Of jellyfish, old eggs and other things to eat.

Of jellyfish, old eggs and other things to eat.
Century eggs with soy sauce

As I mentioned in my previous post, this weekend I finally got around to trying century eggs, chicken feet and jellyfish. I have had a punnet of preserved duck eggs sitting in the fridge for weeks now and just haven’t had any ideas on what to do with it. The only recipe suggestion I could find was century eggs with silky tofu. Ew. But when it was served to me on a plate on Saturday night I had no more excuses. Ditto with the chicken feet and jelly fish. Chicken feet are ubiquitous around here. They are available on the street as a deep fried, boiled or battered snack and they are plentiful at the supermarket, both fresh and frozen in open cases at the butchery as well as vacuum packed in the snack aisle. Jellyfish too are available at the fish counter and vacuum packed as a snack. But unlike those sneaky chocolate bars that slip into your trolley as you pass through the snack aisle, chicken feet and jellyfish don’t exactly jump off the shelf at you now, do they? As I pointed out to my husband the other night when a tiny, disorientated beetle took a nose dive into a boiling pot of pasta I had on the stove, our perception of what is acceptable to eat is almost entirely a state of mind. I have no problem wolfing down a platter of prawns, legs and all, but I would spend ten minutes trying to fish the now partially disintegrated beetle out of the pasta. By the time I got it out I actually needed the crunch it would’ve provided as by then the pasta was overcooked and nothing was “too the tooth”. It was just the idea of eating this beetle. Big, fat, bug-eyed cockroaches of the sea? No problem. Flying insectile sources of protein? Hell no!

I think these might be off, but how would you even know??

Which brings me to the century egg. To be honest, if you had blindfolded and fed it to me (blindfolded me, not the egg) and told me it was a hard boiled egg with a bit of cream and beautifully ripe Camembert inserted into the centre for a creamier yolk with a delicate ammonia flavour I would’ve loved it and declared you a Heston Blumenthal-esque genius. Because that is exactly what it tasted like. Just a little more sulfurous. But it isn’t a hard boiled egg with a creamy center now, is it? It’s a raw egg, immersed in a mixture of clay, ash, salt, lime and rice hulls for anything from a few weeks to several months. This turns the egg white into a firm, translucent, dark brown jelly and the yolk a grey-green, creamy consistency with a slight sulfur and ammonia taste. I tried the egg white first and it didn’t taste like much – pretty much like a very firm, boiled egg white. Then I tried the yolk on it’s own and I really struggled to keep it down. I don’t know why! The flavour was creamy and delicate and everything but my eyes told me it was something I should love! But as I took the second bite, getting a bit of everything in, some of the green yolk sort of glooped off the chopstick on to my plate and I was done. I really am rather disappointed with myself on this one I have to tell you. Century eggs (quail, chicken and duck eggs) are available everywhere and can be bought singly as a vacuum packed snack, by weight or prepacked in punnets. They are also labelled as preserved eggs.

Preserved quail eggs at a market.

The chicken feet were a bigger success. I’ve suspected all along that I’d actually like them as one of my many secret shames is that that little gristly bit on the end of a drumstick is my favourite part of the chicken. But when it comes to animal bits, what puts me off is the package deal. Chicken feet on their own are fine. Chicken feet still attached to the chicken, not so much. So when you’re standing in the butcher, contemplating the chicken feet right next to other chicken feet still part of a whole chicken, you have one of those “Usual suspect” moments. You look at the feet, you look at the chicken, you look at the feet… Wait… The feet… are part of the chicken! I need to get over this. After all, as a South African the concept of “walkie-talkies” (chicken feet and heads) is not foreign to me, even though it is not a staple of the average white South African. Personally, I think this should change because, as I suspected, I liked the chicken feet. Not so much how they were served on Saturday night (boiled and then served cold with chillies and vinegar), but nibbling those little gristly bits off was really good, and I can quite imagine myself working my way through a big pile of roasted chicken feet washed down with an ice cold beer.

Looks good right? I’d klap that with a beer!

As for the jellyfish, you might as well find the dullest person around and ask if you can nibble his ear a bit. Tasteless with a sort of squeaky crunch. A bit like trying to chew that rubber skeleton toy we all had when we were kids, just with some sesame oil and a bit of soy. I am dumbfounded as to why anyone would eat this. I will try it again though, just to be sure. And as with all things, you shouldn’t take my word for it either. Who knows? Century eggs and jellyfish could just be your dream meal!

Chinese dinner table etiquette: A novel in one part.

Chinese dinner table etiquette: A novel in one part.

The seat of honour.

It has been a weekend of firsts for me. My first taste of century egg, first chicken foot, first frog, first panda pig (although I didn’t realise it at the time, despite the meat being so tender it virtually dissolved in my mouth), first jellyfish and first hairy crab (which I didn’t have to kill myself!). More importantly, I got to experience three distinctly different dinners with the generous people of this country. As the current project nears its end in Shanghai, we had the obligatory celebration parties. Friday with the client and top management (it’s a great industry to be in when the client pays for dinner!), Saturday  with the rest of the staff – everyone from the laundry lady to the mechanic and finally, last night, with the client, his family and friends. What a fantastic experience! Even though this was not my first night out with the locals, it was the first time I made a point of observing the similarities and differences in traditions, manners and customs between these three very different groups of people. Dinner in China can be a bit daunting. It is often held in a private dining room in a restaurant, which really puts you in the spotlight a bit. There are no crying babies or waitresses dropping things to distract other people when the pork you just tried to pick up goes skidding across the table like a little soy sauce covered bobsledder. And when you are there with the “important” people, it gets even more nerve wracking. Where do you sit? Where will the boss sit? What rituals should you follow? Will you be expected to bow without falling over or catch a fly with your chopsticks to prove your worth or spit on the floor to fit in? What if you comment that you’re a fan of Toyota and single-handedly bring an end to all future business dealings? But I realised very quickly that none of this is important. Food is a great equiliser and our hosts (and by hosts I mean of the country and not necessarily of the meal) were more concerned that we were having a good time and enjoying what they had ordered for us than whether we could handle our chopsticks like a boss. That said, learning a little bit about what to expect and what is expected of you when attending a dinner is just good manners. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery after all.

