Cradock – Rubarb rhubarb, as actors are wont to repeat when no specific lines are called for, but the hum of conversation needs to be present.
The convention is also useful when you’re in a crowd, a train, a bus, a restaurant or a bar, and someone appears to be eavesdropping on your conversation. But it can become a tad tiresome if the listening-in continues.
It’s also a handy fallback when you’ve moved to a new town and – if you’ve come from the city – either believe or imagine that you’re being overheard, talked about, or observed. You’re new, you’re other, and it’s human nature to scrutinise the new kid in class and see how he’s going to shape up.
I was born and brought up in a ridiculously small town, so I understand the practice intrinsically. You don’t survive Oranjemund without having learnt a thing or two about parochial attitudes.
Awkward word, that. It has a ring of condescension about it, yet it fits perfectly. I caused many a raised eyebrow when, while living in staid old Chichester in plummy West Sussex, I remarked that some of the local attitudes were a tad parochial. Not an insult that went down very well.
Chichester is not all that small as towns go. It is in fact the West Sussex county town, akin to our municipal centres. The seat of local government. The county capital if you like.
When I took a newspaper job there, I was at first a curiosity, a “sub-Saharan” as my editor liked to say, and some of my new colleagues seemed surprised that I could actually speak, write and even sub-edit English properly.
All you have to do, in a new town or job, is be who you are, do what you do best, and the approval will come. It’s not unreasonable to have to earn it, and you feel like a million dollars when they realise you’re okay and, in your own way, just like them.
Cradock is also the seat of local government and home to local government departments including Labour and Home Affairs. One up, then, on that other small town we once lived in, Sutherland. For any Labour Department bureaucracy we had to drive the perilous gravel and crater road to Calvinia in the Hantam Karoo.
We had friends there who wore a lot of black and whose jeans and T-shirts were always decorated with splashes of paint from the film set decorating they did. Once their children started attending the local school, the word got out: Satanists had moved into the house in Jubilee Street, and it would be wise to keep an eye on their children. Such BS. They were just an artistic couple with their own way of life..
Cradock is far bigger than both Sutherland and Oranjemund, though a little smaller than Chichester. A good friend, who struggled at first to settle in when he first moved here eight years ago, gave us sage advice soon after we arrived in town. “You have to create your own bubble and live in it. That’s how to survive in a small town.”
The bubble we’re building houses our bistro, our new house, our cats, the wonderful friends we have made here, and a growing customer base of people who seem to like us and want us to succeed.
We’ve been astonished at the level of acceptance, even if there may be a small percentage who might like to burst the bubble. That’s expected, and they’re best ignored.
For them I have come up with a recipe to contend with the minority who might like to burst a bubble. I shall put them in a tart and bake them at 180°C until golden and crisp, and serve them in slices with lashings of vanilla-infused cream.
Here’s my recipe:
Rhubarb rhubarb crumble
For the pastry and crumble:
125g butter
1/2 cup sugar
1 egg
1 and a half tsp vanilla essence
2 cups flour
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
Filling
1 cup water
1 cup sugar
1 tsp ground ginger
1/2 tsp salt
2 Tbs whisky, brandy or rum
4 Tbs runny honey
Enough rhubarb to fill your pie dish, cut into 1.5cm dice
2 large eggs,whisked
For the pastry, cream butter and sugar and add the egg and vanilla essence. Sift flour, baking powder and salt and add slowly to the mixture. Press half to two-thirds of the dough into a greased dish, and prick holes in the base.
For the filling, dissolve the sugar in the water over a medium heat and reduce by half. Add the ground ginger, salt, whisky and honey. Add diced rhubarb and simmer for five to seven minutes. Leave to cool to room temperature, at least half an hour.
Beat the eggs and fold into the rhubarb mix thoroughly. Spoon into the pastry base and sprinkle the remaining dough over the top, rubbing it between your fingers.
Bake in a 180°C oven for up to half an hour. It may be ready in 25 minutes, so keep an eye on it. It needs to be golden. like good friends and loyal customers.
Weekend Argus