Training

In this day and age of fabulous hotel schools and chef’s colleges all over the country are we indeed better equipped to handle our newfound place on the world stage?

I am not totally convinced, and this is not directed at the training institutions as they are doing a fabulous job. The level of training being offered is something to be immensely proud of. But they are only schools and while they may prepare students for the road ahead, what is being done by the senior chefs to further that education and what of the staff not fortunate enough to attend these schools?

A lot of young up and coming chefs are not prepared to do the dirty work, the crap pay, the unsociable hours and all the other general misery associated with learning the ropes in this industry. The industry doesn’t help either as due to a shortage of trained personnel, salaries and positions are being offered to people that are not ready either emotionally or professionally.

So we have students with one year’s practical experience in senior positions, positions that require the training of the staff under them. Effective training as we know is not simply passing on recipes but also instilling an element of understanding and awareness that comes with having been around the block once or twice. So what does this process do to the general level of competency, it actually lowers it over time or dilutes it if you will.

Recently I have come across one too many twenty one year old head chefs with only a year or two of actual experience. So, no matter how talented these individuals may have been; how much knowledge were they able to impart? Your entire brigade looks to you for guidance, leadership as well as inspiration and the ability to effectively impart these essential ingredients comes with experience and therefore time.

I am reminded of some sage advice given to me by Garth Stroebel way back in the days of the Sandton Sun. As a recently qualified chef de partie in Chapters restaurant and I was well pissed off to find out that a number of the other recently qualified chefs had all received promotions and increases. I considered myself to be more competent than those awarded the increases (oh the arrogance of youth) and took my grievance to Garth. After summarily reading me the riot act and advising me never to relate my pay to anyone else’s, he left me with some sound advice.

He told me to take a long look at the guys he had rewarded, they were all chefs that were driven solely by the money and needed to have the word senior as part of their titles. He also added that they would probably only ever reach head of their department or head chef of some second rate outfit and that if I was in need of the same ego massaging then he would be happy to comply.

But and this is the crux of the matter, in order to achieve the heady heights of our profession, time, patience and a willingness to quietly absorb are the tools required – “Learn to walk before you can run” were his exact words.

The Working Lunch – Suckling Pig

This month’s Working Lunch was once more borne out of a labour of love – the suckling pig was an organically reared free range Landras from Oak Valley in Elgin, yes they of the fabulous Sauvignon Blanc & and oh so special Pinot Noir – not to mention apples, pears, cut flowers and free range Wagyu beef.

The starring attraction of our sumptuous feast was destined to be one of the Iberico style hams being produced on the farm. These beasts are fed on a diet of corn, cereal & acorns. The practice of feeding pigs on acorns is a millennia old Spanish tradition.  The acorns enhance the all-important intramuscular fat, which is high in oleic acid, a monounsaturated fatty acid that lowers LDL cholesterol – so this shit is actually good for you!

Our 6-week-old suckling pig wasn’t yet old enough for acorns but we weren’t about to hold it against it.

Mike Snyman, Braai Master of note was the man responsible for the lunch and he has now set the benchmark for how all future pigs should be cooked – not satisfied with roasting a stuffed pig for 4 hours Mike also treated the boys to his speciality – a smoked yellowtail – oh my word we could have dined on that alone and we would have died happy.

Mike cooked the suckling pig and the yellowtail in an enormous cast iron contraption that resembles a small steam locomotive that I call “The Behemoth”. It is a replica of an American BBQ cooker that he used when he competed in the BBQ World Championship in Tennessee.

In keeping with the all important educational element of the Working Lunch, Faulke Miros of Woodford Truffles was on hand to give us a taster of the French Perigord truffles whose spores have been used to inoculate South African Oak & Chestnut trees – the first locally cultivated truffles will be available in about four years time.

Suffice to say – there were some stunning wines on offer and in particular a couple of the aforementioned Oak Valley wines as well as their 07 OV which is a magnificent Sauvignon Blanc/Semillon blend.