For the most part all the general rules of polite behaviour apply and where you are and who you are eating with will determine to a great extend which customs you should honour. The more formal the occasion, the stricter the protocol. On Friday night when the client was entertaining business associates, most of the procedures below were followed. On Saturday night… well… if people are falling off their chairs drunk then you can be sure no one gives a crap whether you took the last crab for yourself and on Sunday with the family and friends, it really was just like your average family dinner at home. You’d have Aunt Marge who would glare down her nose at you if you put your elbows on the table, but you’d also have loud Uncle Al who spits his bones out straight into his plate and chews with his mouth open. When in doubt, take your cue from the people around you and err on the side of propriety. Here are (quite) a few things to remember:

Meeting and greeting:

– As with any dinner, show up on time and dress well. You will feel more comfortable delicately spitting out that piece of pickled jellyfish into your napkin when no one is watching if you’re wearing heels and something pretty when everyone else is in jeans than if you’ve got your favourite T-shirt on and everyone else is in cuffs and collars. (Obviously if you’re a guy then don’t do the heels and something pretty, unless your host is a lady boy.) As a rule of thumb, if you’ll feel comfortable wearing it to the NG church, you’re probably okay.

– When you enter a room, greet the oldest person first. Remain standing when you are being introduced to someone and don’t take it personally if they don’t look particularly impressed with you as many Chinese are taught not to show too much emotion. Conversely, if you are greeted with applause, don’t assume it’s cause you’re awesome. Just applaud back.

– A good old fashioned handshake is completely okay – no bowing needed. Despite having zero personal space the Chinese are not physical people. Do not hug them or pat them on the back. But as with all good parties, this becomes a moot point when the baijiu starts flowing and the “I love you man” hugs are initiated by your Chinese friends.

– Use the person’s title before their name when addressing them, unless specifically told not to. Even if they’re just introduced as John, you call them Mr. John. Keep in mind that when being introduced to someone, the family name will be mentioned first. So Cheng Gordon becomes Mr. Cheng unless he tells you to call him Gordon. This applies everywhere, no matter how informal the event or what rank the person occupies in the company.

The seating arrangements:

– Wait to be told where to sit by the host and wait for the guest of honour to either sit down first, or to be told by the host to sit down.

– The guest of honour will be given the seat facing the door. This is known as the seat of honour. At more formal occasions that seat’s napkin might also be folded differently to the rest. At a round table the seats on the left hand side of the seat of honour are second, fourth, sixth, etc in importance, while those on the right are third, fifth, seventh and so on in importance, until they join together. At a square table, the right seat facing the door (or East if there is no clear main entrance) is considered the seat of honour.

Utensils and crockery

– Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you can probably use chopsticks to some extent. (They’d also make useful utensils for digging yourself out from under a rock, come to think of it). Even though your host will probably organise knives and forks to make Westerners feel more comfortable, it will be appreciated if you make an effort to fit in with the Chinese way of doing things.

– Never use your chopsticks to pierce food as you would with a fork, but you can use them to break up bigger pieces of food as you would with the side of a spoon. When you aren’t using them, place them on the rests provided  (if none are provided, you are probably in a place that supplies disposable chopsticks so you can use the wrapper they came in to make a makeshift rest). Never stick them standing up in a dish (it is a harbinger of death) and never lick them (unless you are trying on purpose to be suggestive, in which case you better know your audience). Don’t pretend you’re Travis Barker and use them as drumsticks. Don’t use them to make walrus teeth. Don’t use them as sharp poking devices. Just eat with them. Of course, if you’re at the type of party where someone is already dancing on the table, then feel free to play a tune on the table top to provide the beat.

– When you have finished eating, place the chopsticks across the lowest part of your plate, facing left. I found that, as with Westerners who seem to have forgotten how to use their knives and forks to indicate that their meal is done, this doesn’t really happen here either. But it’s the polite thing to do and it makes the server’s job easier, so listen to your mother.

– It is completely acceptable to lift bowls to your mouth when eating rice, noodles, soup or anything else that is messy and can be slurped or shovelled into your mouth. You should hold your bowl with your thumb on the mouth of the bowl with the first finger, middle finger and third finger supporting the bottom of the bowl. Don’t slurp from plates.

Eating

– When food is placed in the centre of the table (usually on a revolving tray), it is intended to be shared by everyone at the table. Do not start dishing up until the host or guest of honour has started, or until you have been told to do so by one of them. It is an honour to have someone dish up food for you (especially if it is the host), so be sure to thank them with the necessary respect when they do (also, be sure to come hungry because this tends to happen a lot!). If you are full, leave a little food in your plate otherwise more will be served to you. It is considered an honour to the host to declare that you are full as it indicates that you have been fed well. It is good manners to serve food and tea to those around you before serving yourself. An extra set of chopsticks will usually be placed with the dish to be used for dishing up. Never use your own chopsticks to dish up from a communal dish unless a spare set has not been provided. If you are serving for someone else, use their chopsticks to do so.

– More expensive dishes such as veal, abalone, and rare fish (please forgive me creatures of the Earth!) will be portioned by the servers and served individually to ensure that every person gets a piece. And while on this subject, be prepared for topics of conversation that are generally considered off limits in polite Western circles, such as the cost of the meal. Guests as well as the host will go on about how expensive some of the dishes are. I suppose this could aid in helping you understand how much you are being honoured and appreciate what you’re eating more, but hearing that the 500ml bottle of rice wine opened especially for us cost in excess of RMB5000 (US$800) made it taste no less like rocket fuel. (I don’t actually know what rocket fuel tastes like, but this stuff would power one.)

– You should try everything that is offered to you and you should do it without pulling a face. This is easier said than done. YOU try not pulling a face the first time you have to put century egg in your mouth! Fortunately the guests also tend to get more of a kick out of watching you trying what they know will be weird to you at the less formal dinners and will probably take photos when they think you’re not looking. At a posh dinner, if you really can’t stomach that fish eye, accept it graciously, try and cover it with a bit of bok choy or something and just leave it on your plate. I firmly believe in trying everything at least twice, but even then the left side of my plate is eventually a graveyard of uneaten weirdness. Fortunately, in a good restaurant your plate will be changed for a clean one fairly often.

– Rice or a large pot of noodles is normally served at the end of the meal only, the idea being that you fill up on that should you still be a bit peckish. If you are I suggest a deworming tablet because you are certainly not eating for one then! At most dinners they will order at least the same amount of dishes as the number of guests, plus one. Unless the plus one will result in an uneven number of dishes as that is considered bad luck. Serve the rice or noodles into the little bowl provided, so that it’s easier to eat.

