18-11-2005, 10:10 AM
And my oft-repeated reply "It's like NOTHING you can imagine!"
To give you a little history, I was brought up in Cape Town with the proverbial older brother and younger siblings scenario. A good Catholic family - 3 boys to terrorize my mother and the youngest, a girl, to fulfil her dreams.
Like many households of its time, the father was the breadwinner and the mother stayed at home, raising the family.
My mother was indeed a very good cook - so much so that when my younger siblings came along, she already had inspired my older brother and myself to venture into the kitchen and 'assist' her in the making of the family meals.
To this day I'm not entirely convinced it was merely to 'assist' her in the kitchen but rather a sublime and very successful effort on her part to get her two boys into the kitchen and give her a break!
My first 'break' came at the ripe age of 8 (I had been 'assisting' for 2 years already) when my mother went into hospital to give birth to her third little boy. I think the culmination of the years of training seemed to strike a chord with my father, as no longer was he expected to produce his standard: "Bacon, Egg and Chips" - he was now being introduced to food from his offspring! It must have been like heaven for him - 3 cooks and no more venturing into the kitchen for him!
And so began my lifelong passion for food.
From the humble beginnings of making that cup of coffee on a Sunday morning, followed by breakfast or 'brunch' (depending on how lazy I felt) to my first dinner to celebrate my mother's return home with my younger brother in tow. And the journey continues unabated today.
Growing up, as a child in the 70's in South Africa was indeed something I was to look back on with fond memories. From listening to my father's serenading of my mother with some of the classic 60's and 70's numbers ("where do you go to my lovely" springs to mind), to him singing 'country drive' songs ("ag please daddy" even with ALL the naughty verses), most of the time we were on a journey that culminated in the sheer enjoyment of food.
Be it for a picnic in High Noon or a late lunch in Franschhoek, to a country drive down to Cape Point to eat steamed mussels on the beach at Olifantsbos and have freshly prepared crayfish. The summers seemed to last a lifetime then.
The HUGE gatherings of the clan at Christmas time was a culinary feast - the men drank beer whilst the women were in the kitchen preparing the day's feast. The smells and sounds of the kitchen along with the ceaseless banter between everyone - it seemed everyone was indeed mad! I know today that things were slightly different and can only imagine that my mother was patiently biding her time for her first two boys to volunteer their efforts and so become embroiled in the preparation of the traditional family feasts. She had laid the groundwork and was slowly but surely nurturing both of us to replace her in the kitchen. I think she may well contest this last point - but until she regularly makes use of the kitchen today to prepare FROM SCRATCH her own meals, I will continue to hold this belief.
Indeed she was a great cook - patient and tireless in the kitchen when it came to providing a family meal that we all sat down to and shared. The amount of love and effort that she expended in the kitchen I can fully understand today and humbly thank her for inspiring us to be able to 'think on our feet' and cook with passion.
After all food is something essential in our lives and she taught us the maxim - LIVE TO EAT! Eating to live is of course the antithesis.
I cannot imagine a life that revolved around just 'eating to live'. An alien concept in its most vulgar form.
As with many kids there were loads of foods that I could just not understand WHY my mother was trying to feed us with. The thoughts of poisoning by eating such weird things as Asparagus, tasting escargot (the thought of eating a garden snail WHOLLY repulsed me) were offset by my mother 'bribing' us with her wonderful puddings.
My favourite being her rice pudding. The withdrawal of pudding was indeed a punishment too difficult to imagine - yet I managed to experience it once. Suffice to say I didn't repeat my transgression and have never failed to remind my mother of the sheer torment of not being able to eat dessert that night!
Tis no matter - my love and admiration for you mom has never diminished, but rather grown over the many, many years.
Scroll forward a few years into the wonderful years of being a teenager and being able to earn pocket money! How fortunate it was that we had a great restaurant open across the road from us and night after night the smells of garlic and herbs wafted through the air.
I was young, green and very keen to see exactly what went on in the kitchens and somehow managed to get a position as a kitchen assistant for a few hours at a time.
Sheer mayhem greeted me! No longer in the warm confines of my mother's kitchen at home - here was real food being churned out at a frenetic pace!
The smells of wood fired pizzas, char grilled steaks, and racks upon racks of mouth-watering ribs, succulent fish and a huge variety of pasta were enough to assault any person's virgin nostrils! I was hooked!
How on earth anyone could be the captain of his ship and be able to control all of this chaos AND then still take the time out to greet the regular guests was totally beyond my grasp. The great booming voice of the Dutchman and the somewhat 'mad' Italian behind the stoves still reverberate fondly in my ears.
Jan, you were a legend then and I will forever be in your debt for allowing a youngster to enter your hallowed kitchens and continue his journey on becoming a Chef.
Cooking in an open plan kitchen was almost unheard of in those days, yet it prepared me for dealing with the Front of House - the reason why we're all in business, the Guest!
