Slap chips, milk tart, jelly tots, lemon meringue pie and lucky packets

THINGS THAT STAY

Extract from ‘Now & Then’ by Tessa Kiros

When we arrived in South Africa, I was about four [years old]. We arrived with our suitcases from London and stayed in a small hotel in the centre of town. We knew no-one and ordered tea to our rooms each morning. I have a picture in my mind of those big cups balancing on the narrow side tables.

My father had been there on a safari with his Cypriot friend. When he returned to us in London, he said it was a good idea to go live there — so my parents packed us up and took us to a small hotel.

Soon after that, my father opened a sandwich shop and we went to school. On Saturday afternoons, we had picnics on the riverbank at the bottom of our road with our dog Sumpi. On Sundays, we often drove out to Little Falls with a small barbecue in our car and spent the day there. This was before we had a garden.

My mother used to give us interesting school lunches — mostly just whatever she found in the fridge. Nicci D says she always remembers our breakfasts (she and Totty used to stop at our house on the way to school). We would sometimes still be finishing our breakfast — lamb chops, prawns, whatever we had the night before. And sometimes my mother (with rollers in her hair) would offer each of us an ice cream from the freezer for our walk to school. Those were the days.

At school in the assembly hall, we would sing Morning Has Broken from small fraying blue hymn books. A few times, my sister Ludi and I were called out, our names booming over the loudspeaker, because our dog had followed us to school and we had to walk her back home. I can still remember the girl next door, Shelly B. When she got home from school, her granny had often made her things such as chicken drumsticks with a pool of tomato sauce next to them, which I would watch her eating (we’d had our lunch already at home). This always stayed with me for some reason — and also that Karen M used “Gee Your Hair Smells Terrific” shampoo (I still look for it from time to time).

I also remember the potato salad that was served in a wooden bowl on the stoep at Tracy S’s house the night they first got a television. We sat outside watching the grand new appliance, eating the potatoes and watching programmes such as Bonanza and Lassie Come Home — dizzy with excitement. After that, we got a Salora — a white television from Finland my mother wanted — at our house. Sometimes we even just sat and watched the end-of-transmission picture.

We used to go to the swimming pool with buttered Marie biscuits and lie out on the warm slasto and eat them in our swimming costumes. On Sunday nights, we often had cream crackers with jam and cheese, as well as big mugs of milky tea. Sometimes we would go out for dinner on a weeknight to our favourite steakhouse. We would go in our pyjamas so we could fall asleep in the car on our way home, and then our parents could just roll us into bed. We loved those racks of ribs, and we would often finish our meal with a plate of Italian kisses to share. At Didi’s house after school, we ate plain crisps with extra salt and lemon juice. On some afternoons I would make my special spice mix — my siblings Nin and Ludi would wait with any friends or neighbours who happened to be visiting while I stirred a mixture of all the spices in the cupboard into a bowl and added some lemon juice to the concoction.

We loved soft slap chips eaten straight from the vinegar-soaked paper, biltong, fudge, sherbet and Space Dust (which crackled and fizzed on our tongues), milk tart, jelly tots, lemon meringue pie, and lucky packets. We ate crinkle-cut chips, and our friends had a big new fridge that dispensed ice from the side — we loved going there. These are some of my memories from South Africa. And suddenly I was 15.

There were new smells, new things. Strawberry lip gloss. Blue jeans and Impulse deodorant. My first perfume. A Pupa makeup set. Viennetta ice-cream cake. ‘Chicago’ ice cream from our holidays in Greece, and Alexander cocktails. Charlie’s Angels.

Even though I now have my own family and have encountered so many new flavours and tastes on my travels, my mind often returns to the tastes and smells of those carefree early years — and I realise how grateful I am for them.

SIPI’s OVEN-ROASTED LAMB CHOPS WITH LEMON AND OREGANO

These are the ones my mom always made in the oven at home — a big trayful. I loved scraping the bottom of the dish with chips! I get the butcher to cut the lamb chops thin, and I leave some fat on the chops, as it’s meltingly delicious when roasted with the lemon. They must be served warm and, if it is cold outside, serve on heated plates. Lovely with boereboontjies or chips.

Serves 4

1kg thin-cut lamb chops, just under 1cm thick max (15-20 chops) with some fat on them

Juice of 2 lemons (about 8 tablespoons)

30ml (2 tbsp) olive oil

30g (2 tbsp) butter, cut into small chunks

18ml (3 heaped tsp) dried Greek oregano, plus a little extra to serve

1. Preheat the oven to 200°C. Quickly rinse or wipe the lamb chops over with moist paper towels to get rid of any stray bits of bone. Pat dry. Put into a large roasting dish where they fit in a single layer.

2. Splash with the lemon, season well with salt and pepper, and add the olive oil. Scatter the pieces of butter about and sprinkle the oregano over the contents of the dish, crushing it a bit between your fingers. Turn over chops to ensure both sides are coated. Pour 125ml ½ cup) water around the sides of the dish. Cover the dish with foil and bake for about 20 minutes until pale but cooked and there is a good amount of sauce.

3. Remove the foil, lower the heat to 180°C and return the dish to the oven for another 20 minutes, or until the chops have a good deep golden colour and the sauce has thickened and is bubbling and sticky in parts (there’s no need to turn the chops over and, depending on your oven, you can turn on the fan function to get the chops more golden if you like). Serve hot with a little extra oregano scattered over the meat.