– Do not put bones in your bowl or plate. Place them on the table or in a special bowl for that purpose. Ditto with shells. A typical Chinese table looks like a tiny pet cemetery after a meal with bones and shells everywhere. Last night, bones were being spat straight into plates, so take your cue from fellow diners on this one or just avoid anything with bones (which is virtually impossible).

– You will never find salt and pepper on the table and asking for it is considered rude. Small bowls of soy sauce will most likely be provided and is either used as a sauce dribbled over your food or as a dipping sauce.

– Don’t take the last piece of food from a communal platter. Even though Emsie Schoeman would tell you to leave it as a sign that there was enough food, when in China serve it to someone else. If someone is attempting to give you the last of something, they are trying to honour you.

– Dessert is not really eaten, but you may be served mooncakes or fresh fruit at the end of the meal. Sweet dishes such as lotus root with glutinous rice are served with the rest of the dishes.

Drinking

– The host begins eating and drinking first, but tea will be served to you the moment you sit down and you can quench your thirst on that so long, so step away from the wine until the boss has his first sip. The host will also be the first to make a toast. Chinese women are not expected to consume alcoholic beverages, but the times they are a’ changing. And even if they haven’t, I tried the damn century egg, so I’m having my wine. Tea cups will never be allowed to run dry so if you don’t want yours refilled leave a little in the bottom. Tapping your teacup is a way of saying thanks.

An evening of toasting.

– Drinking is an important part of Chinese entertaining and is a universal ice breaker. The drinking officially begins after the host offers a short toast to the group. Thereafter, the rest of the evening is spent “honouring” each guest by toasting them. Individuals, couples or groups will spend the entire evening moving around the table to drink with everyone else at the table and you are expected to return the favour. So do the math. You will drink at least twice with each person. In fact, you should honour the same person twice in one evening as it is considered good luck for that person. So that’s four times per person. When you are toasting with 56%vol baijiu this is bad, bad news indeed. If you can’t move around the table, simply making eye contact and raising your glass is sufficient. When toasting with the whole table, glasses are tapped on the table top before drinking as a substitute for clinking glasses. When toasting with an individual, touching glasses with your rim lower than theirs is a sign of respect.

– If the toaster says “gan bei” then it’s bottoms up, so try and keep your glass on the empty side. Yeah right. Good luck with that.

– Do not pour your own drink and feel free to tell the host when you feel you have had enough. Expect such pleas to fall on deaf ears at the more informal parties (it’s sort of like a Friday night braai back home really). If you are not a drinker, claim that it is so for health reasons rather than moral ones. While it is not advisable to get drunk at a posh party, inebriation is encouraged at the informal ones and the booze will typically not stop flowing until at least one important guest has fallen over (I have not been able to verify the veracity of this statement, but after witnessing this for three years running, my husband guarantees me it is so. And as we had to carry one of our party up to his room on Friday night, I have to believe it is true).

General

– Respect rank and seniority. Serve food to the more important guests first. Again, this falls apart at an informal dinner. There, just about the only rule is to not be stingy when filling the guy you’re clinking with’s glass.

– If you are going to smoke, offer a cigarette to others. It is not customary in China for smokers to first ask whether smoking is okay before lighting up. Just smile and hope your asthma inhaler still has a few pumps in it for when you get home.

– Use an open hand instead of a finger to point and gesture.

– Burping, spitting and other yucky bodily functions: This is one thing that I will never get used to here. Dainty little ladies burp like troopers and just about everyone spits wherever they please. You are not likely to encounter spitting at a posh dinner, but don’t be surprised if someone hucks one back and spits right there on the dining room floor at a more informal evening. Burping and slurping are not considered rude and will even be used as an indication that someone is enjoying their food with gusto. I’m not sure what our char’s excuse is for letting them off every two minutes while she’s cleaning.

As for the rest, eat with your mouth closed, don’t stuff your mouth too full and generally follow the usual etiquette for polite eating. Remember that your hosts are also quite aware that you have different customs, so they’re probably far less concerned about your getting it right than you are. What matters to them most is that you enjoy the evening, show your appreciation and honour your fellow guests.

Flick through the gallery for images of some of the stranger dishes you might encounter at a Chinese dinner party. Rest assured that the good old standby’s such as prawns, ribs, stir fries and recognisable vegetables will also be in plentiful supply. I have not necessarily used the names off menus (you probably won’t even get to see one anyway, as the host will order), but with names like “Impregnable chicken wings”, “The wild germ hates soup with crisp skin” and “The chicken has no sexual experience” (petit poussin to you), the menu won’t help you much anyway. Hosts are sensitive to our different eating habits, but you should still expect to encounter a few doozies, especially when eating with the average guy on the street.

Homemade hamburger buns

Homemade hamburger buns

You know how sometimes you need a hug from that one person? Not just any person. A specific person. It seems in that moment like it’s the only thing that will make you feel better. You might get a hundred hugs from other people, but it just isn’t the comfort and snugglyness you are looking for and it just feels a bit, well, flat really. Well I feel the same way about hamburger buns. I’m very particular, and when I’m craving a soft, squishy, yeasty bun nothing else will do. Now as any red-blooded bread-o-phile will know, indulging our particular passion in China is easier said than done. The Chinese like their bread on the sweet and cakey side and even though a growing number of patisseries are now starting to cater for those who like a more chewy, yeasty bread, they normally take the form of baguettes or ciabattas. Hamburger and hot dog buns are still a rarity. Fortunately, you can find everything you need for baking your own rolls at most supermarkets. If, like me, you have given up on finding yeast, fear not! I found it in the aisle next to the peanut butter and mayo. Go figure.

This recipe makes the perfect hamburger bun. To my taste anyway. Like that essential hug they are firm with just the right amount of give to make them squishy, they smell wonderful and they aren’t crusty. Erm. Okay, the similarity probably ended with smelling lovely. This recipe was shamelessly copied from Serious Eats, without changing a thing (other than replacing the dry milk with 4 heaped tablespoons of Cremora as I did not have milk powder on hand). For these burgers I made a few pure beef patties, a creamy basil pesto sauce and some mixed root vegetable fries. Who says money can’t buy happiness?

