on old year’s eve.

My neighbour does afval potjie (tripe) but swears by one butcher only from whom he sources his afval. I don’t do afval, although I have to admit his end product looks rather appetizing.

Christmas dinner with the family at Montagu is an elaborate affair. It actually starts with the previous evening’s dinner with a braai. Having the meat still simmering on the coals by 22h30 is not strange.

Christmas dinner consisted of chicken, leg of lamb, mustard jelly, cucumber jelly (no, really) roast potatoes. The previous evening’s Casata ice cream is equalled by grandma’s trifle and ice cream.

Ok, I guess you know what this is?


Yeah, I knew you knew.  So what is missing?

This, of course!

The complete picture

Shake, rattle and roll

The waves can be rather hectic at Gourits at times. And if it is windy, the wind chill factor can become pretty uncomfortable.

One morning my wife decides to go for a swim. I advise her to rather leave her sunglasses. She reckons it sits tight enough – the waves will not rob her of her shades. I’m watching from a safe distance. Too chilly for me to go into the water.

The first wave knocks her down and takes the sunglasses. I watch in awe as my wife lunges after her sunglasses. She will clearly not let it go without a fight. The sunglasses appear to have wings, though. She misses them, then makes a dive role and pounce on them again. Miss again. Dive role to the other direction, lunge, miss again!

She interrupts her endeavours to wave bravely at me. I wave back.

Then she proceeds, her endeavours now even more acrobatic than before. She does like a backward summersault roll. Pretty impressive.

She stops and wave at me again. Oh, it seems she is beckoning me to her this time. I jog down to where she sits in the waves. When I reach her she gives me a disapproving look. I quickly check. Could I have another price tag on my red swimming trunks that I have missed?

No, she can’t get up, she says. She did not even notice her sunglasses went missing. All the action I have been witnessing was her endeavours to stand up, each time to be thwarted by a fresh wave that keeps her down.

But in addition to that, she is now bogged down by some 15kg’s of sand that becamed logged in her swimming suit. I get berated for ignoring her gestures for assistance.


Of mice and men

Across the road from us three generations are camping. Grandpa is from Cape Town. Son in law from Gauteng. Grandpa gets up a lot earlier than son in law. As does his two year old grandson.

Then grandpa takes his grandson under his tutelage and teaches him basic values and wisdom. Such as: “Stormers is best”.

After a few days the father gets wind of this, though.

So he then starts indoctronating his son with garbage such as “Blue Bulls always win.”

Some people, huh?