Sailing In English

Sometimes I wonder just how language affect our normal thinking and the way we go about our business. The last week is a case in point.

I already know about negative self talk and language. The stuff that the little voice in the back of your head tells you to scare you. You go surfing, for example, and when you see the size of the waves the little voice goes: “You're gonna get dumped.” And, of course, you do. It is because one tends to listen to this little voice, instead of ignoring it.

Idyllic dusk scene at Saldanha Bay Yacht Club

From what I read, this little voice is actually your ego.

Your inner self is strong enough to ignore this voice. Train yourself not to react to every input that you get from this part of your environment. Just like you train yourself not to listen to your small child misbehaving in public.

When you get to this same idea applied to a group, things get more interesting. You are now faced with a group-wide thinking pattern and group behaviour. Add in a sailing vessel of suitable size and you can have lots of fun.

Which is what happened the last week.

The boat was in Langebaan area about sixty odd nautical miles from Cape Town and had to be brought back to base. Not a big problem, I have done the trip several times. However, this time I had people on board that literally got on a sail boat the day before. This was not my making, but dictated by a suitable weather window. You wait for a north-westerly breeze to have a down-wind or broad reach sail back to home.

I made a very shortened lecture on docking the boat and reefing the sail, a long lecture on basic safety aboard, smoking practice and so on, then we set off. I taught these students basic knots on the way, names of the parts of the boat and as well as the names of the various lines. All a bit backwards, as I normally do these things on the first day and a half, before we go sailing. This helps with getting the new knowledge sinking in.

Our favourite seal

We had a wonderful sail down the coast in bright sunny weather, arriving in Cape Town an hour or two after dark. Quite an experience for these young people. Did I mention the seasickness?

Then, on the next day, the fun started.

Not having gone through the mill of getting the names and uses of the various lines under the belt properly, my intrepid group of students now had to remember the names of the lines very fast. I found a corner of Table bay with a breeze gusting to twenty knots where we could play around learning to sail.

Needless to say, I had a few glorious laughs watching the students' eyes grow wide in fear of the boat capsizing. We dipped a rail several times and had the mast just off the water once or twice. I had to step in several times to undo cleated lines. This dumps the wind out of the sails and gets back control of the boat. Of course, with the mast almost down to the water, things start to fall out of shelves and into the bilge water slopping about.

The ecstasy of  surfing a 4.5 ton boat

It was only afterwards, when I did a rehash of each manoeuvre, that I realised just how large effect language has on our daily drudgery.

Each time I asked the student in question what his or her impression was about what had gone wrong. And as sure as God made little green apples, I would get an answer in a sentence that does not contain any verb. Very disconcerting indeed. The person is not able to communicate to the outside world in a form of language that is understandable to another person.


After some reflection on this, I had the idea that it could be partly the influence of the electronic media available to people. Almost all of these young people use a mobile phone to communicate. And they use an abbreviated language. Probably without proper grammar and without verbs.

I then changed my style of lecturing to teach language skills rather than sailing. I taught them that the words “ease,” “dump,” and “release” are verbs, and that those words, used in conjunction with the words “main sheet” and “jib sheet,” which are nouns, not verbs, have certain semantics associated with such use. And that these terms, used in normal communication aboard, make life a lot easier on a sail boat.

Dusk near Cape Town

Arranging the course experiences around language of course has its own pitfalls. Everyone had to make changes to their way of talking, which meant changing thinking patterns as well. The students quickly cottoned on to what was happening and by the end of the course they were smiling again and could tack the boat without getting themselves knotted in the vagaries of the English language.

Perhaps their experiences on the boat helped them to made the change in their consciousness to a place where they can now communicate on a more level plane than before.

And here I was under the impression that a sailing vessel is very old technology, almost fading into the mists of time, to be fondly remembered as some sort of ancient transport.


Authored by Johan Zietsman

Last updated on 2015-02-17

French-Moroccan Style Food Aboard

The last week saw me yet again playing the sailing instructor to a boat load of young people. Young, healthy people with appetites to match. Put in some physical sailing exercises, anchoring off Grainger Bay for a light lunch, then pulling up the anchor by hand before some more sailing.  Add a dose of the wonderful Cape Town weather at this time of year, and you have five ravenous mouths to feed. Six if you include your favourite sailing instructor.

