A meaty Karoo spread that wastes not one bit of sheep
A Persian specimen in all its glorious forms, from eye to tail, really. And every single thing was homemade
The tiny square of jellified meat looked very French in the way that liver pâtés and duck terrines look very French. But it also reminded me of my dad’s potted meat, a recipe he learnt from his father in Yorkshire, where it is a tradition as ancient as the black-and-tan Yorkstone houses.
My dad made his potted meat from scratch. The big pot of meat, bone and sinew would boil for hours and finally there’d be a unified mélange of fine meat and the jelly the bones had made. He’d pour it into an octagonal enamel dish and set it in the fridge. I’ve never forgotten the wondrous taste and texture of that cold potted meat spread on buttered bread. I can taste it and smell it even now, 50 years later.
But this brawn was made of beef trotters and stomach, yet it had the same effect on the palate as my dad’s potted meat. It was the first of eight courses of a traditional Karoo food dinner my friend Charles Garth lavished on us, and everything was homemade. Everything.
It’s a window on a life I have not lived, like peering through a window into someone else’s dining room, fascinated as to what it is they’re eating. Yet there is an unexpected familiarity too. The food traditions of the
Karoo turn out to be not far removed at all from those of my northern English roots.
The homemade brawn was nothing like the processed kind you find at the supermarket. If all brawn was like this we’d all be eating it every day. On the table to share were the bread his wife Colleen made, butter by Charles’s hand, and kaiings and quince jelly. You ate the brawn with the bread, a few kaiings on top and a dab of quince jelly.
Kaiings are the tiny hard residue at the bottom of the pot when you render sheep fat – little bits of meat that have crisped like crackling. But not just any sheep fat; everything on this table was made from the meat and fat of Persian sheep. As for the fat, there were small bowls of it to spread on bread just as my mom would keep the beef drippings from the Sunday roast to spread on bread during the week.
Charles’s daughter, Roslynne, fried the little liver patties, traditional lewerkoekies that are so delicious I asked for the recipe. They seem to be made only of meat, but as well as liver there are green beans, onion, potato, tomato and spinach in the mixture. Everything is minced until you have a runny paste, and you drop spoonfuls of it into hot fat and cook them on both sides quickly.
Skaapstertjies are next and familiar to me now. The little sheep’s tails are a favourite Karoo delicacy eaten with the fingers. You pull out strips of succulent, fatty meat with your teeth, a joyous delight.
There’s a taste of boerewors next, but this is better than the average. Also made from “Persie” (Persian) meat, this is Ouma Lukie’s treasured recipe and a real treat.
But it’s the “opgekookte vleis” that has me most intrigued. The technique is really poaching: Persian saddle chops are poached in water after being seasoned with brown vinegar. Once simmering, you sprinkle flour and crumbled bread on top. They poach for precisely seven minutes: less and they will not be done, more and they toughen.
There was much checking of stopwatches on cellphones while Charles cooked them, and then the gas ran out, throwing the timing off. They were wonderful, though Charles felt they’d gone a bit over time. For any meat lover, it’s a technique worth trying. I know I’m going to; I’d never imagined poaching a chop.
Curried offal was the dish that some at the table were the most wary of, especially when Charles turned to me with a mischievous twinkle and said: “There’s a couple of eyes in there too.” Then, when he saw my face, he quickly added: “But you won’t see them.” Ja, I said, but they might see me.
The curry was meaty and delicious, and whatever worrying bits and pieces were in there, you wouldn’t know it to look at or taste it. It was served with samp, an ingredient we might consider using more of.
Salt beef is another firm Karoo tradition and is eaten at Christmas time. There was much discussion at the table about the fat component, regarded as key to fine salt beef. Charles’s own mustard was served with it, the perfect match.
Japie se Gunsteling, another fierce tradition in the Karoo, couldn’t have been a better end to this very meaty repast – a citrus pudding that is lusciously comforting. Just as this entire meal had been.
This makes a large quantity – enough to feed a party – but the point is to freeze whatever you’re not using for use in future. Use clean fingernails to peel away the membranes that cover the liver on both sides. It’s finicky but important.
Ideally, you need a good mincer with a sharp blade. Everything gets processed through the mincer.
My mincer’s blade was very blunt and it was too late to do anything about it, so I resorted to processing the mixture with a handheld blender, which is why the texture of mine wasn’t as fine as I would have liked. However, I took them along to a party where the locals, who know their “lewerkoekies”, were very complimentary. But do process it more finely if you can.
Ingredients
1.2kg sheep’s liver, cleaned and chopped 6 large potatoes, peeled and grated 400g sliced green beans
6 spinach leaves, chopped, no spines 3 medium tomatoes, grated into a bowl 2 large onions, chopped
3 slices bread
6 eggs
300g cake flour, not sifted
3 Tbsp baking powder
4 tsp salt
½ tsp white pepper
Cooking oil for shallow frying
Method
Discard the connective tissue and chop the meat into small pieces.
Mince the liver, alternating with the green beans, grated potato and onion, spinach and tomatoes.
Pass the bread through the mincer too, then mix everything in a large bowl while seasoning with salt and pepper. Be generous with the salt; it needs it. Beat the eggs in a bowl and fold in.
Finally, stir in the flour and baking powder. Heat oil in a pan and fry spoonfuls of the mixture quickly on a moderate heat, turning once.
They can be served hot or cold.