My Cooking

Elevating Humbleness

Some wise old wag once declared “All of life is a journey.” In this spirit, my blog represents somewhat of an extended, metaphorical home coming as well. I love to cook the dishes I was raised on and the dishes so integral to my cultural heritage, both past and present.

Elevating home cooking is important to me. Elevation means adjusting seasonings and flavourings to conform to modern perceptions, adding complimentary ingredients to improve flavour and taste profiles and modernising cooking techniques, where appropriate. Even if it means borrowing ingredients and techniques from other culinary cultures. This is not change merely for the sake of change, but is a drive to bring new perspectives to old favourites and raising everyday ingredients higher to achieve their full, elegant potentials. Furthermore, it is about understanding each party’s role in the symphony that is the whole. Or at least, should be ...

I was not born into a life of means. My parents were, seen in the whole, unremarkable middle class people making their way in the world as best they could. In this environment, my siblings and I was mostly farm raised. Home cooking involved every day, humble ingredients. My parents were – each in their own ways – simultaneously simple and complex human beings. As long as I can remember, before he became a full time farmer, Dad maintained vegetable gardens of varying sizes and complexity at nearly all the places we lived. All his driven life he was close to the soil. When the opportunity arose to become a fulltime farmer, he went “whole hog” in double quick time, as did his vegetable gardening. Cabbage, squashes, pumpkins, onions, garlic, cauliflower, maize (‘corn’ for you Americans), carrots, spinach, bell peppers and such like all became his minions. Which he all patiently cultivated according to the inflexible rhythms of the seasons.

Mom was an excellent, yet uncomplicated cook who prepared food for her family the way everyone else did and was popular in our community and society. She had to feed two adults and four children (of various ages and finicky-ness) three times daily, every day. But that did not mean you didn’t have to not eat well, cut corners or take shortcuts. Dad in particular was – during his younger days – a dedicated trencher man with a fine appreciation for a full and well dressed plate. So was I until I learned to eat appreciatively to live instead of living to shovel down heaps of almost any food, good or bad, in maximum volumes. This particular aspect of personal growth took few decades to fully develop.

Lamb Spit Roast, 2011, Centurion, Pretoria

Dad did not cook, he barbequed. His favourites were lamb cutlets, T-bones and pork chops – in that order. His pork loin chops were often little marvels of crispy rind(s), almost crackling-like, and juicy meat redolent with smoky flavour and covered with a thin film of rendered, wood smoke infused pork fat on the surface. He took a quiet, but great pride in his barbequing ability.

Plain weekday meals, weekend home barbeques, family gatherings and occasional social events were the foundations of my culinary framework. As such this was the environment in which I was privileged to cut my culinary teeth: humble, everyday ingredients and food prepared with love and dedication. If sometimes a wee unimaginatively.

The Love of the Dark Side

My bad: I adore animal organ meats.

Yes, I know. This is a dreadful confession. And a love not shared by possibly 98.813% of the known Multiverse. Yet, you will not easily find ‘more humble’ than ox liver, lamb’s kidneys, pickled beef tongue, sheep’s offal or chicken gizzards and their related ilk. Unfortunately, my love for these underdogs of the culinary world is sincere and true. Maybe – I’ll admit – there’s also a certain smugness in cooking maligned ingredients so well that even the finicky will sometimes sneak into the kitchen afterwards to confess they actually enjoyed what was served.

Organ meats are an arena in which the truly great cooks rise up and shine industriously. I am not one those Luminaries. I cook these often reviled ingredients with respect, patient care and an attempt to understand their true natures, as well as their strong and weak points. In this somewhat specialised field of cookery, the interplay – and deft manipulation – of the five basic flavours becomes quite important:

– Bitterness	– Acidity
– Saltiness	– Sweetness
– Savouriness, also known as umami

Paying attention and thinking about what you are about to engage in, becomes critical to avoid embarrassment and disaster at the dining table. Organ meats are distinctly different and unique when it comes to taste, texture and each organ’s function in the living animal. A modicum of understanding of their functions in life is mandatory. Also insight in what complementary ingredient(s) will pair or combine well with the determined individuality of our main stars in order to prevent said star from callously dominating the stage at any opportunity. Organ meats allow the cook little room for error in their proper preparation. Merely bumbling along, adding a little of this or a touch of that as the fancy takes us, will lead to inevitable perdition and certain ruin. C’est la vie.

This is also an objective of 5 Flavours: my culinary journey to find understanding (and hopefully some acceptance) of the Misunderstood.

The Return to Innocence

My cooking style, preferences and philosophy evolved significantly over the years. As they will have for any serious cook. The recipes of my blog will not show this evolution, only where I am at present. Demonstrating how I arrived at this point is not important to my story.

My cooking style aims for elegant, pleasing simplicity. My food has to nourish, nurture and please on as many levels as possible, both in my personal cooking, as well as the recipes here. Simplicity in cooking is often an ironically complex process. Simplicity does not mean slapping three ingredients together and, et violá!, a contrived; Tik Tok beloved; Frankensteinian culinary wonder is at hand. Dear old Oscar Wilde may have alleged “Simplicity is the last refuge of the complex”, but that is not quite true. I suspect he was a terrible cook that would’ve charred the water while trying to make a mug of tea …

For me, simplicity means taking a handful of quality ingredients that all go well together and transforming them with care, insight and respect into a balanced whole. Often this process requires time, knowledge, technical skill and effort – sometimes quite a bit of effort. Simple is not quick and easy

Simplicity is also about respect. Respect for the ingredients on your cutting board before you, in your refrigerator and vegetable basket over there by the kitchen zinc. In most cases something had to die to eventually end up on your cutting board. I'm 100% sure all those animals, plants and other organisms did not graciously die voluntarily for your and my conveniences. Yes, cilantro does not have a soul and neither is corn self aware (probably), but that inanity does not preclude even the most simple of ingredients from our respect and care. More of this in the next section: Cooking & Spirituality.

That is why so few of the recipes on my blog are of the “short & quick” style so dear to many of the traditional food bloggers out there. Most of my recipes require time and a little effort. Now and then the ingredient lists may seem somewhat daunting and the method instructions copious and ardent. But do not fret, I have tried to keep things simple (within reason), logical and easy. All the ingredients and instructions in every recipe are there for good reasons. They reflect my insight, experience and creativity. Also, they attempt to bring you as close as possible to what I originally had on my plate. I hope you will try – and enjoy – some of them too. Feel free to adapt and modify as you see fit to suit your preferences, needs and circumstances.

Bon appétit it is.