Not that that is a problem, of course. Part of the course is to do the provisioning planning. This effort naturally includes finding out dietary constraints and then matching the provisions to suit.

In this case we had a crew member not eating red meat. Pork and chicken, yes. But no red meat. Matching this requirement with our standard list of single pot meals could pose a problem. Our food stipend for the week does not amount to much and one does like to keep the food within that budget. Part of learning to make do in a minimalist way.

So boerewors and mash, spaghetti Bolognese and chilli con carne were out of the question. After some deliberation, I remembered that the French has a dish they call cassoulet, made with beans and pork. A stewed dish, eminently suited for preparing on board.  Of course, no proper sailor would go without some spice, so here was some more room for creativity.

The North Africans are famous for their wonderfully flavoured stewed dishes. That gave me the idea of a fusion dish: French-Moroccan style chilli beans and pork. Something away from your standard chilli con carne using beef mince.

For this dish we added some thinly sliced potatoes as starch, thereby making it a one pot dish. The ingredients are kept simple, as we have but a small two-burner gas stove on board and no refrigeration to speak of. A cooler box with ice, I'll have you know. Work space for preparing food is also at a premium.

In addition, I have stopped using cooking oil on board, using butter instead. Partly due to the fire hazard of hot oil on a bouncing and rocking stove, and partly because the butter imparts better flavour. I have also found that people eat smaller portions when I use butter in the cooking. Banting again, no less.

Space is at a premium

You may omit the potatoes in favour of couscous. We did not have any, but it will work well with this dish.


Here the flavours lie in the process as much as in the ingredients. Just mixing it all in and cooking it will not bring out the flavour and you will have a bland dish that burns your tongue.

And thus French-Moroccan style spicy pork stew was born. This quantity will feed six hungry sailors.

Ingredients

750g pork leg chops, cubed to 15mm/½ inch size and trimmed of fat.
1 can red kidney beans
1 can butter beans
1 can baked beans in tomato sauce
1 can whole peeled tomatoes
1 sachet tomato paste
2 medium size fresh tomatoes, coarsely diced
1 onion, chopped
1/3 Green pepper, chopped
2 medium potatoes, sliced to the same thickness as the pork.
1-2 thumbs garlic, chopped and mashed
4 small chillies, finely chopped
1 teaspoon coriander powder
1 teaspoon smoked paprika
1 ½ teaspoon cumin powder
Some salt to taste

Small stove and galley area

Pepper to taste
2 dessert spoons butter for frying.

Process

Heat up the pot or pan that you will be using. Add a little butter. Fry the pork in small batches until they are brown. Set the fried pork aside to rest.
Using the same pot, which will now contain a nice layer of caramelised pork, add some more butter and fry the onions and green pepper until brown. They will pick up the caramelised bits of pork. Add the garlic and chillies and fry them for thirty seconds. Add the dry spices and fry these for fifteen seconds, then add the tomatoes, the potatoes and the pork. Reduce the heat when the the pot starts to boil and simmer until the potatoes are done. Check for sufficient saltiness, the potatoes may make the dish somewhat fresh.
Only then add the beans. Drain the fluid from the kidney- and butter beans. The baked beans go in complete with the tomato sauce. Mix thoroughly. The sauce will thicken substantially towards the end, so do make sure that nothing sticks to the bottom and burns.



Allow the dish to cook through, then take the heat away and allow the dish to rest. This may not be easy, as by now the whole boat or kitchen will be pervaded by a delicious aroma.

Bon appetit!


Authored by Johan Zietsman

Last updated on 2015-02-07

On Being A Skipper

Many of us dream about a seawards life, independent of the land and making your own decisions. Programming your own life in accordance with your dreams, bowing only to the wind and the waves.

An idyllic life, no less.

I did exactly that. I changed my lifestyle from being a suburban dweller, commuting daily to and from a bureaucratic institution, to the life of a sailor. Granted, I do not own a boat. And I operate from a fixed base. I introduce and instruct others in the gentle art of sailing. Quite satisfactory, one would argue. Sailing for a whole week at a time and getting paid for leading this idyllic life style.

Yea, right.