At some stage during the proceedings Mike produced a bottle of snake wine that I brought him from Vietnam and one or two sensation seekers were bold (read stupid) enough to give it a try. Holy crap that stuff is nasty.

The afternoon/evening was perfectly rounded off with some bloody lovely Brevis Blue cheese.

The Working Lunch –the thinking man’s Fight Club

Cobra Sauvignon

Mzoli’s – meat paradise

Meat and the copious consumption there of seems to be a bit of a thread on this page lately well; in keeping with that theme I must relate my recent experience at Mzoli’s in Gugulethu.

Mzoli’s is the quintessential meat restaurant and has achieved somewhat iconic status in Cape Town, but beware it is not for the feint of heart, an intimate dinning experience it ain’t

But if you take your meat seriously, love a great vibe, don’t mind thumping music and are happy to either bring your own wine & glasses or buy a few quarts from the shabeen, sorry tavern then Mzoli’s is definitely the place.

The beauty of the place is the simplicity of the concept. Mzoli’s is primarily butchery; you walk into a busy room that has a huge display fridge running the entire length of one side of it with the most amazing meat on offer. 80% of what’s available is lamb but there is also some chicken, pork chops and a bit of beef.

When it is your turn you simply point out the various pieces of meat to one of the myriad of assistants behind the counter. It is all weighed and placed in a huge enamel dish. You pay at the till point at the end of the line and are given your dish, which in our case was overflowing with various cuts (10 hungry mouths to feed).

You then precede down a long corridor to a huge braai area where you hand your meat over to the most important man in the place; the man who oversees all of the cooking. He politely orders people around both staff & customers alike and is more of a general coordinating an elaborate battle. You are given a number and told when to return; anything from 30 minutes up to an hour depending on how busy they are. We were there on a rocking Sunday afternoon and there were about 800 – 1000 people in attendance – our food took 40 minutes. Look, we were there with a business associate of Mzoli himself and got the royal treatment.

You collect your meat at the appointed time and head for your table. Accompaniments available are a bowl of pap (white polenta), some chakalaka (a fiery local tomato relish) and half a loaf of bread. Our royal treatment included plates. Everything is communal and everything is eaten by hand.

The food itself was magnificent, we had in front of us about 3½ kg of meat – lamb chops, lamb ribs, rump steak, chicken breast & leg, lamb leg chops and lamb sausage all of it cooked to perfection and I mean to perfection. Everything beautifully seasoned and some basted with a magical BBQ sauce of their own making.

As you would imagine I spent a fair deal of time watching the guys’ outback on the fire and it was something to see. They cook on 6 huge Jet master type built in braais with a proper flue. There is a huge grid that runs ¾ of the way across the braai; the last ¼ is where the wood fire is built and the hot smoldering coals are then shoveled across under the meat.

These cooks know exactly what they are doing – the chicken is placed on the fire first followed by the lamb rib. Each cut is put on at the appropriate time with the lamb sausage being last so that each table’s meat is all ready at precisely the same time all faultlessly cooked.

We washed all of this down with a magnum of glorious Kloovenberg 02 Shiraz as well as few other choice bottles of red.

The afternoon got off track as usual; we joined Mzoli for a drink at a tavern around the corner where we solved the world’s problems and commiserated SA’s early exit from the ICC Champions Trophy over a couple bottles of Johnny Walker Black

The Working Lunch

It has long been a desire of mine to get a regular table of like minded individuals together – something more than just good food & a few too many bottles of wine; an interchange of ideas – a mixed bag of food & wine people, not all professional but all passionate.

Well the Working Lunch is now no longer just an idea – next week’s Oak Valley suckling pig will be our third monthly gathering. Our first outing was courtesy of Jonathan Steyn at Belthazar restaurant.

There is a fabulous new product on the South African market, well not so new it was launched about 18 months ago – locally produced buffalo mozzarella. Wayne Rademeyer, in a moment of sheer madness decided that it was ridiculous that we weren’t able to produce top quality gear in SA and proceeded to import some Water Buffalo from Australia; he now has a herd of about 60 odd magnificent beasts.

