CUSTARD COMFORT
Autumn was the season of disquiet. What with planes disappearing from the sky, sea disasters, Nkandla and elections, we were saturated with enough events to make one feel faint. The British recommend a nice cup of tea at a time like this. I recommend custard.
In the midst of all the stress-inducing events, I heard something on the radio that restored my confidence. It was a discussion about custard. Africa Melane, who is weekend breakfast show host on Radio 702/567 Cape Talk, invited listeners to give tips on how to prevent the film that sometimes appears on hot custard.
Listeners, including a chef, responded well. Tips included wrapping a wet cloth around the jug of custard. The most popular method, however, was to put a layer of greaseproof paper on top.
How can reflecting on custard end up as an antidote for anxiety? Some of you may remember the TV advert where children asked Granny what she did when she was young. She replied: “We cooked.” Then the children asked: “But what did you do for fun?” Granny answered: “We baked.”
That’s what life was like back then. Slow and uncomplicated. Cook and bake and things will be all right. Admittedly, it is not that simple anymore, but I’m sure you get the drift. Life is better if you make time for seemingly insignificant things. Wake up and smell the roses (or coffee), is what they would say in today’s jargon. I say wake up and taste the custard.
I’ve just learnt how to make sure my custard is smooth — and I’m thrilled.
Having now decided that life is about the smell of freshly baked bread (homemade, of course, and who cares what Tim Noakes says), modern moms would do well to become more involved in the basic elements of food preparation. Is it too much to ask that we stop relying on opening packets and tins? It’s to do with legacy, the memories you will leave for your children.
I remember having to contend with greasy vetkoek in my school lunch box. Who wouldn’t rather have had a tuna and mayonnaise sandwich or crisps? But mother-love dictated that my mom diligently fried those fatty things for me every morning. I didn’t appreciate it then, but thinking about it now, what a loving gesture it was. And then, there was always the Sunday treat to look forward to. Custard.
This winter, it’s going to be off with the TV and radio for me and out with the books and magazines. Snug and curled up on the couch, what more could one want than a stodgy pudding and custard?