Being equally at home cooking in the kitchen and then having to communicate with the guests allowed me to venture out of the kitchen and onto the floor for a while. Whilst earning tips was indeed fun and allowed one more scope to go and enjoy a few extra beers after work, the adrenaline rush was nothing compared to the kitchen.
I returned to my roots in Hout Bay and continued my journey in the kitchen. A succession of owners, from Mozambique, South African, Belgian, Italian and finally to German allowed a glimpse into what other cultures ate, the food they shared and ultimately educating palates in what food was really about.
I remained there for seven years, the majority of the time under the wings of my German Chef, Markus. To this day a legacy of some sorts is on the menu - my favourite pizza has its name given by my mother. Though it must be said it was NOT my choice of name!
In fairness to him, it was his term of endearment, Cheffie, which has become my tag.
We were fortunate to have a regular guest who, being a British Master Chef, allowed me the opportunity to come and train to be a professional Chef. Understanding the basics of cooking is what I needed in order to develop as a Chef. To him I owe a huge debt of gratitude for allowing his passion to inspire an already addicted, yet somewhat naive Chef.
The patience, love and care that goes into Classical French Cookery is indeed something that forms the basics for many cultures all around the world. Getting it right, consistently, and ensuring the guest is satisfied is another.
Chef, whatever I might achieve in life is in no small part to your love, patience and inspirational tutelage you imparted all those years ago. THE best Chef Mentor one could ever hope for.
Moving through a succession of kitchens brought me into contact with my first 'fine-dining' experience.
Wow!
An already established Seafood restaurant, it had a young team and the food we managed to produce - in all it's finery and attention to detail, led the New York Times labelling us as the Premier Choice for fine dining in Cape Town. An accolade that the staff was to be proud of!
Along came the proverbial Carlton Food TV appearance with a renowned London Chef and so the journey continued. Fascinating that one could achieve a lot in such a short space of time (I was a sprightly 27 year old!) - almost surreal in it's outcomes.
The lure of working internationally proved to be irresistible. My first position brought me into contact with some great guys in the kitchen - the difference in kitchen procedures, health, hygiene and overall standards were something that I had to acclimatize to.
Here I was cooking in the lap of the culinary centre of the world. Sure, Sydney, San Francisco, Hong Kong, New York and Paris were vying for the title - but in terms of affordability of food, availability of produce from around the world and a guest profile that was beginning to be widely travelled - none could match London!
The owners turned out to have somewhat unsavoury business practises (The less said the better - perhaps a story for a rainy day) and in the style of Gordon Ramsay so many years ago, the main staff walked out.
CONTINUED...
Author: Grant Hawthorne AKA Cheffie
Copyright. All rights reserved.
AUGUST 2005
To give you a little history, I was brought up in Cape Town with the proverbial older brother and younger siblings scenario. A good Catholic family - 3 boys to terrorize my mother and the youngest, a girl, to fulfil her dreams.
Like many households of its time, the father was the breadwinner and the mother stayed at home, raising the family.
My mother was indeed a very good cook - so much so that when my younger siblings came along, she already had inspired my older brother and myself to venture into the kitchen and 'assist' her in the making of the family meals.
To this day I'm not entirely convinced it was merely to 'assist' her in the kitchen but rather a sublime and very successful effort on her part to get her two boys into the kitchen and give her a break!
My first 'break' came at the ripe age of 8 (I had been 'assisting' for 2 years already) when my mother went into hospital to give birth to her third little boy. I think the culmination of the years of training seemed to strike a chord with my father, as no longer was he expected to produce his standard: "Bacon, Egg and Chips" - he was now being introduced to food from his offspring! It must have been like heaven for him - 3 cooks and no more venturing into the kitchen for him!
And so began my lifelong passion for food.
From the humble beginnings of making that cup of coffee on a Sunday morning, followed by breakfast or 'brunch' (depending on how lazy I felt) to my first dinner to celebrate my mother's return home with my younger brother in tow. And the journey continues unabated today.
Growing up, as a child in the 70's in South Africa was indeed something I was to look back on with fond memories. From listening to my father's serenading of my mother with some of the classic 60's and 70's numbers ("where do you go to my lovely" springs to mind), to him singing 'country drive' songs ("ag please daddy" even with ALL the naughty verses), most of the time we were on a journey that culminated in the sheer enjoyment of food.
Be it for a picnic in High Noon or a late lunch in Franschhoek, to a country drive down to Cape Point to eat steamed mussels on the beach at Olifantsbos and have freshly prepared crayfish. The summers seemed to last a lifetime then.
The HUGE gatherings of the clan at Christmas time was a culinary feast - the men drank beer whilst the women were in the kitchen preparing the day's feast. The smells and sounds of the kitchen along with the ceaseless banter between everyone - it seemed everyone was indeed mad! I know today that things were slightly different and can only imagine that my mother was patiently biding her time for her first two boys to volunteer their efforts and so become embroiled in the preparation of the traditional family feasts. She had laid the groundwork and was slowly but surely nurturing both of us to replace her in the kitchen. I think she may well contest this last point - but until she regularly makes use of the kitchen today to prepare FROM SCRATCH her own meals, I will continue to hold this belief.