Anyway – long story short – fabulous cheese – male calves – buffalo meat.

Wayne slaughtered three beasts – Jonathan took two for Belthazar and the third hung in my fridge for 4 weeks.

So the Working Lunch gathered recently to sample a dry aged rib of buffalo that was cooked over coals on the Weber rotisserie – oh my fuck! This has got to be some of the most succulent  & tasty meaty I have yet had the fortune to devour. The meat was a dark red colour, not the purple of venison but more the deep burgundy of well oxygenated beef, beautifully marbled and the taste oh the taste…

We began the meal with a simple bruschetta with some of the buffalo mozzarella, capers, basil & bursting plum tomatoes we which washed down with a CWG Nitida Sauvignon Blanc 06. We followed this with a gemsbok terrine, shot by Mike Snyman (at the table) which was beautifully accompanied by some Newton Johnson Pinot Noir 06, 07 & 08 courtesy of Bevan Newton Johnson  (also at the table – you are starting to get the drift of The Working Lunch)

The main attraction was the buffalo rib braaied on the bone served with a bourguignon garnish & dauphinoise potatoes.  We needed something huge to drink with this dish and the CWG Gravel Hill Shiraz 00 was the wine that had as much balls as the meat.

The lunch continued with some killer cheese, a new blue offering from Klein Rivier and a couple of bottles of Neil Ellis’s CWG Bordeaux Blend 00.

By now the philosophical bent of the lunch kicked in and we managed to solve most of the world’s problems – mainly those relating to fiscal planning, fundamentalist religions that revere oral sex, over extracted wines & whether or not Francois Steyn is wasted at fullback.

The Working Lunch – the thinking man’s Fight Club.

May the sauce be with you.

Succulent Rib of Buffalo on the Weber

Zambezi Queen

I have just spent the last week on the banks of the Chobe River in Namibia or is it Botswana working on an ambitious project that when finished will be the shining light of the hospitality industry in these parts. The Zambezi Queen is a 3 storey 14 suite, floating hotel (a Botel?) and I have just been over seeing the installation of the kitchen and getting the lie of the land with regard to provisions in these parts – which it must be said is quite impressive.

While the concept of floating accommodation is nothing new to these parts there has never been anything on this scale – from a luxury point of view or from an eco perspective either. The use of solar powered geysers, sewage filtration, noise & power reduction measures make this the most forward thinking vessel on the water. The beautifully designed interiors courtesy of Jenny Button are the sort you expect to find in 5 star hotels in Cape Town, not out in the bush miles from anywhere.

We are actually moored on the Namibian side but the town nearest our mooring is Kasane, which is in Botswana. All of our shopping & supplies come from Kasane which is only 10 min away by boat – we have to have our passports stamped at the border post going in & out on each side – sounds reasonable but in true African tradition the Namibian post is a sweaty, smelly hut that is about 40ºC inside – the customs official one Mr. Phineas can usually be found asleep under a tree outside and depending on whether he is still drunk or hung over (the only 2 states witnessed) the stamping procedure may be swift & cost free or another story entirely.

We have spent the last few days in 38ºC heat but they tell me that is quite mild seeing that it’s winter. I will be returning in 5 weeks for the opening in the middle of what’s commonly known as suicide month (temperatures peaked at 55ºC last year with aprox 80 – 90% humidity)

But the main attractions are without a doubt the wide open spaces the extensive game & bird life and the tranquility that only the bush can offer.

I will keep you updated on my return from the opening with photos of the finished boat but for now you can get all the info from their website www.zambeziqueen.com

May the sauce be with you

Budapest revisited

I was fortunate enough to get invited to cook in Hungary a couple of years back – I wrote a piece while i was there which I only recently stumbled across  - and have taken the liberty of reprinting it here.