Makes 12

Ingredients

  • 1 1/2 cups warm water (37°C)
  • 2/3 cup instant nonfat dry milk
  • 1/3 cup melted butter, cooled
  • 3 tablespoons sugar
  • one package of active dry yeast
  • 1 large egg
  • 2 large egg yolks
  • 5 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting
  • 1 1/2 teaspoons salt
  • oil, for bowl
  • 2 tablespoons milk

Method

1)      Place the warm water, dry milk, butter, and sugar in a large mixing bowl, and stir to combine. Sprinkle the yeast over the mixture, whisk, and let stand until yeast is foamy, about 10 minutes.

2)      Add egg, 1 egg yolk, 2 cups flour and salt. Whisk until smooth. Add 2 1/2 cups flour and stir with a wooden spoon. When mixture becomes too thick to stir, use your hands. Add up to another 1/2 cup flour until dough is tacky when pinched but not sticky. Turn out onto a lightly floured work surface and knead for a few minutes. Let stand 10 minutes.

3)      Knead dough again until smooth and elastic, about 5 minutes. Place in a lightly oiled bowl and cover with plastic wrap. Leave in a warm place until doubled in size, about 45 minutes. Punch down dough and divide in half. Cut each half into sixths and form flattened balls. Arrange buns 3 inches apart on oiled baking sheets. Cover and let stand until doubled in size, about 45 minutes.

4)      Preheat the oven to 200°C. Whisk remaining egg yolk and milk and brush egg wash lightly over buns. Bake until golden and hollow sounding when tapped, 13 to 15 minutes. Cool on a wire rack.

On hairy crabs: My dismal failure

On hairy crabs: My dismal failure

I was going to do it. I really, really was. Last night was the night I was going to buy, render unconscious and cook the flavour of the month: shanghai hairy crabs. These burrowing crabs, also known as mitten crabs, are so named for their furry claws that look like mittens. Come Autumn, these crabs hit the streets. Not in their finest gear, ready to party the night away, but fighting for space in green nylon bags in every smelly wet market and on various street corners throughout the city. People get totally crab bedonderd round about now. And naturally, I had to partake in the festivities! Live like the natives and all. So yesterday, full of bravado, I headed for the wet market ready to hunt down and bring home all the makings of a fine Shanghai meal. Well. If the first thing out of your mouth when you see your dinner is “Awwwwwww”, you know it’s probably going to be McDonald’s for you. I mean, they’re just so cute! They really look like little green alien babies, trying to keep their claws warm in little furry mittens. Once a crab has the dubious honour of being selected as chow, the stall (2 polystyrene coolers and maybe a scale) holder deftly grabs it out of the bag, folds in the legs and binds the whole thing with twine so that it can’t make a quick getaway. The entire process takes all of 5 seconds. I asked the friendly, elegantly dressed customer next to me how much they cost and she said RMB6 for one. (At least, I think that’s what she said? It was either that or “Sharp, my bru”, the hand signal for which is the same as 6 in China). That’s less than a dollar a crab. Damn, that’s cheap! They’re looking tastier already. And a local had told me the price, so there would be no laowai tax imposed. Being ripped off was another concern. (I am the world’s worst haggler. Once, in a market in Bangkok, I had already “negotiated” the price for a dress and upon handing the money over, the guy actually gave me a few baht back with a pitying look on his face!). But that was now taken care of. There really were no more excuses left, so it was time to choose which crabs I wanted. Now, here stories will differ depending on who you ask. The other customer would say it is all my imagination and she didn’t see a thing, but I swear, the first crab I picked up looked up at me with dark, sad eyes (just like Puss-in-Boots if his eyes had been on stalks), and it’s lower lip started quivering, tiny bubbles frothing out of it’s mouth like a death rattle. A tiny, furry claw reached out to me as if to gently touch my cheek, and I swear I could hear a little chorus of voices pleading “You are our only hope.” I gently placed the crab back where I found it, muttered something about it still being a long way to Qingpu, and shuffled off with my tail between my legs.

Fortunately, there’s a McDonald’s right at the bus stop on my way home.

But no worries! I awoke with new gusto this morning. A steadfast determination to make these crabs my bitch. The way I figured it was thus: The sooner I ensure the untimely demise of 6 of these crustaceans, the sooner I will be relieving them of their misery. Right? I mean, at least they won’t land up in a live hairy crab vending machine, destined to wait it out in a 5 degree fridge till someone with a few yuan comes along and pulls the lever, right? Right. This would be a good thing. I would be doing my share to make the world a better place. I decided that instead of braving the sad faces in the wet market, I would head to my nearest supermarket. Here the crab is kept cold, so they’re already in a state of semi-hibernation, and so would be less likely to make a last stand. Sure enough, hairy crab was the first thing I saw as I got to the fish counter. (It was also almost four times the price for the same size as the previous day’s leading me to wonder whether the helpful shopper really was just saying “Sharp my bru.”). Already trussed up and nestled in still rows on a bed of ice, it was easy to tell myself they were already dead. All I had to do was see who the little boys are and who the little girls are to ensure I get three of each. You see, the battle of the crab sexes is a hotly debated topic in Shanghai, with long arguments over decimated piles of crab over which sex has the sweetest meat and richest roe. The females usually win out, but I had to try for myself. So, all self congratulatory because I know to look for these differences before making my purchase, I picked up a crab and flipped it over… The crab was not dead. It was not even sleeping. Two little black eyes stared up at me as a wayward leg came loose from the twine. Flailing it’s furry mitten around wildly the little chap (or chick, I didn’t even get a chance to look) shouted “She’s saved me! I’m free!” before it tried to air swim away. Okay, not really. But it might as well have for how it made me feel like I’m the world’s worst human being, single-handedly responsible for the sad depletion of our oceans. I tucked the little leg back in the twine, put him back on his ice bed while muttering an apology to him, his brethren and their lady friends, and slunk off to the butchery.

So I am left shamefacedly writing this post, drowning my sorrows in a glass of whiskey while my husband cooks the neatly packaged pork rashers I bought as a substitute. I guess drunken shrimp is off the menu then.

Guest Post: A Trifling Matter in Tanzania

Guest Post: A Trifling Matter in Tanzania

When my favourite married-on girl cousin in all the world told me she was making a trifle with what she considered to be a jelly flop (a recipe gone wrong, not a chubby person diving), I said she should write down the process and guest blog for me. She is, after all, everything I am failing miserably to be: A strong, independent woman who packed it all up, headed north into Africa and started her own school in Dar es Salaam (to date, I have only ticked off the “packed it all up” bit). And she’s a fabulous cook. If that is not an expat surviving in a foreign country (and doing it well) then I don’t know what is! For that braveness alone, she is my hero. What a joy to wake this morning and find this in my inbox!

