Flavour forward

In his new cookbook Africola, chef DUNCAN WELGEMOED shares bold and exciting recipes inspired by his South African heritage.

My love for food and cooking stems from my childhood, growing up in Norwood, Northern Johannesburg, during the transition of power from the all-white National Party to Mandela’s African National Congress. An exciting and terrifying time to be alive.

Living life in Norwood, a predominantly Jewish neighbourhood, was integral to my passion for food and cooking. I was surrounded by the best Jewish delis and bakeries, punctuated with stellar Greek and Italian joints and, most importantly, Portuguese pubs and corner stores.

I grew up as an only child within a South African family. My mother Gail, a patient and formidable woman, was an expat from Scotland. Her biggest influence on me wasn’t so much culinary, but openness and acceptance.

My late father, an incredible man with a large personality, was equally feared and loved. He was an ex-chef who was consumed by Portuguese and traditional Southern African cuisine. He was the man who introduced me to the simple joys of pan drippings and bread, eating fish off the barbecue, two-day-old curry, the pope’s nose off a freshly roasted chicken, and gave me my wonderful, lustrous curls. He had the biggest impact on my life through his hedonistic pursuits.

After moving to Adelaide, having been headhunted by the mother of my children (who still demands a finders fee; Australia!), Cath showed me why it is the best city in the world. I’d still be cooking in basement kitchens in England if it wasn’t for her pig-headedness in proclaiming Australia as God’s country, her support and her being the finest of mothers to my two little boys. For that I am truly forever grateful. Alas, my one regret in life is having never had the chance to cook professionally for my father. It’s deeply affected me since his death in 2010. To remedy this, I wanted to create a legacy restaurant that my children could enjoy. Where they could experience my childhood, glimpses of my father shining through my food, a family tree rooted in the gut.