Nothing can prepare you for the breathtaking beauty of Budapest or the welcoming and genuine hospitality that you are greeted with. Eastern Europeans have always been perceived to have had a stereotypical dourness about then and nothing can be further than the truth.

Their language is bewitching; it is like nothing you have heard before and with the exception of some westernised words it is as unfathomable as Sanskrit but has a poetic rhythmic quality and one can be lulled into blissful distraction by just listening.

There is a genuine concern for your well being as if there is a national responsibility for your having a fabulous time and fabulous time I have had.

 I sit writing this in front of an enormous window in my hotel room. It overlooks the Danube; a river of such historical significance that I am awed and silently respectful in its presence. But is a river that is alive as is this magnificent city.

I am here at the behest of the South African embassy who is the guest nation at the 16^th Budapest Wine Festival held in the Old Castle district. I am placed at a fabulous local restaurant; Apetito where I am working in conjunction with a spirited bunch Hungarian chefs to produce a South African food & wine pairing experience.

 There is something universal about the camaraderie in kitchens that extends beyond language barriers; a brotherhood where respect has to be earned but can be done with something a simple as a sauce.

We arrived in the kitchen on Monday morning to go through the ingredients that the chef Tamas had ordered for us. All of the recipes I had sent had been translated by someone who doesn’t cook and that is where the confusion began, but there is a natural inquisitiveness amongst passionate chefs which meant that Tamas had a million and one questions and had a number of different options for us in an effort to cover all of the bases. There were a couple of oddities that that a few badly etched drawings, frantic gesturing & some universal French cooking lingo managed to sort out.

We were presented with two catering size bags of powdered milk which seemed odd at first because everyone else in the kitchen was using fresh milk but the answer became obvious on day two of our prep when a recipe for Malva pudding called for evaporated milk.

When we enquired about the butternut for our pampoen koekies we were given a bag of peanuts and there was about 15 minutes of completely confused gesturing that even our interpreter couldn’t resolve until I drew one badly on a piece of paper and they all said “aah pumpkin!”

We got started with our prep and we had no sooner begun chopping onions when the owner of the restaurant a gregarious & generous man, Laszlo … made his way into the kitchen and introduced himself. He bought with him his sommelier Norbert …. Who had in tow an enormous basket of various bottles of flavoured Palinka, a national drink of Hungary much like Grappa. We were given a shot of sour cherry and officially welcomed to Budapest.

That first day in the kitchen defined our stay in this magnificent city – midway through our prep we were asked if we would like a spot of lunch. We had seen a fabulous looking pot of goulash bubbling on the stove and were ravenous for our first taste of the fabled Hungarian cuisine. We were told to sit in the restaurant which we declined as we were keen to eat in the kitchen with the rest of the chefs and then to get on with preparing to launch our South African menu the following day.

My desire to stand and eat in the kitchen was met with much animated debate, some aggressive gesture and a summoning of our interpreter. The chef in question was a huge, imposing man called Tibor; apparently he used to be the head chef at Apetito and was drafted in by the owner to help out during our visit.

Our interpreter said that he insisted we sat and ate – not wanting to rock the boat on the first day nor wanting to incur the considerable wrath of Tibor we obliged.

It turns out that they had prepared a three course meal for Almay, my sous chef and I and the owner had paired three very serious Hungarian wines with our meal.

The food was sublime and the paired wines were breathtaking; and by breathtaking I mean figuratively and quite literally – we were served a dessert which alas I cannot remember and the reason I cannot remember is that it was served with a 1998 Tokaji Aszú, 6 puttuynos from Andrássy Pincészet. I have been fortunate over the years to have tasted some mercurial food & wines but I have never had anything that has left me speechless as this wine did. Almay & I both tasted and sat in silence, we looked at each other hoping the other would speak first but nothing was forthcoming. To describe it here would be impossible, it is a memory stored in the deep recesses of my brain, I often think of the moment it rolled across my tongue, it was like nothing I had ever tasted yet it was comfortably familiar. The paradox of something being complex and multilayered on one hand and simple and true on the other had my synapses buzzing like the Idols switchboard.