BOEREBOONTJIES

Green Beans and Mash

Serves 5 or 6

This is lovely. From my childhood days in South Africa. A comforting bowl of potatoes, green beans, onion, milk and butter, mashed. I like it with buttermilk. Use a hand potato masher here or a large fork — not a mill — as some texture is necessary.

750g potatoes, peeled and cut into large chunks

300g green beans, topped and cut into 3cm lengths

30g (2 tbsp) butter

1 or 2 (90g) bulb spring onions, white and green chopped

100ml buttermilk, at room temperature

Nutmeg, for grating

1. Put the potatoes in boiling salted water to boil. After 5-6 minutes, drop the beans in. Cook for 10-15 minutes more, or until both are soft but not too mushy.
2. Meanwhile, melt half the butter in a saucepan and gently soften the spring onions without them becoming crisp or colouring.
3. Remove the ready potatoes and beans with a slotted spoon to a wide serving bowl. Scrape the onions together with the rest of the butter and roughly mash with potato masher. (Some texture is good here, but it must be mashy, and it is nice when the beans remain in some pieces.) Add the buttermilk, a grating or two of nutmeg, and salt and pepper to taste and turn through. Serve hot.

GRANADILLA CAKE

I always wanted these cakes, which I remember from farm stalls in South Africa, sitting in blown-up clear plastic bags and tied on top to keep them fresh. I like to keep the icing as white as possible, with the little granadilla pearls dotted on, so fold carefully and quickly when making. The tin size is important — don’t use anything bigger here for these amounts. Granadillas (also known as passion fruit) are abundant in South Africa.

Make 1 x 26cm (10½ in) loaf cake

175g unsalted butter

150g sugar

5ml (1 tsp) vanilla extract

3 eggs

225g cake wheat flour

7.5ml (1½ tsp) baking powder

125ml (1/2 cup) buttermilk

10ml (2 tsp) grated lemon zest

Icing:

80g (1/3 cup) butter, room temperature

250g icing sugar

30ml (2 tbsp) lemon juice

40ml (2 heaped tbsp) granadilla pulp (2 not-big granadillas/passion fruit)

1. Preheat the oven to 170°C. Butter and flour a 26 x 11 x 6cm deep loaf tin.

2. Put the butter, sugar and vanilla in a mixing bowl and whip with electric beaters until pale and fluffy. Add the eggs one by one, beating well after each addition, until well combined.

3. Sift the flour, baking powder and 2 or 3 pinches of salt into the butter mixture and whisk into blend. Add the buttermilk and the lemon zest and whisk in. Scrape out into the tin and bake for about 50 minutes, turning the tin about 10 or 15 minutes towards the end. Test that a skewer comes out clean from the middle. Remove from the oven. After 10 minutes or so, run a blunt knife about the edges to make sure it is not stuck and leave it to cool completely before turning out.

4. To make the icing, whip the butter in a wide bowl with electric beaters until pale and creamy. Whisk in the sugar, beating to combine, then add the lemon juice and granadilla pulp and fold through briefly and gently, trying to keep the icing as white as possible (with some yellow stripes through it).

5. Abundantly ice the top and sides of the cake using a metal spatula. Leave it to set and harden a bit before slicing. The cake lasts well for a few days covered with a net. (In winter, I love it the next day when the icing gets a bit firmer.) In summer, keep it in the fridge so the icing stays firm.

VIVIAN’S DATE AND APRICOT CHUTNEY

Makes about 1.7kg

This is from Vivian — an incredible chef I was lucky to work with one special weekend in South Africa on a game farm. I learnt so many things from her that weekend many years ago that I use in my kitchen to this day. This recipe is made with dried apricots — I sometimes make it with fresh apricots when they are in season. (Leave out the soaking then, use 250ml (1 cup) of water in total, and add a bit more sugar.) This chutney needs at least a few days in the fridge after making so it mellows wonderfully. Great with chicken drumsticks and amazing when served with lamb chops or meatballs.

700g dried apricots, chopped

80g raisins

350ml white wine vinegar

70g ginger, peeled

250g dates (weight with pips) seeded and chopped up

125g soft dark brown sugar

12.5ml (2½ tsp) salt

7.5ml (1½ tsp) mustard seeds

2.5ml (½ tsp) chilli powder, or to your taste

1. Cover the dried apricots with 250ml (1 cup) of hot water. Leave them to soak for an hour, and then put them with the liquid into a wide heavy-bottomed pot — the kind you would use for jam. Add the raisins and vinegar. Bring to a slow boil and simmer for 15 minutes covered.

2. Pound the ginger in a mortar to a paste (it will be about 45ml — 3 tbsp). Add to the pot along with the dates, sugar, salt, mustard seeds, chilli and 500ml (2 cups) of hot water. Bring back up to a bubble, then lower the heat and simmer with the lid slightly open until it melts into a united chutney (this should take about 45 minutes). Stir often, adding a little more hot water if it seems thick. Mash down on the fruit with a potato masher and if you have a simmer mat, use it once the chutney has started thickening. It should be thick, soft and jammy, but not too tight.

3. Divide between three sterilised jars while still hot and seal. Store in the fridge (it will keep for a couple of months).