Idyllic Hout Bay afternoon

Nothing in this life is free. Including this life style. There is a pound of flesh to be paid in return. And this comes in the form of responsibility. Accountability also, if you wish to play with semantics.

Who gets to explain when things go wrong? The skipper. And who is to blame if there is no more food on board? The skipper, of course. When someone gets hurt?

Always the skipper. As an aside, keel boats can kill you if you are careless, they are not dinghies that will simply capsize to tell you that you have done something stupid.

A heavy burden, if you are not alert. And even skippers get overloaded when they are not careful.

My experience of the last week is a case in point. I have the doubtful privilege of losing the Danbuoy, MOB light and life ring. The very safety equipment that is used to assist a person after falling overboard, the Danbuoy being a flag on a floating staff to keep a position indication of the person in the water.

It happened in broad daylight in a sheltered bay. So, how come the equipment was lost? The answer is “very easy,” actually.

We were doing some MOB (Man OverBoard) drills in Hout Bay, our neighbouring harbour. A sheltered bay on the Cape Peninsula. Also notorious for heavy winds. At the time of the exercise the wind was blowing 10 knots, gusting 15 in glorious sunshine. We were happily doing the MOB exercises, the day skipper students taking turns at the helm.

Quiet Hout Bay morning

Then the wind picked up and went from 10 knots gusting 15 to blowing 20 knots gusting 25 within ten minutes. I ordered two reefs in the main. While we were reefing the main, the wind went from 20 knots gusting 25 to 27 knots gusting 35 and picking up. We were in the process of reefing, so I ordered the mainsail to be stowed. The jib had unravelled itself while still being furled, with a piece of sail flapping in the wind on either side of the sheets wrapped around the middle on the furler.

After all that was secured, we set out to retrieve our equipment still floating in the water. However, by this time, which was under ten minutes time span, we had lost sight of the danbuoy. The water had turned to a frothy half a metre chop by then, obscuring everything that was floating lower than half a metre out of the water.

Hout Bay in 33 knots of wind

We set out on a rectangular search pattern, but gave up after an hour, the equipment lost. We made an official report to the Maritime Safety authorities and the NSRI (National Sea Rescue Institute) after docking safely back in Hout Bay harbour. This to ensure that they do not launch a search and rescue mission in the event that somebody else retrieves the equipment. Heavy liability there, if you forget and there is a fruitless expense on the side of the autorities. The authorities treat this in the same vein as a bomb scare. So we were covered there, at least.

All crew safe and sound, the boat back in harbour, tied alongside safely. Search parties sent out to check on the shore and harbour wall returned with empty hands. We then performed a lessons learned debriefing on board.

We were basically prevented from all sailing until we could obtain another set of equipment. Safety first and foremost.

Having had this experience, I then asked myself what could have been done differently to prevent this. And I did some very deep soul searching.

In the end, the answer is very easy: It was the skipper's fault. Mine. So, why did I not get this one right?

A very easy management problem to solve, viewed from an armchair. Don't overload yourself as the skipper. There is a crew. Use them. Delegate.

And make very sure you understand the vagaries of your local waters, even if you think it is OK, it's your own back yard and you understand the weather.

I did not, with results to show.

Another deceptively quiet early morning, leaving Hout Bay

And above all, remember that a person in the water will not be visible at fifty meters away from the boat in a half meter choppy sea with foam. Even in broad daylight.

A scary enough thought to give me nightmares.




Authored by Johan Zietsman

Last updated on 2015-01-30

Ciabatta: The Next Experiment

It has been a while since I made ciabatta.

There were lots of experiments with other types of bread, some more successful than others. I also made friends with the small gas ovens on several sailing yachts. These are a law unto themselves and one needs to be very careful to allow for free air flow around your baking, lest your food turns into burnt offerings.

My experiments with yeast and flour have been a growing success. At least, this is what I think. I specifically try to keep the process simple in order for the recipe to be accessible to the normal yachtie and amateur baker. The process needs to simple and not require any special tools or fermenting equipment. Like a refrigerator, for example. Most yachts do not have sufficient refrigeration space to allow overnight slow fermentation of your dough. Perhaps it is in these endeavours that I am struggling with an appropriate process to achieve the special results that I am searching for.

Talk about pioneering in a new field!

I have made several experiments in baking a proper ciabatta. Most have been successful, but the elusive big, shiny fermentation holes have always escaped me.

