Sunday Calls and Sunday Lunches

Dear Friends,

On Sundays, we like to connect with our family in South Africa. Life is so busy these days that sometimes you have to make an appointment just to have a proper chat.
My dad normally phones his siblings every Sunday. It is a beautiful habit. Most of the time, I also get a call. We chat about the children, Andreas's work, and then, of course, food. In my family, we love food.
The word kuier is about more than simply visiting. It is often about who you saw and what they served to eat. And when we talk about Sunday lunch, we mean the Sunday lunch after church.
Any South African will tell you about Ouma's or Mom's Sunday lunches.
Preparation was key. Ingredients were sourced carefully. Quality was non-negotiable. But what made Sunday lunches unique in those days was the heated hostess trolley i.e Westpoint Electro Butler/Hostess Food Trolley from 1970’s with its four Pyrex Serving Dishes filled with vegetables and side dishes. A serving trolley on wheels with a heated cupboard underneath to keep the food and plates warm. When everything was ready, it would be wheeled proudly from the kitchen into the dining room. Very fancy.
I wish I could still get one of those things.

Working in catering, I am always thinking about food. Is it warm? Will it stay warm? I still love it when food is served on a warm plate. In winter, that feels even more special.

Now, South Africans know how to make a Sunday lunch.
A leg of lamb with small roast potatoes. Tannie Makkie se chicken recipe. Rice. Sweet potatoes sprinkled generously with sugar, or pampoenkoekies with caramel sauce. Green beans with mashed potato and onion. Broccoli or cauliflower covered in a rich cheese sauce. And then there was the gravy made from the lamb drippings. Oh my word! Everything on your plate was covered in it.
The grand finale was dessert. Malva pudding or souskluitjies with homemade custard, or later, Ultramel custard. Served warm from the hostess trolley.

Now that was a Sunday lunch!
We do not have such a spread every Sunday anymore, but I still want to know what was served for lunch when I make my Sunday calls to family. Somehow, food remains one of the ways we tell each other that we belong.

Perhaps that is why those conversations matter so much.

Today, I am missing family a little extra.

Warm regards,
Marnella en Andreas