 For the rest of our time in the kitchen we were asked what time we would like lunch and we were treated to some of the finest food in Budapest with wines that had been personally selected, not from the wine list but from Lazlo’s personal cellar.

Mid Life Crisis

I am having a mid life crisis – what the fuck does that mean; I don’t want to buy a Porsche and I don’t think I want to run away with a nubile 24 year old – I don’t think!

My crisis is not about reliving a lost youth – I had a kick arse, balls to the wall youth that I would not change – given the opportunity to repeat it I would make the same mistakes, forge the same lifelong friendships, crash the same bikes, bloody the same noses, tend to the same wounds and fall in and out of love with the same magnificent women.

So what on earth is the problem – I suppose my frustration is possibly similar to that of a lot of men my age – I am halfway through my life and what do I have to show for it; we are not talking about stuff here we are talking about substance.

I am passionate about my work and self absorbed enough to believe that I am damn good at it; but have I done enough to leave to my mark.

This is the essence of my crisis – I have worked like a man possessed to get to the position I find myself in; but have I fallen into the trap of believing my own publicity, have I taken my foot of the gas? I know I am capable of more and I find myself at a crossroad and this is the crux of my dilemma

I made a conscious decision to move away from the stove, to establish a business with which I could trade on my experience and I believe I started it at the right time. The Blues contract and the consulting working that ensued as a result defined my role as consultant. I have been very fortunate in the gigs that have come my way and I have leapt at the challenges that have been presented to me. I have been invited all around the world and the nature of my business has allowed me to take up these foreign challenges.

I have been in a privileged position to have been invited to be a judge for the Eat Out Top 10 for the last four years, but it’s my third year that presented me with my internal turmoil.

I entered into the judging process because I have always firmly believed that an informed and ‘qualified’ judging panel would help to give recognition to those chefs and restaunteurs who were consistently going above and beyond.

In the third year however I felt I was now on the outside looking in, criticising rather than doing. When I sat talking to Margot Janse & Richard Carstens recently I felt like a fraud – they were doing it and I was judging it – it’s not that I am not qualified to be judging it’s just that I miss being judged.

My food journey feels like it has been hijacked by my ever so fabulous food alchemy, I appear in the media more than most but nobody knows my food – Oh I have cooked and dazzled at all sorts of one off media events but that’s not the same as producing the goods lunch and dinner day in day out.

It is that consistency that I crave – I am a chef after all, not a celebrity chef but a chef who craves recognition for his food not for the fact that his ugly mug has appeared on television.

Is this the root of my crisis – I am not sure, but I am my work, my work defines me and as I push on into my forties if I loose touch with what I am passionate about, I loose my passion

I don’t need a Porsche I need a pass.

Simplicity

What makes a memorable meal? It often has little to do with the food it is always about the company you keep, the table and the love that is evident in the cooking. Some of my favourite meals have been in the simplest of surroundings – an awesome bowl of Spaghetti al Nero di seppia – a Sardinian dish with fresh cuttlefish and ink sauce at the Nielsen Park Kiosk in Shark Bay; an old converted tearoom in a leafy suburb of Sydney.

Sitting with an amazing Italian couple, the Lieto’s who owned the place and had painstakingly scraped out the ink sacks of dozens of little cuttlefish for my bowl of sumptuous spaghetti and Darren Simpson an old chef mate and tour guide watching the sun set over Sydney Harbour with a glass of magnificent local Chardonnay is a meal that will rate as one of the finest I have consumed.

Simple food is the hardest to get right – there needs to be such attention to detail because with simple food there is nowhere to hide. There are no elaborate garnishes, no flourishes with sauce, no molecular hanky panky – just well sourced fresh ingredients that have been treated with respect.