Very soft dough, second rise using
 a plastic bags and a place mat
 to keep the shape

So this time around I decided to go to a softer dough with higher hydration. In addition, I used a finer flour. All of the loaves I baked previously were quite tasty, but somewhat on the heavy side. After some consultation and interpretive reading of various recipes and methods, I decided on a mix of cake flour and white bread flour. Here in South Africa we don't get the 00- and 000-classification of flours. The list consists of cake flour, white bread flour, brown bread flour and whole wheat flour.
You may get sifted and unsifted variations, stone ground and non GM. That's about it.


For this experiment I used whole wheat unsifted stone ground non GM flour. Long words for decent flour. Four cups of cake flour and two cups of white bread flour made up the mix. That is enough for two large loaves or three to four smaller ones.

After perusing my copy of Peter Reinhardt's books “Crust and Crumb” as well as “The Bread baker's Apprentice,” I decided on a modified version. The recipes use a biga or a poolish. Both pre-ferments require overnight fermentation in a cool environment. This is difficult to achieve on a small yacht, so I settled for a direct method.

The ingredients are flour, water, salt, yeast. Some butter or other animal fat. That's it. Very primitive. Simple ingredients, focussing on the method and the relative quantities.

Making ciabatta requires a very soft dough. So this time I made a dough by measuring out the required amount of flour using a cup. Then I added salt and the yeast. After mixing these dry ingredients thoroughly, I added the soft butter and rubbed it in thoroughly by hand. Then I added water a little at a time, mixing it through every time until the dough had some even consistency. This I kept up until the dough was almost runny.

Very soft loaves, very hot bricks in the oven

I left the dough to rest for a few minutes while gathering my wits. This dough is not kneadable at all. You fold it using a wet ladle or a wet hand. Clean an appropriate area on your work surface and keep a jug of water ready. This is for wetting your mixing utensil and your hand.

At the start of kneading it is almost runny, getting somewhat stiffer during the folding process as the gluten develops. Eventually I transferred the dough to the well floured kneading board. By this time the dough was not really picking up much more flour from the kneading board and I was able to continue folding the dough for another five odd minutes. The test for the readiness is to take a small piece of dough and do a stretch test. Stretch it and see if you can get it to keep an almost translucent  film. If you can, the dough is ready for the rise.


I sprayed some spray-and-cook stuff on the dough ball to limit drying out before covering the dough and putting it aside to rise.
After the rise you need to form the loaves. This is where you may get into more trouble by losing the fermentation holes already formed. Handle the dough with care, it is still very soft. After this rise you may need a peel to transfer the loaves to the oven. They will be very tender and you will not be able to manhandle them.

Perhaps this is where the biggest problem lies. Dividing, forming and handling the soft dough may lose the gas in the dough. So there is a caveat.

The oven may be set to quite hot. I baked these loaves at 230ºC/450ºF for fifteen minutes, then set the oven temperature lower to about 180ºC/350ºF for another twenty minutes. And I used paving bricks in the oven as heat capacity to get the required oven spring.


Check the loaves towards the end. If they echo with a solid sound when tapped, they are ready. Remove them from the oven and allow them to cool for about twenty minutes to half an hour. They are still cooking and are filled with steam. This makes them very brittle. The steam needs to evaporate for the crumb to develop into something elastic.

These loaves came out the best I ever achieved. Very nice crisp crust, very soft, sweet crumb. But the elusive large fermentation holes have yet again escaped me.

So now I sit here and ponder my next experiment with a cup of coffee and a generous slice of fresh bread covered in real butter.


Remember, always use real butter.




This post also linked to YeastSpotting!


All images taken with a Samsung S4 smart phone, Snapseed and ViewNX2 edits.


Authored by Johan Zietsman


Last updated on 2015-01-18

Withdrawal Symptoms: Sailing Into The New Year

  

This last Christmas season saw me doing nothing. Yes, nothing. Perhaps it is the Cape Town spirit getting to me at last.

This doing nothing included final convalescence from my torn biceps muscle, with a shakedown cruise across False Bay to Simon's Town. A wonderful trip indeed. The do nothing bucket list also included lots of beer. It is high summer here after all.

