Zuretha Roos - Roast Duck on Sunday: Two Sisters, Two Kitchens and a Treasury of Recipes

Published in 2011 by Struik Lifestyle
(an imprint of Random House
Struik (Pty) Ltd)
Company Reg. No. 1966/003153/07
Wembley Square, 1st Floor, Gardens, Cape Town 8001
PO Box 1144, Cape Town, 8000, South Africa

Copyright in published edition: Random
House Struik (Pty) Ltd 2011
Copyright in text: Annalie Nel and
Zuretha Roos 2011
Copyright in photographs: Random House
Struik (Pty) Ltd 2011

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers and the copyright holders.

Publisher: Linda de Villiers

Managing editor: Cecilia Barfield

Editor and indexer: Bronwen Leak

Designer: Helen Henn

Photographer: Matthys van Lill

Food stylist: Brita du Plessis

Stylists assistants: Yvette Pascoe and Katherine Freemantle

Proofreader: Gill Gordon

ISBN 978-1-77007-898-7 (Print)

ISBN 978-1-43170-212-1 (Epub)

ISBN 978-1-43170-213-8 (PDF)

Even with a brilliant cook for a mother, I left home to go to college with only enough know-how to fry an egg. For the next six years this shortcoming was unimportant, as food was definitely not a priority at that age. But that changed when I married, because suddenly there was someone relying on me for a hot meal every night!

My first attempt at meatballs remains a family joke to this day. Not only were they tennis-ball hard, but Id tried to add flavour with mixed herbs. Instead, I had actually added mixed spice Oh no, this tastes like cinnamon! my new husband exclaimed. I was furious at him! After that disaster we lived on lamb chops and mashed potatoes until Jaap tactfully suggested buying a basic cookbook. I think he was very disappointed to discover that my mums cooking skills hadnt magically rubbed off on me. He had, after all, raved about her food from the first time he had dined at the family table.

We loved eating well as children, but I think we had precious little interest in how all those great tastes were created. But through the ensuing years, raising children, working, and the usual challenges of life, I realised how wonderfully creative cooking can be.

I started collecting cookbooks and food magazines, experimented with recipes and tried my own versions. I still love creating dishes with what I have at hand, or with relatively simple ingredients. Living quite far from supermarkets, I cant just hop into the car and go shopping, so I have to make do with what I have available. It helps to have a herb garden and veggie patch. Fresh is always best and I try to avoid packets and tins except for a few staples such as canned tomatoes, olives and the like. I prefer to make my own rubs for roasting meat and chicken. It is easy and satisfying and you do taste the difference.

However, I remain a self-taught home cook and you will find that my recipes reflect that. I have a strong nostalgic streak and love the old-time dishes that my mom and grannies used to make, and believe they should not be forgotten. Yet, my tastes have also evolved over the years in accordance with new influences and experiences.

After my husband returned from a three-month stint in India, when he had to cook for himself, he introduced me to the Indian way of cooking. It involved lots of aromatic spices, coconut, curry leaves, chillies, ginger and yoghurt opening a whole new culinary world for me. Now, I cant manage without chillies or a hot chilli sauce in my cupboard. Hot food grows on you and thus many of my recipes contain chilli. Coconut milk or yoghurt added at the end tempers the heat for the faint-hearted! Thai-style food is also high on my list of favourites and I have included quite a few Asian-style dishes.

However, for me, soul foods are still those dishes I remember from childhood. One of my earliest memories is of Ouma Gretas sweet, cinnamony melkkos, eaten on a cold winters night in front of her Dover stove. Another dish we always requested when visiting her in the Langkloof was pampoenmoes, a mashed pumpkin dish, made with a type of pumpkin that is impossible to source nowadays: Ouma called it slonspampoen (actually Ceylon pampoen). The story goes that the seeds were brought to South Africa from Ceylon (modern-day Sri Lanka) long ago by Boer prisoners-ofwar. It cooked to a bright orange, mushy consistency, and was sweetly delicious.

My mother had a wide repertoire of dishes, some of which are included in this book. One of her pices de rsistance was her succulent, roasted Muscovy duck, served as a fortnightly Sunday feast with crispy potatoes and Dads home-grown veggies. What a pity these large, white Muscovy ducks arent commercially available. Through the years I kept remembering that golden-brown bird on our Sunday dinner table.

To my delight, shortly after we moved to a smallholding outside Port Elizabeth, my husband was given two white Muscovy ducks by a colleague. I watched with joy as this male and female waddled disgustedly about their new domain, making raspy noises and looking decidedly annoyed by everything they saw including their pond. I, of course, had visions of the generations of Muscovies that were to follow and would grace our dinner table! But as soon as the two birds settled down, the males nasty temperament emerged. A reign of terror began, aimed at women only . No woman was safe from his vicious attacks, and as they had no coop, our farmyard was their oyster; my maid and I were virtual prisoners in the house.

We had to hang the washing together: one protecting the other from the ducks attacks with a blanket held matadorstyle to fend him off. We werent always successful and often had nasty bruises where his beak got us. To reach my car I had to race across the yard before he spotted me and came charging. My husband, at work all day, found my complaints highly amusing and exaggerated. How on earth could I be scared of a duck?

And this nasty piece of work clucked hypocritically around my husbands ankles, as tame as a lapdog. Then early one Saturday morning it happened. Jaap went outside with his first cup of coffee, wearing his red dressing gown, to enjoy the dawn. Next moment, all hell broke loose shouts, curses, feathers and flying coffee! His friend had mistaken him for a female in his gown, and had launched a vicious attack.

Needless to say, the friendship was over. To my satisfaction the two Muscovies were put into a coop and fattened up in readiness for the table. My mothers famous recipe for stuffed Muscovy was put to very good use, and I ate them without a qualm. At last I had roast duck on Sunday again!

My cooking style and the flavours I use often differ markedly from those of generations past. Since the 1990s many new trends have influenced cooking in South Africa, yet many traditional recipes are part of my permanent repertoire, just as they were eaten at the table of my youth.

No one who ate at our table has ever forgotten my mothers cooking. She did not cook many fancy dishes; but her meals were wonderfully tasty. When we slouched through the front door after school, dragging along bookbags and bad attitudes, the enticing smells from the kitchen were enough to lift our poor spirits immediately.

We grew up surrounded by vineyards in the beautiful Hex River Valley, where my father was both a high school teacher and a part-time farmer on his narrow slice of the family farm. Dad had a magic touch with vegetables, and we always had a luscious kitchen garden.

He kept a Jersey cow for milk, cream and golden butter, and from time to time a pig or sheep was fattened for the slaughter. (This was rather difficult if wed become even slightly attached to the sacrificial beast, so we were forbidden to give it a name. You cant eat anything with a name).