Another sublime simple meal springs to mind and that was cooked by Simon Hopkinson at Bibedum in London; Poulet de Bresse Roti – roast chicken by any other name. Bresse chickens are legendary and have no equal and this one was roasted in a Le Creuset dish in the oven with butter and tarragon which was continually spooned over the bird to give it a succulent golden sheen. When the chicken was ready it was removed from the oven and the breast and legs were removed. The legs were returned to the oven to crisp further. The juices from the roasting dish were poured into a saucepan and reduced with some rich chicken stock. The breast was served with some sautéed potatoes and lashings of the luscious reduced sauce. Having wantonly devoured the breast the crisp leg was then served with a small green salad comprising of sharp bitter and peppery leaves with a simple vinaigrette.

It is meals such as these that are to true essence of simple food.

To cook simply the first skill that has to be mastered is shopping – seeking out your ingredients is as important as the cooking procedure itself.

Simple cooking is about pristine ingredients, ingredients that are at the top of their game, in peak season, bursting with ripeness and flavour – ingredients that are just begging to be thrown on some hot coals. Fish that is screaming to be filleted and gently steamed, tomatoes so ripe they feel like they could explode in your hand,  fresh peas like erect nipples yearning for fresh mint and a faint brush against sautéed sweetbreads, strawberries so plump you could… you get the picture. But ingredients at their best should evoke lustful emotions, the passionate cook should have sleepless nights, twisting and turning at night – do I serve the asparagus cold with a rich mayonnaise and some soft boiled eggs or grill it over open coals, give it a hefty squeeze of lemon, a drizzle of some good extra virgin olive oil and some parmesan shavings or do I just steam it and serve it with a voluptuous hollandaise.

These are the issues that should be keeping you up at night not mortgage payments or global warming.

To shop you must be prepared to travel; we are not talking about trekking into the dessert at midnight on full moon to pick the bud of a bushel that only blooms every seven years; although they do make a damn good salad particularly with a soft poached egg, some crisp lardons and a drizzle of sherry vinegar.

You must seek out purveyors of good produce; you will need a good butcher more often in life than a lawyer and if buying fresh fish means heading down to the harbour to see what the boats have bought in then so be it.

You will be amply rewarded for your shopping sojourns by the oohs and aahs from friends who can’t believe how succulent and tasty your slow roasted pork belly. The fact that you had to drive for an hour and a half to that farm that raise, slaughter and butcher their own organic pigs is neither here nor there. This self same farmer will organise you a suckling pig on request to spit roast on New Years Day; a spit roast that will leave your contemporary’s lying in your waking and their women folk quivering at your every word.

Be a bold shopper and ask your local supermarket for ingredients they don’t stock and if they aren’t helpful shop elsewhere.

In search of Truth, Meaning & Bearnaise

I was going to open with some cheese about starting the KC blog on the 1st day of spring – birth, renewal, a new day or some such crap. But after finally getting off my arse  and actually starting a blog- I felt it should continue in the Cowboy vernacular as it were;  by this I don’t mean tired Country & Western  references (although they may creep in here & there).

The essence of the Kitchen Cowboy is more a celebration of the Outlaw spirit – to be beyond the law, to bring the underground above ground, to conquer, to challenge and to question.

Sexual roles and expectations are constantly being challenged and changed and never more than in the kitchen. The sisters have been doing it for themselves for a while now, so the time has come for the brothers to go beyond - Kitchen Cowboys can tap into the culinary subconscious, we’ve been doing the eating for long enough and now it’s time to master the preparation, to boldly go where most men fear to tread – yes it’s time to take over the kitchen!

We have long since been denied the right to hunt; we replaced our yearning for the kill with sport and the support thereof, now the new urban warriors are looking fresher and more creative pastures to conquer.

 Kitchen Cowboys are equipped for intimate dinners, brunches with family and friends, braaiing that will make men quiver and women swoon, baking prowess that will leave swollen bellies in its wake, Asian secrets that will stun and mystify, desserts that will melt the sternest resolve and an appreciation for all things vineous that would make Bacchus a proud and mighty god.

 Over the coming months we will explore all manner of issues – feel free to make your opinion known – any questions or things you would like to talk about

May the sauce be with you.