There is something to say for doing nothing along with your nearest and dearest.

However, the laziness eventually gets you. One can only read so many books and do thus many crossword puzzles before the withdrawal symptoms catch up. I had to take a deep breath and count to ten many times to just calm down.

How wonderful it was when the sailing school contacted me to book my time for instruction in the new year! Sailing again. Out of a wonderful place too.


The Cape Town waterfront marina has something special to it. There is a serene quietness in there at both ends of the day. Being at the back of the main harbour activities, the noise from industrial vehicles and -activities and so on does not reach the marina. Couple this with Table Mountain and Signal Hill standing guard over us and you get the idea of a peaceful, almost Zen-like mood.

Clifton beach  with Table Mountain standing guard

Of course, the sailing is exquisite, as always. I had a group of students on competent crew course, which always has some adventure looming. This time was no exception.

The competent crew course is very interesting to taxing, as the students literally have not ever been on board a boat. It is up to the instructor to get these young people to a level where one can begin to enjoy the sailing, as opposed to having the fear of God put into them due to their lack of knowledge and experience.

We got past this hurdle quite fast and was able to have a sail in decent wind of twenty seven knots, gusting thirty on the second day of the course. Everybody had a whale of a time after the first ten scary minutes of worrying that the boat will capsize. Then the real fun started.

The jib furler came adrift and I had to send someone forward to go and clear and stow the sail.
This was done with some splashing as expected. We carried on sailing, doing some point of sail manoeuvres, then motored back to our mooring.

Dinner. Chile con carne a la The Hungry Sailor

There I sent one of the students up the mast  to retrieve the furler. All on the second day of their course. Talk about adventure!


The next day we sailed to Clifton, one of the most picturesque beaches in the world. We were blessed with a balmy day too. The whole world and their friend also had the same idea, so it was quite festive with all the boats at anchor off the packed beaches. The students took a quick dip in the cold Atlantic water before making a scrumptious picnic lunch. Much fun was had by all, until we hoisted the anchor.

Or at least, we tried to. The anchor was stuck fast and I had to make a fast plan before everyone else departed the anchorage. Our neighbour helped with pulling a spare mooring line doubled around the anchor chain in the opposite direction. Soon the recalcitrant stuck anchor was tripped and we could sail home.

By Friday afternoon these students had broad smiley faces and little skin left on their palms. The vagaries of an introduction to yachting.

These adventures really set me thinking about what I do. I am the instructor and normally are quite tired by the end of the course, both physically and mentally. Yet I cannot remember when last it was that I enjoyed a week on the water so much. Not even mentioning the fact that, really, a bad day on the water beats any desk job ever.

I got home and sat in wonder for a while, counting blessings. Perhaps one gets a bit blasé about the sailing and then needs a break from sailing altogether. Just to clear the mind.

But your soul tells you it is time to get back on the water. And Kenneth Graham's story “The Wind in the Willows” comes to mind. I quote from Wikipedia.

In the story, Mole and Rat are rowing up the canal in Rat's boat. They are discussing nautical things and life in general when Rat is heard to utter:

“Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing — absolutely nothing — half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats. Simply messing... about in boats — or with boats. In or out of 'em, it doesn't matter. Nothing seems really to matter, that's the charm of it. Whether you get away, or whether you don't; whether you arrive at your destination or whether you reach somewhere else, or whether you never get anywhere at all, you're always busy, and you never do anything in particular; and when you've done it there's always something else to do, and you can do it if you like, but you'd much better not.”



Authored by Johan Zietsman


Last updated on 2015-01-12

Sail Cruising False Bay: Simon's Town

 

Yearning for an exotic cruise on a sail boat? Look no further than your own back yard.

Literally.

Seal Island up close. The home of the great whites in False Bay

After long discussions through the year, the opportunity came up for a short break into cruising. So a friend and I set off in his boat. A three day trip with no cellphones and hardly any internet.


Provisioning the boat was easy. Two dinners and two breakfasts, some snacks. Water. And, of course, a few beers. It is a holiday after all!

After calling False Bay Yacht Club to arrange a mooring just to find out that there is none, we set off anyway. Real cruising by real sailors.

