Lynette Johns
I am the official taster of the Johns family pickle fish.
I take this job very seriously. It is a very difficult job: one needs a sophisticated Cape Flats palate, the dish after all pays homage to our slave forbears.
The onions must be cooked but with a slight crunch, you cannot add too many whole spices; cloves and Allspice can be overpowering, and the curry powder must be a very specific blend.
Tumeric is key, for the colour of course, it has to be a deep luminous gold. But this will all be wasted if the pickle, with its base of vinegar and sugar, itself is not perfectly balanced.
One year, no matter what my mom did, she could not get the perfect sweet/ sour/spicy/salty balance. In a burst of inspiration she added a healthy dollop of apricot jam. Very untraditional, sacrilege almost, but it worked.
We never told my dad, he would have had a fit. But there was the one year that he brought home a packet of pre-mixed pickled fish spice. We raised our eyes and scoffed at him; he did not do that again. My mom still adds jam.
The dish has to be prepared a few days before Good Friday, to give the fried fish and pickle a good chance to get to know each other and create the perfect Easter meal.
While pickled fish is seen by many as a dish eaten by Christians on Good Friday, on the Cape Flats Muslims also eat the dish on Good Friday. It is after all Cape Malay slaves who created and perfected many recipes unique to South Africa.
This week thousands of Cape Flats kitchens will be a hot, sticky, oily hive of activity. Fish will be fried, purists will only sprinkle the fish with salt and pepper, others will add fish masala.
A huge pot will be set upon the stove and mounds of thickly sliced onions will be set to boil with vinegar, spices and – Banting followers look away now – loads and loads of sugar.
I have to make an appearance in the hot kitchen, under the watchful gaze of my mom, to taste, and taste and taste some more. No mean feat, considering that the pickle is hot, I have to think on my feet, decisions have to be made in split seconds, we cannot let the onions soften too much.
And then, when it’s absolutely perfect, the pickle is poured over the fish, and we won’t, no, my mom won’t let us, have a morsel until Friday morning. Some in my family insist on having pickled fish for breakfast, lunch and supper. Not because we have to, but because we love it so much.
There is nothing better for people who have spent most of the day in church on Good Friday to get home and have a ready-made meal
Of course, here on the Cape Flats we eat our pickled fish with hot cross buns. I really thought that everyone eats pickle fish with hot cross buns, but not so.
Some of my white friends were beyond surprised when I said I couldn’t wait for my Good Friday breakfast. You see, they say hot cross buns are for eating at tea time.
I shrugged, “you don’t know what you missing”, I said confidently, already salivating at the thought of my mom’s home-made hot cross buns, dipped in the pickle, little mounds of onions and flaked fish spooned on to a spicy, fruity bun.
See the buns have some of the same spice as the pickle. A match made in heaven.
So on Wednesday night I am going to rush home to my mom to taste the pickle, watch her pour the golden mixture over the fried fish and walk down the road to my house, smelling the aroma of pickled fish coming from our neighbours’ houses.
l Johns is Cape Times news editor