Chicken soup for the stomach

There I was, impersonating the hunting bit from hunter-gatherer.  So, yes, I was in the supermarket.  Suddenly I was accosted in the diminutive.  Very few people are left alive that can do that.  This was my cooking teacher.  She is one of them. 

“What are you eating tonight?” she asked.

I was planning fast commercial fried chicken.  But it was as if your classical music teacher caught you in the rap section of the local music store. “I was hoping the Chinese place would make my food tonight.” I ventured.  Lying badly. 

“Nonsense!  Try this.  Fry an onion and some garlic.  Add some chicken pieces and fry that for 2 minutes.  Then add a can of sweet corn and the same amount of chicken stock.  Trust me, this is the best soup in the world.”  She then proceeded to check if I had all the ingredients.  The sweet corn I did not, for I did not have the heart to tell her I don’t like sweet corn.  I left with all I needed. 

And she was right.  Despite my previous dislike of sweet corn, I liked this soup.  So I now like sweet corn.  I will make this soup again.  I added some milk and left the coriander out, but the rest was her recipe.  Lesson relearned: Don’t argue with the experts.

The last conversation when I left work was about kidney stones, so getting a good recipe before home was a delightful bonus.  What made it better was finding very good Sauvigonon Blanc in the local supermarket.  Gyles Webb makes exceedingly good wine at Thelema.  Once a year I make a pilgrimage to the farm, fill the boot, max the credit card and look for space in the wine rack.  Almost half of the stock these days is Thelema’s Chardonnay, Merlot and Cabernet.  But I missed last year, this despite the fact Mr Webb liked the Sauvignon Blanc of 2010 very much.  Very poor performance from me.  After sampling the 2010, I will be back tomorrow, probably clearing the supermarket stock.

To my utter delight, the store now stock not only Thelema Sauvignon Blanc, but also Sauvignon.com’s 2010 version, which was highly rated by Wine magazine, untried by me.  And there to add to my wine spending spree was the eponymous 2011 Sauvignon Blanc.  Happy days this week! 

Inadequate

Think of the King Coles’ ⁽¹⁾ tune “Unforgettable”.  Hum it amongst yourself.  Sing it softly.  Now use these words: “Inadequate, that’s how I feel.”  There you have my week in a sentence.  It started with a three day course on multivariate statistics.  I understood for about half an hour into the introduction, then all comprehension ceased.   I cannot remember ever feeling so stupid.  Not even in the darkest days of thermodemonics ⁽²⁾ did I despair so utterly at ever understanding it.  The Prof tried, but the audience did not respond.  Could not respond.  We truly understood only one thing:  the phrase Dumbstruck.  It is not as if my brain powering hamster was on a go slow.  No, the hamster was running next to the wheel in the wrong direction.

Learning new things are good, but can definitely be intimidating.  And not knowing what is going on and realising you will never fully comprehend is fairly demoralising.  No one likes feeling stupid.  It got me wondering: Is this how most people feel all the time?

Friday I met up with the She-Ghanaian and a friend.  They came 12000km on bicycles to buy dresses in Langebaan.  Let me expand.  They were riders on the Tour d’Afrique cycle tour from Cairo to Cape Town.  Leaving Egypt just after the revolution, they have been cycling since January.  The last stop was 50km from here at Yzerfontein.  The She-Ghanaian showed some people her home town.  And the ladies bought some clothes.  When I caught up with them one was wearing a very short cocktail dress, the other was in cycling shorts and sports bra.  Not exactly what I expected from hard core cyclists.  Buying things take time, so they were going to be late for the very important last briefing.  In front of an astonished shop owner we loaded them and the bicycles into the He-Ghanaian’s bakkie. ⁽³⁾ She clearly no longer believed the story about cycling through Africa. 

Driving much faster than I should have, we passed the last rider, or sweeper, on the way to the camp site.  So they were going to be on time after all and you should really ride to the finish on the last official day.  Out of the bakkie and onto the bikes with me scouting ahead for booze. 

At the camp I started meeting some of the group.  The first thing that struck me was that these people don’t look like cyclists.  Where I expected mostly small, skinny people with muscled legs, they looked like ordinary people.  Suntanned, fit people for sure, but mostly not the fitness freaks I expected.  Here I met the Australian.

On Saturday the Blonde, The Bald Eagle and myself went to Cape Town to welcome back our friend.   If I ever were in the army, the hurry up and wait would have remineed me of that experience.  After their triumphal arrival we sat through boring speeches as the riders got cold in late afternoon. 

In the evening I joined the awards dinner and got to know some of them a little bit better.  Saw pictures from all over the continent.  Got to spend some time with the Australian.  Turns out she likes gin, with her favourite gin being Bombay Sapphire.  I’ve had an advert for it on my phone as wall paper for years.  Coincidence?  Probably. 