Peaceful afternoon sailing

Along the way we experimented with a stays'l arranged to be self-tacking. This makes for a lot less work when turning the boat. This had us sailing merrily along the beach front at the coastal town of Strand where I live. Wonderful views from the seaward side, the Helderberg basin making for an exotic backdrop to the golden beach. The wind freshened to seventeen knots, gusting twenty, from a southerly direction. Exquisite sailing weather indeed, not a cloud in the sky and I am sure lots of holidaymakers from upcountry enjoying the weather too.

Balmy weather

Soon we were close to East Shoal, a rocky outcrop about half way across the bay to Simon's Town. We had to make a choice of going north of this shoal and north of Seal Island. This would put us substantially downwind of Simon's Town, so we opted to bear into the wind and beat it southwards. One reef in the main and a bit of the genoa rolled away had us sailing about thirty degrees off the apparent wind at between five and six knots. The stays'l was still up, balancing the rig beautifully and we sailed for an hour and a half without touching the helm. The boat sailed like a dream, making happy noises while punching through the small choppy seas.

We sat quietly in the cockpit, having a grand old conversation about small things and big ideas, just enjoying the calming rythm of the sea and the boat. A balm to the soul, this felt like a continuous meditation in an idyllic atmosphere.

Look Ma, no hands!

Strand beachfront scenery, the Helderberg as a backdrop

Not too long after, we had cleared all the islands and rocks along the way and had to start stowing sails before anchoring. With the Governor's Cup race imminent, the marina looked a-buzz with activity. We opted to anchor in the outer anchorage, next to another boat clearly on a cruise as well. We had left our dinghy back on the quay at home, so we had to arrange the water taxi from the club. We were too late for that, so we just sat and enjoyed the scenery.

It is at times like this that one is reminded of the peace and quiet of an anchorage. A marina is very different, with people walking about, the and the creaking noises from the strain of the boats tugging at the quays. Here in the anchorage it is quiet. We could hear people talking on the beach about two hundred meters away.

Dinner consisted of chilli con carne and a loaf of bread that we baked while the chilli was resting. The evening breeze made small swishing sounds as it caressed the rigging, wafting us into a proper sleep.

Some decent speed

The next morning we caught the water taxi ashore and had a nice warm shower in the club. This left us with the rest of the day just to relax, explore the town and do nothing. It is surprising just how busy you can get just doing nothing, passing the time of day with a friendly chat to the odd shopkeeper and passers-by. Coffee was in order, then some shopping for more provisions.


We had invited our neigbours over for a braai on board that evening, which called for additional provisions. This proved to be more difficult than anticipated, as Simon's Town does not have a butchery in the town. The nearest shop that sells meat is about five kilometers away.


No problem, we caught a minibus taxi to Fish Hoek, the next town. Yes, one of THOSE minibus taxis.

Very cheap fare, we had a wonderful time chatting away with the other passengers and the driver. Our shopping took all of ten minutes, after which we simply caught another taxi back to Simon's Town.

Our stress levels were hitting rock bottom by this time. The weather played along and we had a balmy afternoon. We even had time to read a book. I managed to finish Ayn Rand's Anthem. A wonderful short read.

Our dinner guests arrived shortly before sunset and we had meat on the griddle. How else, this is South Africa in summer. The meat was complemented with a salad and yet another freshly baked loaf of bread.

Wonderful company to share the dinner, our guests turned out to be a couple from California on a world cruise. Lots of stories were exchanged before they rowed their dinghy back. Yes, rowed. No outboard motor to kill the quiet sounds of the anchorage.

The next morning we hoisted the anchor, set our sails and had yet another wonderful sail back home. The wind was the same as two days before, seventeen knots gusting twenty from a southerly direction. Again, I was pleasantly surprised at the boat's performance. We were going at over seven knots average, peaking at seven and a half knots speed over ground as measured by the GPS. Decent performance from a seven and a half ton cruising boat.

This was a wonderful cruise. My first proper cruise where we did nothing and just relaxed. We did not even visit the pub in the yacht clubAnd it is on our own doorstep.

Freshly baked bread

Having done this has now rekindled the wanderlust in me. This cruising thing grows on one. I started reading the sailing directions for False Bay and found lots of other nooks and crannies where one can spend a night or two, given the right conditions.

Increasingly, I get the impression that fewer people do these little overnight trips, opting for far more expensive long trips, flying overseas.

