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Muisbosskerm is right on the beach and has no neighbours. It's just the sand and the sea. You are warned in their online literature and publicity leaflets, which blanket Lambert's Bay, to be prepared to spend 3 hours at dinner. But we were actually whizzed through the whole process in just over an hour. Far too fast given the variety of foods we ate. A little contemplation of each plate would have been a good thing, instead of being hustled like a foie gras goose from course to course. All we needed was the funnel down our throats.
We took our last bottle of chilled Prosecco with us. South Africa has a long standing and liberal attitude towards BYOB. Muisbos has cottoned on to corkage though, which is fine, given the wine choices on offer. We sat, a little chilly, at a picnic table outside above the beach, beside two Afrikaans couples tucking into their brandies and cokes, and puffing away on a relay of cigarettes. From the other side of the stoep came American voices. Caught between my worlds.
We popped our cork into the sunset and felt good, drinking the bubbly grape juice, and toasting our escape from the hell of the Lambert's Bay camp site.
This was our only moment of repose.
If things had happened more slowly, I would have tasted everything, but as it was, we were rushed from dish to dish and I could not bear to clutter my plates with too many ill-matching tidbits, so I edited, severely, and came away very happy with what looked like the starring items.
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We ate with mussel shells as implements.
Skilpadjies is netvet (caulfat) wrapped around lambs' liver. Pofadder, as our neighbour tried to explain to us, well into his third brandy and coke (also known as a swartvarkie - little black pig) was meat-stuffed grootderm (large intestine, I maintained), which he translated as "the pipe what goes into the stomach." I still say it's the pipe what leaves the stomach, but you get the drift...I had a bite of each and they were not bad, but when I start eating offal I need to know a lot about it, and I felt we had not been properly introduced.
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What really bothered me at the end of the evening were the four overstuffed trash bags filled with styrofoam plates. Each course warranted a different plate and all these plates are thrown away at the end of each meal! Ours was a modest group that night. I hate to think of how many bags are generated by a full house. Twice a day. It's unnecessary, and almost wanton.
Cheap enamel plates would preserve tradition and atmosphere and create some extra work for someone who could do with the dishwashing money.
Cheap enamel plates would preserve tradition and atmosphere and create some extra work for someone who could do with the dishwashing money.
Well, the goose in me reads you and thinks "No wonder I was so sick 2 days later... " ;-)
ReplyDeleteYeah. Maybe you had a good old gal aanval. Too much crayfish. Too much lambs' liver, too much pipe, too much racist arrogant owner of estate on river.
ReplyDeleteAg, shame, Man!
x
BYO plates? Not a bad idea at that!
ReplyDeleteI still drool at the sight and thought of crayfish, but can no longer eat it. :-(