Cradock - Are barflies just drunks or is there something else going on?
If you were a young reporter in the 70s or 80s you learnt quickly that the news editor might have just come back from the pub, where he had, in short order, consumed two lagers and a brandy, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t able to do his job, and best you don’t chirp him. Oh, and meet your deadlines, and don’t get your facts wrong or forget to get opposing comment.
In today’s saccharine newsrooms this will be frowned upon (the drinking I mean, not the fact-checking), and I am not advocating that we encourage our newsroom elders to be drunk on duty, but it does illustrate the point that a barfly should not be presumed to be society’s flotsam or jetsam.
These were people I respected and who did great work. Like the veteran news editor (I will not name names for fear of reprisals) who would disappear for hours – every day – with the result that the rumour went round that he had two day jobs and that the people at his other job also wondered where he was when he wasn’t there.
Maybe he was just in the pub. We never did get that one answered. But boy do I respect that man. Not least for the fact that he enticed me out of my obscure shipping reporter beat into the newsroom and later urged me to learn to sub-edit – a skill which even today is my bread-and-butter and one I prize.
Then there was the crime reporter for whom drinking was a normal part of his every day, from around 10am which is when he’d nip out for the first of a series of beers that would – strangely – not seem to impede his work. He would, between beers, turn in several excellent crime stories which were no embarrassment to the sub-editors who would toil at night, themselves taking an hour’s break for a plate of cheap calamari and three or four drinks before returning to finish their shifts into the early hours of the morning.
As for those barflies, they’re people with stories and (until the drink has addled them, later on) they know how to tell them.
Barflies and hunks of meat or fowl have something in common. They can both be marinated, or soused – which is a less kind way of saying pretty much the same thing – although the result in the latter instance will be more palatable than the former.
Like Polly in Fawlty Towers, trying to explain to Basil Fawlty that the chef is drunk, without actually saying he’s drunk, it’s something generally avoided in polite company. That’s a piece of comedy writing genius: “He’s pickled… the shrimps. He’s soused… the herrings. He’s pickled the onions and he’s smashed the eggs in his cups under the table…”
The man is pickled, soused, smashed, is in his cups and is under the table. Or just internally marinated. And Basil has organised a gourmet night and everything is about to go horribly wrong.
Then again, what would life be without a little internal marination to offset the anxieties of a world that includes beheadings on television and all manner of disasters and atrocities, thanks to the blessing (and curse) of the flatscreen TV.
I’m staying, during the week, in a garden cottage in the grounds of a house whose occupants understand life and living. Everything is arranged around their lifestyle, which involves lots of good cooking and inviting friends around.
There must be a lot of marination going on in the kitchen, and I was inspired, at the end of a week of sub-editing at an Eastern Cape newspaper, and having made the journey back to our Karoo house in Cradock, to experiment with some marinades.
One was for chicken thighs, whose meat I prefer to the breast or drumstick. It has a pleasantly moist, smooth texture, is less bland than the breast meat, and braais well. The other was some lamb loin chops, cut thin, for very quick cooking on hot coals.
Chicken:
1 tsp each black mustard seeds, aniseed, cumin seeds
3cms piece of fresh ginger, very finely chopped
2 fat cloves garlic, finely chopped
3 Tbs sesame oil
2 Tbs peanut oil
2 Tbs lemon juice
Atlantic smoked sea salt to taste (or other exotic salt)
A drop of concentrated rose syrup (or 1 tsp of any other fruit-based syrup you have to hand)
Heat a flat pan on the stove top until it is a medium heat. Add the seeds and let their aromas release as they toast for a couple of minutes – not too hot. If they start to smoke, whip it off the heat.
Pour this into a bowl and add the other ingredients. Stir well and douse the chicken pieces in it. Marinate in the fridge, covered, for eight hours or so.
Lamb loin chops:
1/2 glass dry red wine
Juice of 1 lemon
3 Tbs balsamic vinegar
1 Tbs runny honey
1 garlic clove, chopped
1 small piece fresh ginger, chopped
Freshly ground black pepper to taste
Salt to taste
Combine all ingredients in a bowl, douse the chops, and marinade overnight.
The chicken pieces need 30 minutes on hot braai coals, turning very often. Dip them back in the marinade now and then.
The chops should be ready in less than five minutes, turning.
Weekend Argus