False Bay Yacht Club marina, Simon's Town

For my money, I  am rich in time and have enough money to enjoy my own back yard.

One of the most beautiful places in the world.



Authored by Johan Zietsman


Last updated on 2014-12-24

Pagan Style Lamb Chops

I like lamb chops on the braai. But forever the meat is overdone by the time the layer of fat on the outside is done properly.

Use simple ingredients

Then the chops are definitely not OK. Cooking them until the meat is to your taste leaves the fat still mostly underdone. The chop is also then too fatty to my tastes. Even though we tend to the Banting side of diet, we still eat less fat than the French, I think.

You need hot coals

So here was an opportunity for some real creativity in preparing food. After some deliberation and much consumption of red wine and, especially at this summery time of year, lots of beer. Specifically around the braai fire. South African men treat the braai and their methods like a religion. A very serious subject indeed.

I think that the late professor Marthinus Versfeld, one of the most noted philosophers of South Africa, had it right. He reckoned that this passion for cooking meat on a braai is a leftover from primal days where our pagan forefathers regularly built an altar and offered meat to their gods. Even the Bible states this, adding that the meat was then consumed by the people. This now after the gods that be blessed the offering. Even so for the fledgling Christians of those times. The first murder also was perpetrated as a direct result of a dispute arising from an argument ensuing during a braai.

We need to heed these things, they play an important role in our daily lives.

While the braai itself is very important, the end result is even more so. Imagine dishing up an overdone lamb chop to your loved ones. My wife will simply not eat it. These disputes then rage long after the braai.

So, as you will understand, this subject is very near and dear to my heart.

Cook the meat on all sides

Preparing meat on a bed of coals is not a simple matter for some. In this case, the answer was not that difficult. In the end, the trick is to understand heat transfer and keeping the soft parts of the meat away from heat until the fat is done to a nice crisp state. Then the meat part is done. A two stage process.. Once I had figured this, the rest was easy. You assemble the chops back to a block as for a roast. Use some kebab skewers. Or you buy a roast from the start. For this experiment I used a lamb rib roast.

All sides...

Pat coarse salt all over the outside of the cut, then put it fat side down over very hot coals. Use a can of water placed among the coals to help with preventing flames. The steam will displace some of the air, so this helps. Make sure you don't scorch the fat, it will go bitter. Braai the cut on all sides. The bony parts may be well done, it is OK. They keep the heat away from the inside.

Don't scorch the meat

Once the fat and both bony sides are done to your satisfaction, you take the meat off the fire and cut it into chops. Or remove the skewers.

Now is the time to spice and salt your chops with your favourite braai salt or other condiments. I opted for a Spanish style basting. This is made with equal amounts of freshly crushed garlic, olive oil and red wine vinegar. If you don't have red wine vinegar, use normal vinegar and add a dollop of wine from your glass.

The inside is still raw

Baste regularly and royally. This activity forms part of the psychological warfare that you wage against the rest of the neigbourhood downwind of your braai, so take care. Also, if you make a mistake here, the whole neigbourhood will know, even upwind of where you are. I don't know how this works, I just know that this type of bad news travels in weird directions.

Simple basting, applied with a sprig of rosemary

By this time your coals would have cooled down sufficiently to make the rest of the cooking process a cinch. Cook the meat to your taste, then remove to the side of the coals to keep them warm and allow them to repose. This will help to develop the flavour and allow the heat to disperse evenly through the meat. The colour of the meat will also go to red as opposed to being a dull, unappetising grey.

I served this with blinis and sour cream, adding some steamed broccoli. Nothing to be scared of, a blini is a form of Russian bread. There is a gazillion recipes on the internet. My version was making a basic flapjack batter, adding grated baby marrows and some chopped grass onions. Spices were some coriander and cumin powder, salt and pepper.

Do the meat to your taste

These were baked in a dry pan, scooping spoonfuls of the batter onto the hot pan. These you can do beforehand, they warm up nicely afterwards. Dish up with some sour cream and onions, tzatziki or the like.

The meat is quite rich, so beware of mixing this with red wine and beer.

There, you are done. This dish goes well with a full bodied red wine.

Bon appetit!


Authored by Johan Zietsman.

Last updated on 2014-12-14