WewenttoNelspruittovisitLisa’s
parentsoneyearandhada braaiat that
samewaterfall.Thesteaktastedexactly
as I hadimaginedit would.
Wealsospenta nightin theKruger,
in a tinycampinglodgebuiltbya friend
andknownonlytothePark’sinner
circle.Myfavouritepart,asidefrom
sleepingoutsidenexttothefire,was
whenLisa’sdadbraaiedtoastandpork
sausagesforusforbreakfast.Weate
themjustaftersunrise;anAfrican-style
EnidBlytonbreakfastI willnever
forget.It wasnowonderbraaiwas
inherblood.
LisadiscoveredthepaleodietwaybeforeSA’sBantingcrazehit.She
planteda vegetablegardenat homeand
grewheirloomtomatoes,bushbeans
andJerusalemartichokesyearsbefore
myattempts.Shegrewsproutsinjars
inherkitchencupboards.Soit was
onlyfittingthatwhenshe(sadly)
emigratedtoSanFrancisco,herfamily’s
firsthomewouldbeinBerkeley,just
minutesfromtheGourmetGhetto
andthatgreatfarm-to-table,food-nerd
shrine– ChezPanisse.
I’vevisitedLisainSanFrancisco
a fewtimes.We’veeatenat Chez
Panissetogether.Wetooka roadtrip
toNapaonceandsnoopedaroundThe
FrenchLaundry’svegetablegardenin
Yountville.Wealsoaterealsouthern
smokedbarbequeat TheBounty
HunterindowntownNapa– a huge
platterof pulledpork,brisketandribs
withslaw,picklesandcornbread.
It wasdelicious,butit wasnota braai.8 TASTE SEPTEMBER 2019What makes
a real braai?
EDITOR'S LETTERmeonInstagram
@ WilsonZAFollowm
@KateWNeither, technically, was the braai we
had back at their house – lamb chops
cooked outside on the grill. It might
have been the gas, or the fact that the
lamb did not come from the Karoo.
Or it might have been that nothing will
ever measure up to the taste of the
special-occasion chops we’d make in
our courtyard in Woodstock back in
the day, drinking pints of Black Label
and discussing music and politics. The
same way that no Wagyu beef steak
cooked by a Michelin-star poster boy
will ever taste as good, to me, as those
salty, juicy, pink seared slices of steak
eaten hot off the grid with our fingers
beside a waterfall in Mpumalanga.
When braai is in your blood you
will try to take it with you wherever
you are in the world, but it will never
be quite the same. That’s because, for
me, a real braai needs wood smoke and
flames; locally reared meat and charred
mielies; a glass of Pinotage perhaps and
that very particular, soft light you get
just after sunset in Africa. That’s my
kind of braai. Wherever you are, I hope
you get yours this Heritage Day.BEFORE I DISCOVERED FOOD
MAGAZINES, before the interwebs
made it to Africa, everything I learned
about how to braai I learned from my
friend Lisa.
Lisa and I met at university, while
working on the student newspaper, and
became close over, among other things,
her appreciation for my mother’s
cooking. I was still living at home
at the time and we had an editorial
committee meeting at my house one
evening, for which my mother made
lamb burgers stuffed into pita breads
with home-made tzatziki. For me,
there was nothing remarkable aboutthose burgers, having been spoiled by
my mother’s cooking standards, but
Lisa talks about those pita burgers
to this day, 25 years later.
I realise now that Lisa was a true
food nerd long before I was. We shared
a digs in Woodstock for a few years
and, despite severely limited funds,
planning meals and cooking for friends
was a big part of our lives. Lisa grew up
in the Kruger Park, in Skukuza, where
her father ran the IT systems for the
National Parks Board. I was totally
captivated by the stories of her
childhood. Tales of her father swatting
bats with a squash racquet in the living
room while watching TV, a baby rhino
playing in the neighbour’s garden, and
braai picnics beside a waterfall, where
her dad would sear a thick-cut steak,
seasoned with Lawry’s seasoning salt
(always Lawry’s), and cut it into strips
to eat as an appetiser before lunch.“When braai is in your blood you will try to
take it with you wherever you are in the world”