By Rachel Carlin

It started when I started my own business. It all became too much. I needed something to take my mind off the gazillion things I had not completed in the 24 short hours in a day. Everyone needs a release, a vice, something that takes the edge off. I turned to baking. Living and loving it in Dar es Salaam, baking was not the obvious choice of emotional release as most ingredients needed are imported and so are 3 times the cost of what they are back home and there is not a constant supply of ingredients. Still, I figured this was a cheaper option than developing a crack habit.

The other problem is I live alone and like any mid thirty year old woman, I watch what I eat and I also do not have a wild love for confectionery so not only do I bake but then I hand out the baked good. I like to think of myself as Robin Hood meets Delia Smith. The only problem is everyone knows my baking is associated with some emotional melt down and the more elaborate the dish, the bigger the melt down. My neighbour now greets my arrival with baked goods with an “Oh no, what now?”.

This week’s culinary adventure was not brought on by an emotional breakdown. It was inspired by two simple facts: a bottle of pink JC le Roux I was unsure what to do with as cannot drink it, and a man returning from a trip of doing manly things and needing some bed bait.

The obvious choice for the pink bubbly was champagne jelly. I have never tasted this and could not understand how it works. For a smart, post graduate educated woman, I can be surprisingly dumb. I somehow thought the jelly would contain the bubbles. How or why I thought this, I do not know, but in case there are others like me, let me just clear it up, it doesn’t. I also referred to Anthony Worral Thompson’s recipe on the BBC food website. Silly for two reasons: Reason 1:  Wozza has been caught shop lifting due to the recession and is clearly not the way forward and reason 2: as my favourite food critic told me it was a rookie mistake to make a dessert listed as “low fat”. But I did and I made it and was disappointed. Instead of the melt in the mouth bubbly light (and low fat) dessert I had hoped for,  I ended up with ming. The taste resembled a stew that had the red wine added too late, so an overpowering taste of raw alcohol and nothing else. But there was no meat taste, thank heavens.

I unfortunately believe in throwing good money after bad and as I did not know what to do with this quivering thigh resembling thing in my fridge I thought, hmmm, why not make a trifle. Disguise it as something else and others would be tricked. Only problem, I hate trifle. The components are from the nursery, and assembling baby food and calling it a dessert is a shameful cop out. Also, I was unsure what to do with the finished product. Manly man missed various planes, trains and automobiles, so was not going to be here for this delight. Trifle is not fence sitting material. You either love it (I ended a relationship due to his love of this gloop, and my mother’s version at that) or hate it due to a refined palate. But making it is fun, especially if you are an over-achieving, middle child, attention seeker. And being me, I decided the challenge would be (ming) trifle from scratch.

I am also a shameless culinary name dropper and will always say it is Jamie’s soup or Delia’s pâté or Nigella’s butter laden, cardiac arrest causing risotto. In my head we are all on first name terms. So, I obviously use AWT’s champage jelly, Jamie’s Victoria sponge (only made half the recipe) and the River Cafe crème anglaise and then assembled. Whipped cream on the top was all my own.

I have dispatched this piece de resistance to the Little Theatre where (other) manly men are building the set of We Will Rock  You, the musical. They might not be the connoisseurs I was hoping for, or the thank you from my manly man I was hoping for, but they appreciate anything, being manly men, and my concoction has found a happy home.

To make the pink champagne jelly trifle

Where it began: Pink champagne jelly

1) Soak 6 leaves of gelatine in cold water for 5 minutes.

2) Open the bottle of pink bubbles and pour into a large freezer proof bowl. If you are so inclined, by all means have a glass and toast your own fabulousness.

3) Add 100g of caster sugar, again not an exact science, more if you like it sweeter, ummm less if you don’t.

4) After 5 minutes, squeeze the gelatine leaves, place in a small pan and heat gently with a bit of the bubbly until completely melted.

5) Add some more of the bubbly to the pan, a fair amount to get all the gelatine absorbed and back to room temperature. This step is important because if you pour the melted gelatine straight into the cold or even room temperature liquid it will become a small horrid mass that you can’t do anything with. This learning curve happened about a year ago.

6) Place in the fridge and allow to set. Depending on your fridge and the quality of gelatine, I would safely say overnight, but perhaps you could have it set in 4 – 6 hours.

7) Once you are ready for the trifle, prepare half a batch of Jamie’s Classic Victorian Sponge. Bake and allow to cool.

8) Next make River Café’s crème anglaise:

400ml Double cream
125ml Milk
1 Vanilla pod
4 Eggs, organic
90g Caster sugar

– Separate the eggs.

– Cut the vanilla pod in half lengthways and scrape out the seeds.

– In a thick-bottomed pan, combine the milk, vanilla seeds and cream. Cook until just boiling.

– Beat the egg yolks and sugar until pale and thick.

– Pour the warm cream/milk slowly into the egg yolks and stir.

– Return to the saucepan and cook over low heat, stirring constantly.

– When it is almost at boiling point, remove from heat. If it boils, the sauce will curdle. Set aside to cool

In a serving bowl, layer the cake, jelly, some fresh raspberries and creme anglaise and top with fresh whipped cream.
*And interesting side line. I have never made creme anglaise custard before. I am also in the middle of my Jodi Picoult fest and the book I am currently reading is Handle with Care. The mother (because there is always a mother in these books) used to be a pastry chef. Each chapter starts with a baking technique explained. How fortuitous that the first technique was tempering which means to heat slowly and gradually. You temper eggs by adding hot liquids, a little at a time. This was a very important tip for me, as I would have tried to add the eggs to the milk, despite being told not to, just out of laziness. Also, I would not have done it slowly as I am impatient. Who would have thought, Jodi Picoult teaching more than moral dilemmas about children?

