This Living Business: Striving, Surviving, Thriving

 I used to think that I was moderately independent, and that I had learnt to look after myself. Ha! It was only when I was alone in the Zululand Backpackers that I realised I have never once had to truly make everything happen for myself. Just washing my clothes! I found it ridiculously daunting the first time I had to tackle the (old and eccentric) washing machine, spin dryer and washing line. Ironing can go hang.
 But it's when it comes to feeding myself that the true battle begins. For the first day or two I survived on instant meals. I read on the back of the Knorr 'just-add-water' powdered soup packet that it: 1) is fast, 2) comes in many different flavours, 3) is useful to thicken a stew and 4) keeps you warm. Well, at least it's honest. It never claimed to give me any sort of nutritional value.

 I was determined I could at least pay my body more respect than that. So I dusted down the pile of 'Australian Womens' Weekly' magazines in the corner of the kitchen, found their 'Best Recipes Ever!' edition, and painstakingly made a list (I mean, Mind Map) of the required ingredients for my chosen dishes. I tackled the foreign supermarkets all by myself, washed, chopped, and peeled and in a mere two hours' solid work had cooked a bowl of delicious curried-pea soup. It blew Knorr right out of the water.
 That whole week I stuck to my planned recipes. I had another success (tomato sauce from scratch for my pasta) and one failure - baked potato with baked beans. (I know, it's ridiculous. How can you possibly go wrong with baking a potato and opening a can of beans? Well, the can-opener fell apart in my hands, and I cooked the potato until it was a wizened dry shell.)
 By the end of the week I felt victorious and exhausted. I never realised before how much effort it takes to cook healthy stuff every night. And although I was glad no-one was peering over my shoulder during my novice attempts, I was sick of laying the table for one and not sharing the glory of my tasty food. I decided maybe independence doesn't mean working it all out yourself. I needed some teachers.
 My Professor of Traditional Zulu Cuisine is Gladys, the cleaning lady. My Advisor Jabu had helped me to buy a sack of maize flour and some sour milk. Yesterday Gladys showed me the correct way to make 'maas'. The first step was to boil my maize flour to make puthu, the Zulus' staple accompaniment to any bean stew. Every couple of minutes she lifted the lid of the saucepan and mixed the puthu with a wooden stick. 'It's finish when you can taste no flour, you know, no powder. You see? You try? That's ready. No powder now. Very quick. More quick than rice.' After that it was simply a matter of cooling the puthu in a shallow bowl, then pouring the sour milk all over it. Maas tasted a bit like a sour rice pudding.
 For the more familiar European foods, enter Head Chef Peter the Artist. He's brusque and impatient to get things done, but more than willing to instruct me in the subtleties and secrets of creating brilliant flavours. He learnt his craft while sailing for six months at a time and having the job of feeding twenty-five crew members. In that sort of situation you can't just pop out to buy a loaf of bread. So he experimented until he could get the same result as fast-food using basic ingredients.
 Today he taught me the basic vegetarian bolognaise sauce. 'Aubergine is the vegetarian mincemeat,' he pronounced as he strode around the supermarket. I dodged the other customers as I tried to keep up with him. 'Ah, and celery! You don't put herbs in a bolognaise sauce, Sal,' he said seriously. 'Celery leaves are all you need.'

Peter (left) and Graham cooking :o)

 After two hours of simmering at a low heat, and the addition of three glasses of red wine, we had an enormous vat of stew, sending out enticing wafts right through the Backpackers'. We invited Graham too (he did pay for the wine) and had a proper evening of it, the two men setting Africa to rights by talking and drinking alcohol. The spaghetti was delicious, and there's plenty sauce left to make lasagne with tomorrow.
 Now that, I thought, is more like it. I'll get the hang of this living business yet.