PS- Telkom sucks

My internet is on a seemingly permanent vacation too now, so please be patient, I promise there are amazing recipes coming soon! Please check back asap :) and if Telkom burns down it wasn't me :/

Nobody loves me, everybody hates me, I think I'll eat a feast

My dad does not cope well with abandonment. He spends a great part of his time warning us that there will be hell if we leave him alone in his old age, so when we do actually leave him alone for some or other reason it’s as though his worst nightmares have come true. While most define abandonment as being left alone a permanent period of time, my dad sees anything from not answering your phone, to talking about taking a trip somewhere as red flashing warning lights that we are all about to run away.

In his 20s and 30s, my mom (try as she might) could not separate my dad from his soccer and fishing club. In his 40s he took up golf and my mom adjusted to being a golf widow.  Now in his 50s my dad has hit old-age paranoia and has taken to stalking my mother; if she says she’s going shopping, he suddenly appears in the meat aisle in Woolworths. If she says the girls are going for family lunch, he sheepishly shows up asking if he can have a quick cup of coffee with us before golf. If mom goes to the hairdresser or to some beauty treatment that he hasn’t determined the location of, he phones her incessantly until she gets home. If I’ve had a moment of ADD and can’t remember where my mother said she was going, my dad becomes a stuck record repeating: “Where is your mother? Where is your mother?” until he hears the car coming down the street, at which point he runs to the office window and stares like a mad man while the car pulls into the driveway.

Today, my mom left for a holiday to visit my aunt in Cape Town. My dad refused to join her (and was also banned from joining her) as he hates Cape Town and is known to turn the car around as soon as he arrives.  Nevertheless, he began sulking 3 days ago. Then he found out that he could have been playing in a golf competition in Cape Town while she was there and is now thoroughly upset. He has taken to talking lovingly to the parrot again, who for the last week has had braai tongs thrown at his cage for being “a freaking little shit”.

In an attempt to cheer dad up, I’m planning on making all his favourite meals this week. A dedicated rys, vleis en artappels man, my dad is quite happy to eat meat with every meal, vegetables can be optional until Sunday lunch, and the more saturated fat the meal contains, the happier he is. As much as I’d like to please him, I refuse to cook to those exact standards (I like my heart beating thanks), instead I’m going to try indoctrinating him with healthy versions of his favourites. Keep an eye out for new recipes coming soon, which include home-made chicken pie and trifle!

Milk Tart = Love Tart

Saying the words ‘milk tart’ to an expat Saffa is like saying ‘free trip to Thailand’ to any other normal person; they get that far away look in their eyes, a smile creeps onto their face, and you can see the glisten of tiny tears in their eyes. The first time I ever made a milk tart was as recently as last Christmas, in London (awful I know- who makes their first milk tart outside South Africa??) for my boyfriend’s cousins who we were having Christmas dinner with. Kim’s excitement at the prospect of a good old melk tert was just a tad bit of pressure, and I spent hoooooours trawling the internet for what I hoped would be an executable and excellent recipe. Personally, I’m not a huge fan of milk tart, so I’m never really sure what makes a good one. Turns out, the Christmas one was pretty yummy and ridiculously easy to make. Still, I secretly shared the opinion of the pommy guest who claimed that it’s “quite like a custard, really” with a polite said-inside-her-head “and quite a boring one”. Not to be unpatriotic, but I think she’s spot on, the best way to describe milk tart to a foreigner is as a poor man’s custard!

Right, now before I put you off and you start wondering why you are reading this post at all, let me share with you the ultimate of South African patriotic deliciousness: Amarula milk tart. When requested again to make another milk tart, I just couldn’t bring myself to make a boring, plain, well, milk tart. So I spruced it up a little, and the results have been wonderful! In terms of taste, that first bite gives you a kick you aren’t quite prepared for, but after the second slice I reckon it’ll be really hard to go back to the old version!

This recipe is crazy simple, requires no baking, and can be whipped up pretty quickly. Plus, the best thing is that every time I find myself making a milk tart for someone, it’s just full of love. Maybe I’m overly sentimental, but surprising someone with this milk tart is like taking a sick friend a cup of chicken noodle soup- it’s comforting, nostalgic, and just reminds the receiver that they’re loved. So, no more poor man’s custard, it’s time for the Saffa’s African delicacy, served with a generous portion of ubuntu.

What I Ate Today

Dr Oetker's bunny cookies, the hardest ever box mix anything, but look how pretty they are!!