Creamy chicken pasta with basil pesto and (homemade) sundried tomatoes

Creamy chicken pasta with basil pesto and (homemade) sundried tomatoes

Necessity is most definitely the mother of invention. And when you live in China, but steadfastly insist on eating like you’re still back home, you have to get inventive pretty damn quick. Shanghai is an amazing city to live in. You can immerse yourself in Chinese culture, customs, life and food or you can go for days here without living in China. If you know where to look, you can get your hands on pretty much every comfort from home. But as Qingpu is the Western most district in Shanghai, getting a sudden craving for one of my favourite Verdicchio’s pastas could easily result in a three hour round trip to track down the ingredients. Take sun-dried tomatoes. They may be soooo 1990, but when no one is watching, we all still love them. But when I wanted to whip up this sun-dried tomato containing pasta a little while ago, I quickly realised that the Chinese are very à la mode, because I couldn’t find them anywhere. What to do? Even if I had a lovely, sunny patio, the searing temperatures and high humidity meant I’d be left with a scene more resembling a week old DB on CSI than anything you’d want to chop up with some chicken. So I settled for the next best thing – tomatoes completely untouched by the sun, but still oh so good. Possibly better, actually.

To make the oven dried tomatoes I halved about 750g of fairly large (for a cocktail) cocktail tomatoes, sprinkled them liberally with salt – about 1 tablespoon full – and placed them in a strainer for an hour so that any excess juices could be extracted. Then I arranged the tomatoes cut side up on an oven tray and left them in the fridge for a few hours to dry out further. (Overnight would be even better.) I then baked them in a 100ºC oven for three to four hours, until they had more than halved in size. I didn’t dry them till they were completely devoid of any moisture. Instead, I stopped when they were still slightly plump. More like a sun-blushed tomato (and therefor once again fashionable). And oh, my, word. They were fabulous! So much flavour and none of those icky chewy bits you get in bags of sun-dried tomatoes. Keep in mind that because these tomatoes aren’t completely dried out, they need to be refrigerated and will last for up to a week. But they freeze like a dream too.

Once I had my tomatoes sorted I could make my chicken pasta with sundried tomatoes and basil pesto.

1) Slice two chicken breasts into strips, dust with seasoned flour and brown in a bit of oil till almost done, but still slightly pink.

2) Add two cloves of crushed garlic and stir through for a minute. Glug in a bit of white wine if you have on hand, but don’t worry if you don’t.

3) Pour in 200ml cream.

3) Add about three quarters of a cup of sundried tomatoes (less if you’re using very dehydrated ones), roughly chopped, and 3 heaped tablespoons of basil pesto. Allow to simmer till slightly thickened, adjust seasoning and serve tossed with penne or your favourite pasta. Loads of flavour with minimum effort. This sauce goes particularly well with gnocchi.

Oven dried tomatoes: Before and after.

My food photography has been really shite of late. Fluorescent hotel lighting, tiny Chinese plates bought from an alley shop and laminated table tops sans props do not make for good food styling opportunities. My husband has suggested trying something completely different. Like balancing a plate of food on a Pilates ball (or my head) for interest. While I don’t want to knock down any of his ideas, I think I’ll just stick to crappy shots of badly lit food. At least you get the idea, right?

Tucking into Shanghai Street Food

Tucking into Shanghai Street Food

The things we do in the name of investigative eating! Last night I finally bit the bullet. And the chòu dòufu, so to speak. It probably seems crazy that it has taken me three months to pluck up the courage to actually do something as simple as sampling tofu. But the assault inflicted on your olfactory senses by this very popular Shanghainese street snack is not something you can adequately explain to anyone. At least not without a dead pig and some poop to use as a scratch-and-sniff prop. Like walking behind a sweet old lady in a shop when she lets off a silent-but-deadly fart, the smell accosts you when you least expect it. You’ll be innocently crossing a street or rounding a corner when BAM! Is someone… frying human excrement?? If you could somehow solidify the breath of a halitosis sufferer who has just licked the sweaty butt crack of a hydrophobic garbage truck driver coming off the end of a hot summer’s day shift, you would have some idea of what these fried cubes of fermented tofu smell like. But when in Rome right? At least it’s plant related and didn’t wag its tail at some point. Fresh tofu is fermented in a brine containing fermented milk, vegetables, dried shrimp (in non-vegetarian versions), amaranth and mustard greens and herbs. Fermentation can take up to 3 months and the tofu is then cubed and fried on a cast iron plate with herbs and spices. The smell is so rancid that stories claiming that rotten meat and dead flies and even actual human faeces is used in the fermentation process are easy to believe! Apparently when it comes to chòu dòufu, the smellier the better. But I was assured that, like with durian fruit, once I get past the first bite, I would love it. “It doesn’t smell once you eat it!”, they said. “Just think blue cheese and you’ll love it!”, they said. Well, they lied. I managed four bites and I still thought it was vile. Yes, it’s cheap. Yes, it’s silky, but crispy and warm and salty. But it still smells like poop going down. I think I will have to change the tagline of this blog to “I make the mistakes so that you don’t have to”. But there are those who absolutely love it and swear you are only a true Shanghainese when you start craving stinky tofu. For now, I am happy to stay a boeremeisie and crave biltong.

That said, Shanghai street food (and street food in Asia in general) is fresh and tasty and very, very good. And it’s incredibly cheap. For around 20元 (US$3), two adults with healthy appetites can eat till they want to pop. Above all, it is safe. We have eaten our fill in China, Thailand and Vietnam and have yet to get sick. And as I have mentioned before, you might not always know what you’re eating, but I can guarantee you that you won’t unwittingly eat dog – beside it being far too expensive for the average street vendor, these days most of them prefer petting their domestic animals to seasoning them and then roasting till just done. So tuck in with abandon and don’t be scared to make mistakes. Street food is how the masses eat, whether it’s from a food cart attached to a bicycle, a basket hanging from a biǎndan across a little old lady’s shoulders, or sitting on undersized plastic chairs outside a store front. Amenities are limited to the essentials. There might be a scale, a propane tank or little coal fire if they need heat and a naked light bulb if they’re really fancy, but don’t expect refrigeration. The concrete cuisine you will find when you hit the streets will of course depend on where you are. Specialities differ from region to region, city to city and even from district to district. In Shanghai, shengjianbao is ubiquitous, but there is so much more nosh on offer, some of it surprising. Who would think that one of the tastiest naan breads I’ve ever had could be found in a little alley in Qingpu Town. The thin, crisp and chewy loaves are kneaded on the spot by the mom, sprinkled with sesame seeds (a little nod to where in the world we are) and then baked in an oven made from an old oil drum by the son. A little further down a small shop sells Chinese style fried chicken so crispy the colonel would return from his grave to get the secret recipe if he could. If you’re counting calories (and yes, you can stick to a diet quite easily here), you can tuck into subtly spiced, tender chicken drumsticks grilled over a coal fire. For the more adventurous, there is all manner of meat on a stick – from tender lamb kebabs and whole, tiny birds to skewered sausage and squid with a spice that packs a tremendous punch. Friendly vendors with smoking woks will whip up a mean chow mein for you – just nod your head when they point at the ingredients you want and shake your head at those you don’t. And if you like things only a little spicy, I suggest you shake your head vehemently when it comes to the chilli!

