Going home for a snack

Traveling to South Africa had me eating down memory lane

Recently I went all the way south to the country of my birth for nothing other than a celebration of my birth. And whilst I was there I mused on something I loved from home. The sandwiches of my childhood and how travel evokes these memories for me. And in South Africa, these sandwiches are as complicated as the country itself. 

As a gay boy from a Euro-family growing up in Gauteng we ate what my grandparents brought with them from Germany (and also France, but really mostly Germanic). Sandwiches were queen supreme. It was smoked salmon, dark darkest rye bread, all kinds of pickles, and you know the things so many people are revolted by: smoked herring, chopped liver and pickled beets. All the earthly soused delights. But in South Africa this was not common place really.

I was in Eastern Europe not so long ago and then all over Germany on a road and train trip, seeing this these relishes and eating them all for days and days. Reminiscing. As a small kid I would take these wondrous items to school and there were suspicious eyes all over them, because the other kids would have Black Cat Peanut Butter sarmies (sandwiches) and I would have a medley of brine.

But really in South Africa, what everyone knows is the ‘braaibroodjie’ - and if you were from Cape Town you ate a Gatsby (a take on the traditional sub filled with fish, chips and peri-peri sauce) or if you were from Soweto it was a ‘Kota.’ Ok it’s worth pausing to tell you about what a ‘Kota’ is - an approximation of the word ‘quarter’ as in a quarter of a loaf of bread which is then hollowed out and filled with French fries, layers of cheese, eggs and meat. It’s crucial to then pack this street food in a recognizable white plastic bag. Similar to another sandwich in South Africa, the ‘Bunny Chow’ (a hollowed out half loaf of bread, filled with curry). 

Ok back to the braaibroodjie. 

A ‘braaibroodjie’ (literally grilled little bread, South Africa loves a diminutive when they speak fondly about something) is traditionally cooked over an open fire, has cheese and butter on every single side. And it will be served with a sweet chutney. A nod to South Africa’s Indian population. Mrs Ball’s is the brand name I would see in people’s fridges. My family, the Euros, didn’t do open flame. So this was at other people houses for a barbecue, or at events this would be a favorite. The fete at school or someone’s birthday or something to snack on at a friend’s only whilst watching ‘Days of Our Lives’.  

My story could now dip into the history of all these sandwiches, with its racial undertones (this was the height of Apartheid and maybe only white people were at this time making some of these sandwiches?) And then I would have to tell you the entire story of how even though ‘braaibroodjie’ is an Afrikaans word this sandwich became an iconic South African delight, one of the things South Africa is very proud of - the ability to overcome a disgusting and complicated past in order to find the Rainbow Nation. And then I could include all of these as they are all now part of the new vernacular in interesting ways. Like something about overcoming the past one sandwich at a time? 

The history of the ‘Gatsby’ sandwich is fascinating also, it dates back to 1970s in the Cape Flats (a designated mixed race area of Cape Town) where a food shop owner made a sandwich to fill up his workers, they loved all the things stuffed in it so much and felt like it was ‘rich’ and ‘luxurious’ so called it the ‘Gatsby smash’ because down the street the movie ‘The Great Gatsby’ was showing. Today it’s a hangover cure. 

But really this is a book I should write, a history meets food meets understanding of the world book. And so in the meantime I figured I should share this as a little call to action where you might be thinking of food of your childhood as you travel around this summer, and perhaps you end up going to where you came from and looking at what you ate back then in a totally new light.

Oh this reminds me of another classic, the ‘vetkoek’ which literally translates into fat cake. Well this famous rugby player used to own a gas station with a convenience store attached to it in Pretoria close to where I went to university - well, one of the first I attended and got a degree at. So, we would go party all night with the college jocks (did I pop my collar? Surely no) and it was pretty much as wild as you can imagine. At the end of the night we’d end up at this convenience store ordering a supreme ‘vetkoek’ - deep fried dough with mince meat inside and maybe a dollop of cheese? Or was there something else in there too they just never revealed? The best nights are soaked up with this food memory. Just a bunch of young people finding their way in the world, with elevated dreams, highest of high hopes, enormous heads - and a delicious snack in hand.

We recently went down a memory lane with my husband’s family when we visited them in New Jersey - what they insist is Italian, meals and ingredients they call by their very own names (which actually sound Italian but with a very distinct New Jersey flavor). This fall we’ll go to Italy with them, and I can’t wait to see how they experience their cuisine in its native land. Will they think back to the past or are we now just going to make new food memories?

The magic of travel is it brings all of this to the fore. And I haven’t stopped thinking about it. I guess I have to write that book now.