It is difficult talking to the riders.  They have done something most people think is crazy.  How can I say to them I was tired after driving 120km?  What have I suffered compared to them?  So that inadequate feeling returned.  At breakfast I mingled some more and got more impressed by the calibre of people.  Which of course includes the She-Ghanaian.  Despite having nearly 10 years less than me to do it in, she has more qualifications than I do.  My life is one of quiet desperation.  Hers is one of challenges and triumphs.  In the 4 months she traversed Africa, I achieved what?  Very little.  What I do know, is that she gets me to stretch myself.  Not physically, no-one is that good.  But she was instrumental in getting me to do this and to organise a wine tour.

A few weeks ago, from Zambia or Namibia, she asked if I could organise a wine tour for some of the riders.  I thought she meant looking on the web, book a tour, that sort of thing.  After some research, I told her average price R800 for a day.  She came back with “I thought you could do it.”  OK, I will give it a go.  So I hired a bus (and driver) and contacted some of my favourite farms.  Having to choose just a few is difficult, so I had to exclude some of my favourites on the grounds of space for the bus, handling a group of 20, distance between farms.  For R200 per person I took them to 3 farms. The farms were chosen based on “If we start at Villiera, what else is near?” 

At Villiera we met up with Simon Grier by accident.  He took pity on us and took us for an unscheduled tour and a scheduled tasting.  Celestie organised the tasting, incorporating my favourite, the Bush Wine Sauvignon Blanc.  Simon is part owner and viticulturist.  He explained about wine making in general, Villiera in particular as well as their ecological policies and their social responsibilities.  More than ever I am impressed by the Villiera team.  We tasted right across their range, including the bubbles and the port.  10 wines in total at no cost! 

It was just after 12:00 and the universal request was for a “Coke Stop” OK, they need food and non-alcoholic drink.  We descended on an unsuspecting petrol station shop and I got an idea what some poor, small town shopkeeper in Africa must have felt like.  By now, Simonsig phoned, “Are we still coming?”  On our way!

At Simonsig we once again tasted through the range from bubbles to good red.  We also got a taste of the noble late harvest.  All this for R40 a person.  Good place to go. 

Lunch was in the tasting room of Delheim.  I have not been here in years and have never eaten here.  But I knew they could handle the crowd.  The tasting room is cellar like with low ceilings and very atmospheric.  Food was very well priced and a good time was had by all. 

For the last stop, I took them to Kanonkop.  Arguably the best red wine producer in the country.  By now, we were very late, the bus could not get in all the way, so some walking was involved, but no one minded.  Heidi took us through the range, including the sold out flag ship Paul Sauer which “They happened to have open at the time” Thanks Heidi. 

After 17:00 we headed back to Cape Town with the bus by now very subdued.  I had to get back for work the next day, so I dragged the She-Ghanaian back to Langebaan, stopping for some sushi and crispy duck on the way.  So a good day had by all.  Would have been better if the Australian was on the tour.

The success of the tour helped lift the poncho of inadequacy from my shoulders.  This week I will have to get rid of it completely in order to function normally (for me) again.

(1)    That be Nat and Natalie

(2)    All people should take thermodynamics.  It teaches you a valuable life lesson.  No matter how bad things are, at least it isn’t thermodynamics.

(3)    He took part in some 1700 km of the tour, but had to return to work.

Watching Thor

Today started quite well for a Monday.  Principally, of course, because it was Tuesday.  The real Monday was consumed by a public holiday leaving me to cope with yet another four day work week.  With the risk of drowning in my own post-nasal drip now diminished to normal levels, it could very well be a good day.  Indifferent sort of work day then on to the local urban centre where I went to spend money on my computer.  It also houses the nearest cinema to me.  I haven’t been for some time; last time was a great bargain.  I paid for one movie.  I saw one movie.  But I heard the soundtrack of two.  This time I went for the louder movie.  Thor. 

Directed by Kenneth Branagh who also directed one of my favourite movies of all time, Peter’s Friends.  Thor, the movie, is good looking, enjoyable popcorn fodder.  It stars Natalie Portman, who I will pay to watch even if she is reading a telephone book.  Some oaf spoiled the experience somewhat.  He arrived late.  Then in a cinema containing 100 seats, 7 occupied at the time, he chooses to sit right next to me.  Babbling to the half-wit accompanying him as they plod through the dark.  A feeling that is probably the norm for them.  These are not enlightened beings.

I tolerated the lummox’s phone light as I thought he was switching it off.  The cretin then proceeded to appropriate both arm rests for himself.  In the process his elbow got stuck in my side.  After a minute or so, he removed his arm, only to let his leg hang wide, once again leaning on me.  Clearly the imbecile was incapable of independently moving his limbs.  I then moved up one seat, freeing myself from the sprawling simpleton.  This allowed me to get immersed in the world of the movie.  5 minutes before the end of the film, the troglodyte’s phone rings.  And he answers it!!!!  I then address him using a verb meaning sexual congress and order him to switch it off.  Which remarkably he was able to do without the aid of the pictures in the manual.

It is people like this that fuel the home cinema idea.  I refer you to the 10 rules of the cinema, as devised by my favourite film reviewers.  Punish those that break these rules harshly.