And when you’re almost (but not quite) stuffed, save a spot for a piece or three of  warm, prepared-on-the-spot peanut and black sesame brittle. The smell of roasting peanuts and sesame seeds and slowly caramelising sugar that hits you just when you think it is, sadly, all done is enough to make you start your street food adventure all over again.

The few things I mentioned here were eaten in just one night, after a stroll down just one street (muffin top explained). But there is so much more to taste and experience when you hit the streets in China. Some of it will be really, really bad, but for the most part it will be very, very good. Vendors often move to where the crowds are and you won’t necessarily find the same person in the same spot twice. So my suggestion? When the opportunity presents itself, grab it. And if you’re not sure where to go, just follow your nose. If you smell stinky tofu, drop everything and run.

Sichuan Style Braised Eggplant

Sichuan Style Braised Eggplant

I have been trying to diet. Really I have. But after one week, the only thing I have managed to lose is my sense of humour. It might be so that 25 is the new 35,  but my face didn’t get the memo and neither did my body.  To be fair, I was warned about this by those older and wiser than me: When you hit 35, things will go a bit pear shaped. Or, more accurately, apple shaped. The answer to “Where did my twenties go?” is indeed “Straight to your muffin top, dearie”. But I didn’t really believe them. How do you go from one shape to the next overnight? And yet it seems like that is exactly what happened. One minute I was worrying about how best to hide my saddle bags and the next thing I knew I had a fanny pack I had to camouflage. Of course it doesn’t help that I have a few things conspiring against me: Firstly, there is limited height into which I can fit any excess weight. Secondly, I have bad knees and a bad back which means many exercises are verboten. (I am possibly the only person in the history of the world who, as a little girl, had to face the humility of failing grade 1 ballet because my teacher, Miss Hazel, didn’t think my legs could handle moving to grade 2 yet. I don’t think “loser” adequately conveys the extent to which you are a sporting failure if you can’t pass first grade ballet!) And lastly – and here is the clincher, possibly exacerbating all of the above – I don’t like veggies. At least, not the type of veggies that are good for you in any way. Caramelised in butter and sugar like the Afrikaners like to do them? Sure! Drenched in a creamy, cheesy sauce? Sure! Steamed and healthy? Not so much. So it came as quite a surprise to me when I thoroughly enjoyed a plate of braised aubergines on a trip to Zhujiajiao recently. Granted, in one dish there is probably more sugar than in a Twinkie and more salt than in John McEnroe’s headband, but at least it’s a vegetable and it’s low in fat. The problem with eating anything in China worth writing about though, is that the recipe of said dish has inevitably been passed down from generation to generation and is a secret guarded more closely than the identity of the Stig. Of course that means that I simply have to wait for a disgruntled ex-employee to spill the beans in an otherwise boring book, or I could consult the world’s greatest oracle. So to Google we go! This recipe has been adapted from www.seriouseats.com. Bland veggies like aubergine and courgettes work well to absorb the flavoursome sauce, but it would work just as well with peppers and onions.

Sichuan Style Braised Eggplant

Serves 4

750g aubergine

1/4 cup Shaoxing rice wine (I felt a bit lost in front of the rows and rows of rice wine in the shop, so eventually settled for the prettiest bottle, which turned out to be green plum wine. Oops. If you can’t get your hands on Shaoxing wine, you can use Japanese sake or dry sherry or even dry white wine. When using the latter, add a little more sugar during the cooking process.

1 heaped tablespoon of Sichuan fermented chilli-bean paste (It’s a lot yummier than it sounds! If you can’t get your hands on it, use equal parts sweet chilli sauce and hoisin sauce and reduce the sugar by half a teaspoon)

2 teaspoons flour

3/4 cup chicken stock (or substitute with mushroom or veggie stock)

2 tablespoons dark mushroom soy sauce (I love the almost cloying richness of mushroom soy sauce, but you can substitute with 3 tablespoons of regular soy sauce)

2 tablespoons of Zhenjian aromatic vinegar (substitute with equal parts Balsamic and white wine vinegar)

2 tablespoons of sugar

2 tablespoons of ginger, finely chopped

3 cloves garlic, finely chopped

4 spring onions, sliced and whites and greens kept seperate

2 tablespoons vegetable oil

1) Slice the veggies into battons, roughly 2 x 2 x 6cm’s. Steam the pieces in a bamboo steamer (or pot) until tender, about 15 minutes.

2) Combine the Shaoxing wine and flour in a medium bowl and whisk. Add the stock, bean paste, soy sauce, vinegar, and sugar and whisk to combine. Combine ginger, garlic, spring onion whites, and chilies in a small bowl.

3) Heat  the oil in a wok over medium heat. Add the ginger mixture and stir fry until aromatic. (At this point I like to switch the heat off for a minute and just sniff the heavenly aroma of garlic and ginger cooking together. But I can be a bit weird, so don’t feel you need to do this.) Add eggplant and toss to combine. Add sauce mixture and bring to a boil. Reduce to a simmer and cook, stirring occasionally, until the sauce thickens, about 10 minutes. Stir in the spring onions, and serve immediately. Serve with fluffy rice to soak up all the sauce.

Green plum wine – too pretty to ignore.

De Oude Bank Bakkerij

De Oude Bank Bakkerij

This is just a quick post dedicated to bread. Not all bread. Just a bread. But a bread so very, very good I think it deserves its own post. And while I realise that getting your hands on good bread in China is pretty much like the opposite of getting your hands on tea in China, and that that might slightly skew my perception of what actually constitutes good bread as I should be really easy to please, I think you should still trust me on this. After rifling through shelves of sweet Chinese baked goods this morning to find that one elusive savoury bread, the loaf I am longing for is De Oude Bank Bakkerij in Stellenbosch’s coriander honey-rye loaf. Oh. My Gracious. I don’t really like traditional rye, but the subtle use of coriander (the spice, not the herb – yuck), makes it utterly delicious, adding an earthiness that seems to refine the flavour of a bread that could otherwise be a little on the sour side. Owner Fritz Schoon worked under Île de Païn‘s Markus Farbinger, so it should come as no surprise to anyone that meals at this little establishment are dedicated to making bread the star of every dish. Choose a few slices of bread (besides the rye there is also ciabatta, baguette and sourdough, amongst others) and then pair it with as few or as many accompaniments as you want: creamy buffalo mozzarella and other cheeses, olive tapenade, Jamón serrano ham, slow roasted tomatoes, shiitake mushroom pesto and loads more goodies. Simple eating at its best.

