When I look back now,
That summer seemed to last for ever
And if I had the chance
Yeah, I’d always wanna be there,
Those were the best days of my life
– Bryan Adams, "Summer of 69"

One of the UK’s most popular food blogs is CookSister. Run by the delightful Jeanne, who hails from South Africa, the site also plays host to the EoMEoTE blog-happening. EoMEoTE (End of Month Egg on Toast Extravaganza) is a fun, often hilariously silly, event. But I digress.

I took a few minutes to talk to Jeanne and discuss her own, personal, ‘Spirit of Summer’.

Slashfood: Summer or Winter?

Jeanne: There are two kinds of people in the world - summer people and winter people - and I've been a summer person my whole life. I love the light, I love the smell, I love the heat, I love the food - I would quite happily have 12 months of summer and never miss the cold at all (my garden might have a word to say about that though!). So you'd think that writing about the spirit of summer would be easy for me. But no. Thinking about summer threw up such a smorgasbord of memories, smells, feelings and tastes that I really didn't know where to start.

Summers in South Africa were good then?

You see, growing up as I did in Port Elizabeth, South Africa, I experienced about the closest climate to endless summer as you can in temperate latitudes. To the west of us, Cape Town got heavy winter rains and storms for days on end. To the east of us, Durban got the sticky tropical heat. And to the north, Johannesburg got drought in winter and thunderstorms in summer. But in PE, the temperature seldom ventured below about 12C and seldom above 30C. All year round! Really!! So you could say that for the first 30 years of my life I lived pretty much in a permanent state of summer. Sure, we get summer (occasionally!) here in England, but when I think of summer, it’s South Africa that fills my thoughts.

I think about summer school holidays when my friends would come over to my house and within minutes we would all be in the pool playing Marco Polo, a game rather like hide-and-seek in that the catcher has their eyes closed, but with the added rule that every time the catcher says “Marco”, all other players have to reply “Polo”. If we were really lucky my mom would come strolling out of the house bearing a tray of drinks for us: my favourite combination of ice cold lemonade and fresh orange juice, with a dollop of vanilla ice cream in it. Bliss. I think about Easter weekends spent in a holiday house on Robberg Beach in Plettenberg Bay. I’d tumble out of bed in the morning and rush onto the beach at low tide to look for pansyshells (similar to sand dollars) and then return, running across the fine white sand, hot enough to burn my feet, back to a house filled with the smell of hot cross buns for breakfast. I think about driving home from friends in a summer shower with steam rising off all the roads and the car filled with smell of wet, hot summer streets.

I think about warm, still nights sitting on the patio of my parents’ house listening to the African night alive with crickets and frogs, with fruit bats swooping through the fig tree and a canopy of southern stars above us. But when it comes to defining the spirit of summer, my childhood memories pale into insignificance beside the braai. In fact I defy anybody to come up with a more all-encompassing South African summer metaphor than the braai. South Africans do not barbecue – they braai. The word is a contraction of the Afrikaans word “braaivleis” (say “bry-flays”) which literally means a meat-grill but the South African braai goes way beyond linguistics or a simple cooking method – it has been elevated to the status of a social and cultural institution. Few South Africans will forget the 1970s advertising slogan of “braaivleis, rugby, sunny skies and Chevrolet” used to sum up the quintessential white South African lifestyle. Formerly the preserve of white and mainly Afrikaans South Africans, the braai today crosses all cultural and socio-economic barriers and is universally loved – and the sound of meat sizzling over coals and the accompanying smoky, meaty smell is the epitome of summer.

Braai is of Dutch origin?

Traditionally, the braai was the cooking method of the Dutch pioneers, or Voortrekkers, who travelled inland from the Cape Colony into the unknown wilderness and had no choice but to shoot fresh meat and cook it on open fires. So today, there are still braai puritans who insist that to be a “proper” braai, the meat has to be cooked on an open wood fire. The making of this fire is usually a skill passed down from father to son – how to pile the wood, where to put the newspaper or kindling and of course, how to tell when the fire is ready for cooking, which usually involves counting how long you can leave your hand above the coals before yanking it away in pain (I’m told anything below about 8 seconds is too hot). And woe betide anyone who casts aspersions on a man’s ability to make a good braai fire – this is tantamount to questioning his manhood. The fire is traditionally started hours before any cooking is due to be done, using about 10 times more wood than is, strictly speaking, necessary. This is the “kuiervuur” (literally “socialising fire”) which is built purely as a backdrop against which the braaiers can stand and chat about rugby (or braaing techniques) until the requisite amount of Castle Lager has been consumed.

These braai puritans also have fixed ideas on the type of structure to be used for a braai and will pooh-pooh the idea of Weber charcoal grills or fancy grills as “for sissies”. The Real Braaier has been known to make a fire in an old wheelbarrow or in an old washing machine drum – the drum’s little holes provide the correct degree of protection and ventilation. The braai was essentially a protein-fest - vegetables were confined to the odd whole potato or onion, wrapped in foil and tossed into the coals, to emerge steaming and delicious when they yield to a sharp poke with a knife. Common side dishes include potato salad, roosterkoek (rolls done on the grill) or mealie pap and ‘train smash’ (a kind of polenta and a chunky tomato and onion relish).

The golden rule of the traditional braai is this: while the women may congregate in the kitchen and make side dishes and conversation, it is the men who prepare the meat and do the braaing. They huddle around the fire comparing braai tools, marinades and braai technique, and all shake their heads sadly when someone deviates from the braai norm by, say, putting their meat on the fire too early/late/at the wrong angle.

Aaah, the mingled smell of smoke and testosterone.

But to deny them this would be to deny them their manhood. And besides, it is one of the few times a red-blooded South African man will volunteer to cook… So when we have our ten days of warm weather over here in the UK, my husband insists on braaing as often as possible – and I don’t even attempt to stop him. He will phone me up at work and suggest putting some meat over the coals for dinner and I will feel my mouth start to water, anticipating the smell, the sound, the taste. But I don’t think it’s the food I’m craving – I think it’s the spirit of a South African summer and the memories of childhood.

Any food that typifies the South African braai?

Stuffed marinated pork fillets on the Weber (for 2)

For the marinade:

• 1 clove garlic, crushed
•  15ml soy sauce
•  15 ml dry sherry
•  5g ginger, chopped
•  15g brown sugar
•  25ml olive oil
•  5 g chilli paste

 For the pork:

• 1 small pork filet
•  Plenty of fresh sage leaves
•  One “just ripe” pear (Packhams Pride are good as they have a fairly robust texture, even when ripe)
•  Couple of tablespoons of late harvest wine
•  Oil or butter

 Mix the marinade and marinate pork for at least 2 hours, but preferably overnight so that the flavours can develop. Pat fillet dry and split down the length. Peel the pear, cut in half, remove core and slice lengthwise into 5mm slices. Cover one side of fillet with sage leaves, and lay pear slices on sage leaves. Drizzle with wine. Close the fillet and tie with string or secure with small metal skewers. Season with salt and pepper, brush with melted butter and cook in a closed Weber (or similar kettle barbecue) over an indirect fire for about 30 minutes or until done. The more adventurous may also want to add some soaked wood chips to their fire to give the pork a delicious smoky taste.