From the Ocean An Italian I knew once told me it was impossible to make the kind of shoes here in South Africa to compare with those in Italy. The quality just wasn’t the same. He had come to South Africa and had started a shoe manufacturing company in Cape Town. Where possible, he employed Italians who understood the art of working with leather. He imported leather from Italy, finding the local leather not to his liking. He did, as far as he could, everything to reproduce conditions in Italy and yet found it was was not the same. He was unable to produce the classic Italian shoe that had made them world famous, for example Gucci, which has become the champagne of Italian designer footwear. What he had managed to produce, according to him, was quite satisfactory, of course but .... I could see he had given this matter a great deal of thought, and he went on to explain, somewhat lugubriously, that it was impossible to recreate an Italian village. And it was in this Italian village where, for generations they’d worked with leather, the magic happens. This was interesting. I did not fully understand what he meant at the time, but I recalled his words recently when I read what some of the famous writers had to say about the legendary Bouillabaisse. Each one of them conceded that it was impossible to successfully recapture the Bouillabaisse one enjoyed in the city that created it, Marseilles. This was due to the fact that the Mediterranean produces such a variety of small fish which are necessary for the rich variety of flavours in a Bouillabaisse. Floyd writes: “And certainly I agree that it is hard to recapture the scent of the hot Marseilles streets, the whiff of petrol and Gauloises that waft around you as you sit under a blue bâche on the freshly washed terrace of a neat restaurant humming with controlled hysteria and excitement.” Perhaps he is right; perhaps a Bouillabaisse is inextricably linked to the shores of the Mediterranean, and that, if one were to follow this line of thought, Japanese flower arrangement can only be executed successfully in Japan, Ndebele art by the Ndebele, and that these skills are inextricably linked to ambience of place and that skill is not merely mechanical. It would also suggest that a skill handed down from one generation to the next cannot be simulated. As Curnonsky said, ‘A great dish is the master achievement of countless generations. What then, does South Africa have to offer the avid fish lover? The answer can best be found in the following story, told to me by the owner of the Ahoy Tavern in Paternoster. Some German tourists arrived at Paternoster, the quaint little fishing village on the West Coast. They stayed at the hotel but took almost all of their meals in the Ahoy Tavern. The local fishermen, who had been given boats when the large fishing fleets were acquired by the fishing company, kept the Ahoy Tavern supplied with fresh fish which they caught so that, without fail, ‘fish & chips’ was included in the daily menu. And this was all the Germans ever ordered, fish & chips. Sometimes they came in twice on the same day and ordered fish & chips. One day the owner asked them why they only ordered fish & chips. One of them, who’s English was fluent, explained that where he lived, which was on the coast in Germany, you could only buy one kind of fresh fish, a fish that looks a bit like a small shark and has white tasteless flesh. But years ago you could find every conceivable kind of fish there,including lobster. But now there was only this tasteless fish left. The owner of the Ahoy Tavern enquired why this was so. “It’s not a very wide strait,’ the gentleman explained. “And about every half an hour or so a ferry crosses the straits. The water is so polluted it drove all the fish away .... They all went away. Except this tasteless fish, who stayed. And that is all we get to eat.” Today, the Mediterranean waters have been overfished and its waters polluted. The result is that fish that have been shock frozen is imported from other countries. South Africans are lucky in this respect. The waters are clean and fish thrive, and there is sufficient variety to produce delectable fish dishes, especially those caught in the cold waters of the Atlantic, where fish tend to be smaller and, consequently, tastier. What’s more, here, in South Africa, the legendary Bouillabaisse is inexpensive to prepare yourself if you dispense with crayfish, and it remains within the reach of most. In her book, French Provincial Cooking, Elizabeth David, who is one of my favourite food writers, quotes a wonderful passage from Paul Alexis, in which he remembers the time he went fishing. It could serve as a rough guideline to the preparation of this dish, but is also delightful to read. Paul Alexis recounts how the old sea wolf Bauzan and he gathered the slippery eels, the little tiny crabs, and of course the red mullet and gunnard and grey mullet and other rock-fish. On the shore, with the Mistral blowing, Madame Bauzan had already prepared a wood fire upon which was placed a huge cauldron, and to which had been added a litre of olive oil. There followed of course the onions, the garlic, salt and pepper, tomatoes, potatoes and, most important, the saffron. The secret of a Bouillabaisse lies in fish in a great variety, preferably small fish, good olive oil and top quality saffron. All experts seem to agree that the vigorous boiling of the water is crucial, for this binds the broth, which is essential to the success of a Bouillabaisse. The lovely golden coloured broth, the bouillon is delicious. Sometimes I prepare a simple version of this, merely to remind myself of this pleasure. The colour is something to behold, and when you sprinkle freshly chopped parsley over, it is pleasing to the eye. The colours perfectly complement one another, and are in perfect balance. All that remains is to dunk a piece of crisp French bread into the broth, to pour a glass of chilled white wine, and to enjoy. Robert Carrier suggests that one should feel free to use red wine with fish, both in the cooking and the drinking, and that this convention of ‘white wine with fish’ is nonsense. Whilst I am in favour of relaxing restraints when it comes to culinary conventions - if they are stifling and diminish the enjoyment of food, I cannot agree with this on the simple grounds that we live in a country with hot summers. On hot days one’s whole being calls out, as it were, for a white wine that has been chilled, and I cannot imagine it otherwise. I enjoy a Riesling with a Bouillabaisse, or even just a simple fish soup, and when having to choose a wine, I invariably select Theuniskraal Riesling. Apart from its quality, which has remained consistent over the years, this was the first Riesling I every had. It was under the stars, and on the sands of the West Coast. The Theuniskraal, which had miraculously appeared from the rucksack of that fine gentleman and *Lebenskünstler*, Piet van Zyl, had been cooled in the wet sand and with the cold waters of the Atlantic washing over it, it was icy cold. But that is another story. Suffice it to say that it was unforgettable under the stars, with the freshly caught copper bream grilling on the coals. Sipping a Theuniskraal, I am perhaps trying to recreate those moments. Wine, for me at least, is often linked to experiences, to - if you like - the ambience of place and friends. - Back -    - Menu -    - Contact -