Getting there: De Oude Bank Bakkerij is located in the Oude Bank Building, 7 Church Street, Stellenbosch, South Africa, opposite Vida e Cafe at Die Boord.

Tel: +27 21 883 2187

Pierneef à la Motte

Pierneef à la Motte

You cannot throw a well aimed grape in the Cape Winelands without hitting a picture perfect wine farm, complete with towering oaks, buildings that would have centuries of secrets to share if they could talk, award winning wines, sumptuous food, friendly and efficient service and spectacular views of the Paarl, Franschhoek and Stellenbosch mountains. But even in this epicurean and oenophile’s Shangri-La, La Motte is something special. It has everything you could possibly want from a wine farm: A tasting room, restaurant, farm shop & deli, gardens, vineyards, breathtaking views and European tourists walking around with sunburn and a questionable grasp on how one should pair socks with shorts. The newly refurbished tasting room looks like it comes straight from the pages of Architectural Digest with vaulted ceilings, original art, conversation pieces and ample comfy couches. Two of the walls have floor to ceiling windows so that you can view the working maturation cellar as you sit by the huge fireplace, nestled into a couch while knowledgeable wine experts guide you through the estate’s different vintages. The farm shop and deli sells artisan breads, baked with flour ground on the premises in the historical water mill, gift items designed exclusively for La Motte (if I wasn’t spending my husband’s money, I would have taken home a set of the handmade glass oil and vinegar sets), La Motte’s own coffee as well as deliciously indulgent body products. There are breathtaking mountain views from just about everywhere, sample vineyards so that you can get to know the different varieties (once you’ve tasted a Cabernet grape you’ll agree that stomping on it and then sticking it in a dark vat to ferment for a while really is the best thing to do with it), a Protea garden and even roses – resplendent in shades of coral and orange – named after the owner, Hanneli Rupert. And for those who are further horticulturally inclined,  fifteen hectares of the estate are dedicated to the growing of aromatic oil producing plants such as buchu, lavender and rose-geranium and the they also grow special disa and serruria hybrids.The museum is dedicated to the history of La Motte and the Rupert family and showcases work by international artists and one of South Africa’s masters – Pierneef. From here you can depart on the La Motte historical walk or if you’d like to burn a few calories before tucking into lunch, start from the tasting room and do the grade 1B, 5km hiking trail that winds in a circular route through the vineyards and surrounding mountains. Of course, that’s not what you’re here for though, right? You’re here to drink. And eat. And you have definitely come to the right place!

Pierneef à la Motte is a bright and beautiful restaurant with spectacular food, an impressive wine list and a deck that will make you forget that you’ve already been out there for hours and you need to go home at some point. Dining here feels like you’re having lunch in an effortlessly stylish friend’s home. You know, those friends who have so much money that they can turn delicate dinner ware into beautifully unique chandeliers and have people serving them lunch and refilling their glasses? Yeah, I don’t have them either. But you can come here and pretend that you do! The Cape Winelands cuisine is inspired by the seasons and is a fusion of traditional South African fare with an international twist – think bokkom salad with quail eggs and almonds, for example. The flavours are bold and in your face, making liberal use of perfectly balanced herbs and spices. The honey glazed snoek salad with salted cashew and pumpkin brittle was properly moreish. I mean come on, cashew brittle? How do you stop wanting more cashew brittle? But the dish that I can’t stop thinking about is the warm quail and orecchiette pasta salad with smoked pork lardo and almond ginger sauce, amongst a melange of other flavours that somehow just worked perfectly together. Seriously, if the Chinese could taste how chef Chris Erasmus combines Asian flavours with creamy Italian pasta I would not struggle so much to buy dairy products there! The slow cooked Karoo lamb shin and mushroom risotto just oozed flavour and the crayfish ravioli with a coconut and saffron velouté was light and delicate. We were positively stuffed by the time dessert came around, but in order to be thorough for this write up, we soldiered on and after just sipping more bubbly for a bit we eventually settled on sharing the warm, bittersweet Valrhona chocolate tart wiith peanut butter mousse, candy floss and cherry syrup dipped peanut truffles. I don’t really need to say more do I? No wait. I will. Have it just for the mousse, even if you think you can’t eat another bite. I’m not a fan of that light, sorry-excuse-for-a-dessert mousse, but this stuff was I-wish-this-will-stick-to-my-palate-forever good.

All the dishes have a wine suggestion paired with them. The wine list caters for every taste and budget, from La Motte wines by the glass to their vinoteque collection and everything in between. If you are one of the aforementioned rich people who can turn delicate dinner ware into chandeliers and have people serving them lunch and refilling their glasses, there is a large champagne selection, but if your dinnerware is used exclusively for eating, then there are also loads of MCC’s to choose from. There are also a host of other local and international wines on offer to suit any budget.

In my opinion, La Motte offers exceptional value for money. The portions are generous and the food is beautifully presented without trying too hard. You can grab a bottle of wine for as little as R50.00 (US$6) or splurge for a special occasion (like winning the Euro millions) and get the 1998 Château d’Yquem for R2905.00, so there really is something for everyone. Starters begin from R55.00 and mains from R62.00. Where can you eat such exceptional food in such glorious surroundings for that sort of money? The service is impeccable. Friendly, knowledgeable and down to earth waitrons keep your glass magically full at all times. And yes, that is how I judge a good waitron! I can think of few things I’d rather do than getting stuck out on the deck or under the oaks on the lawn here on a summer’s day, with a glass of bubbly and good friends and food.

Website:  www.lamotte.co.za
Telephone:  +27 21 876 8000
Restaurant: pierneef(at)la-motte.co.za
Tasting room: tasting(at)la-motte.co.za

Getting there: From Cape Town, take the N1 north. Take the R45 / Paarl Main Road off ramp and turn right then take the R45 towards Franschhoek. The estate is on your left a little way before you get into town.