My favourite table: Nik Rabinowitz
A comedian walked into The Kitchen in Woodstock and ordered something ‘erbal because he’d already had too much caffeine that day. We just took notes
Come here often?
I do! It feels like home. I love Karen Dudley – her energy just imbues the whole thing – her vibrant, loving beautifulness. Sometimes I come here because I want to feel nurtured. Sometimes I just want to have fun. I did a show here recently – about 100 people on benches – it was beautiful.
What’s your order?
Often just the three- or five-plate salads. Sometimes I want a Love Sandwich. And I love the World Peace Brownies.
Tell us about cooking: can you do
it?
I don’t cook much but I’ve got this chicken potjie that I learnt from Justin Bonello. I like his cookbooks. I used to make a Hungarian dish called töltött káposzta – a cabbage dish. And rakott krumpli – layered potatoes and other stuff that’s not Kosher. One of my adopted grandmothers was Hungarian. (We adopted her.)
Did you have any holiday
traditions growing up?
We also celebrated Christmas with the neighbours. I only found out I was Jewish when I was 12. (My dad sat me down on my 12th birthday and said “Son, there’s something we need to tell you”. I said “OMG I’m gay”. He said “You’re Jewish. And gay”). Jokes …
Can you knit kitke?
I can’t knit kitke, even though I went to a Waldorf school. I learnt to knit all sorts of other things. But challah is quite big now. Nosipho, who works for us, worked for a Jewish family before, so she makes it on Fridays. It’s only called kitke in South Africa. South African Jews are 95% Lithuanian, so we have some interesting words, like ferribel, kitke, and Crohn’s
(the disease).
How do you write comedy?
I’m doing it right now. [Scribbles in notebook.] I just thought of something funny. But it goes out of my mind quickly. I have to write it down. I like working with people because as we’re talking, ideas come.
What is the most difficult part
of being a comic?
It’s probably coming up with the new show, the new angle, the reinvention of what you’re doing. The starting from scratch-ness. Do I have something new to say? Am I still relevant? The conversation about it is almost more challenging than the actual act of doing it. Because you can get into your head and start fighting your demons.
Is that where your last show,
Fortified, came from?
I had some serious anxiety about turning 40 for a couple of months while I was putting together my show. I think, for a lot of people, 40 is a place where you have achieved a lot of the things you thought would make you happy and then you go, is this it? You kind of have to learn that if you let your emotional state be, it might let you be.
Does comedy help?
Ja, it’s like giving yourself a shot of adrenaline; it’s like an antidepressant if it goes well. If it doesn’t go well – we call it “dying” for a reason. Do you know the term comedy death? It’s when you’re bombing and you can hear the tumbleweed or the crickets. Crr crr crr!
And what’s your favourite part?
Making people laugh. Being threequarters of the way into the show when the audience is just in the palm of your hand and you’ve created this vibration in the room. People have laughed for 45 minutes and those comedy endorphins are pumping through their veins. They’ve forgotten about all their stressful things.
Who do you find funny?
I’ve recently discovered Garry Shandling. [sings in an American accent] This is the theme to Gary’s show. This is the theme to Gary’s show! He was really funny before he was dead. And there are a lot of amazing women – Sarah Silverman, Bridget Christie, Ali Wong, Michelle Woolf. Our own Tumi Morake is breaking through internationally and there is an increasing number of class acts on the scene – Celeste Ntuli, Khanyisa Bunu, Shimmy Isaacs, Angel Campey, Mel Jones, Gilli Apter, Nina Hastie, Claudine Ullman, and Lindy Johnson, to name a few.
Give us your elevator pitch for
your new show.
I wrote Dry White in the days before Day Zero, in April. I was never that kid who studied for exams
– I was a last-minute crammer. But I thought I’d write this show six months before it was due. And then Day Zero was averted; Mother Nature rained on my parade. So now we’ve got water and I’ve got no jokes. Which means I will be forced to discuss other stuff too, like love, marriage, infidelity, transphobia, staying woke post-40, and when the land should be given back. At the
Baxter Theatre from 18 December.
I CAN’T KNIT KITKE, EVEN THOUGH I WENT TO A WALDORF SCHOOL. I LEARNT TO KNIT ALL SORTS OF
OTHER THINGS”