Indeed she was a great cook - patient and tireless in the kitchen when it came to providing a family meal that we all sat down to and shared. The amount of love and effort that she expended in the kitchen I can fully understand today and humbly thank her for inspiring us to be able to 'think on our feet' and cook with passion.
After all food is something essential in our lives and she taught us the maxim - LIVE TO EAT! Eating to live is of course the antithesis.
I cannot imagine a life that revolved around just 'eating to live'. An alien concept in its most vulgar form.
As with many kids there were loads of foods that I could just not understand WHY my mother was trying to feed us with. The thoughts of poisoning by eating such weird things as Asparagus, tasting escargot (the thought of eating a garden snail WHOLLY repulsed me) were offset by my mother 'bribing' us with her wonderful puddings.
My favourite being her rice pudding. The withdrawal of pudding was indeed a punishment too difficult to imagine - yet I managed to experience it once. Suffice to say I didn't repeat my transgression and have never failed to remind my mother of the sheer torment of not being able to eat dessert that night!
Tis no matter - my love and admiration for you mom has never diminished, but rather grown over the many, many years.
Scroll forward a few years into the wonderful years of being a teenager and being able to earn pocket money! How fortunate it was that we had a great restaurant open across the road from us and night after night the smells of garlic and herbs wafted through the air.
I was young, green and very keen to see exactly what went on in the kitchens and somehow managed to get a position as a kitchen assistant for a few hours at a time.
Sheer mayhem greeted me! No longer in the warm confines of my mother's kitchen at home - here was real food being churned out at a frenetic pace!
The smells of wood fired pizzas, char grilled steaks, and racks upon racks of mouth-watering ribs, succulent fish and a huge variety of pasta were enough to assault any person's virgin nostrils! I was hooked!
How on earth anyone could be the captain of his ship and be able to control all of this chaos AND then still take the time out to greet the regular guests was totally beyond my grasp. The great booming voice of the Dutchman and the somewhat 'mad' Italian behind the stoves still reverberate fondly in my ears.
Jan, you were a legend then and I will forever be in your debt for allowing a youngster to enter your hallowed kitchens and continue his journey on becoming a Chef.
Cooking in an open plan kitchen was almost unheard of in those days, yet it prepared me for dealing with the Front of House - the reason why we're all in business, the Guest!
Being equally at home cooking in the kitchen and then having to communicate with the guests allowed me to venture out of the kitchen and onto the floor for a while. Whilst earning tips was indeed fun and allowed one more scope to go and enjoy a few extra beers after work, the adrenaline rush was nothing compared to the kitchen.
I returned to my roots in Hout Bay and continued my journey in the kitchen. A succession of owners, from Mozambique, South African, Belgian, Italian and finally to German allowed a glimpse into what other cultures ate, the food they shared and ultimately educating palates in what food was really about.
I remained there for seven years, the majority of the time under the wings of my German Chef, Markus. To this day a legacy of some sorts is on the menu - my favourite pizza has its name given by my mother. Though it must be said it was NOT my choice of name!
In fairness to him, it was his term of endearment, Cheffie, which has become my tag.
We were fortunate to have a regular guest who, being a British Master Chef, allowed me the opportunity to come and train to be a professional Chef. Understanding the basics of cooking is what I needed in order to develop as a Chef. To him I owe a huge debt of gratitude for allowing his passion to inspire an already addicted, yet somewhat naive Chef.
The patience, love and care that goes into Classical French Cookery is indeed something that forms the basics for many cultures all around the world. Getting it right, consistently, and ensuring the guest is satisfied is another.
Chef, whatever I might achieve in life is in no small part to your love, patience and inspirational tutelage you imparted all those years ago. THE best Chef Mentor one could ever hope for.
Moving through a succession of kitchens brought me into contact with my first 'fine-dining' experience.
Wow!
An already established Seafood restaurant, it had a young team and the food we managed to produce - in all it's finery and attention to detail, led the New York Times labelling us as the Premier Choice for fine dining in Cape Town. An accolade that the staff was to be proud of!
Along came the proverbial Carlton Food TV appearance with a renowned London Chef and so the journey continued. Fascinating that one could achieve a lot in such a short space of time (I was a sprightly 27 year old!) - almost surreal in it's outcomes.
The lure of working internationally proved to be irresistible. My first position brought me into contact with some great guys in the kitchen - the difference in kitchen procedures, health, hygiene and overall standards were something that I had to acclimatize to.
Here I was cooking in the lap of the culinary centre of the world. Sure, Sydney, San Francisco, Hong Kong, New York and Paris were vying for the title - but in terms of affordability of food, availability of produce from around the world and a guest profile that was beginning to be widely travelled - none could match London!
The owners turned out to have somewhat unsavoury business practises (The less said the better - perhaps a story for a rainy day) and in the style of Gordon Ramsay so many years ago, the main staff walked out.
CONTINUED...
Author: Grant Hawthorne AKA Cheffie
Copyright. All rights reserved.
AUGUST 2005
