Door 8

Today is the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. When I was at school, we were all big supporters of this Feast because we got a day off school. Now that I'm not at school, December 8th always makes me think of my mother. This is not because she was a supporter of the idea of Immaculate Conception but because of the gentle irony in her voice as she explained to me that, in their wisdom, the men responsible for allocating such feasts had decided to put Immaculate Conception and Mary's birthday exactly 9 months apart. Same with the Annunciation and Christmas. (By the way, with that Ancestral Teaching Tradition behind me, I can't resist the opportunity to correct a commonly-held belief. Immaculate Conception doesn't refer to Jesus's conception but to Mary's.)

But for all of that, perhaps December 8th can and should be a day to celebrate motherhood. So I'd like to celebrate my mother - and this picture is one of my favourites of the two of us together. I think it illustrates the fact that, no matter how old you are, your mother never stops mothering you - in the best sense of the word.

Sleepy Stellenbosch

On Saturday morning, I went with two lovely ladies, Angela and Sarah, to Stellenbosch. Although only about 40 minutes drive from Cape Town, Stellenbosch feels like it’s on a different planet. Imagine a pretty Dutch town transplanted in the African bush and you’re getting there – but you have to blend it with some colonial architecture and a dash of old world conservatism.

We went to the opening of a retrospective of work by a South African artist called Erik Laubscher. I confess to you my brothers and sisters that I had never heard of him before, but he’s one of the foremost living South African artists. Here’s a clue as to the level of his fame: the exhibition was opened by F. W. De Klerk.

I liked his early slightly-abstracted still lives the best, but all of the work was interesting – and I particularly loved his distinctive colour palette. I also fell in love with the library of the gallery:

It was a very civilised way to pass a Saturday morning: drinking mimosas (great catering! The finger food was a sight to see) and looking at art. The crowd, though, was very different to what I’ve seen in Cape Town galleries. More suits. More beards (a few that reminded me of the Amish farmers’ beards in Witness – do you know what I mean? No moustache, and kind of low down on the jaw.) More Afrikaans spoken. In fact, mostly Afrikaans spoken.

(As an aside, it's interesting to me to note that among other South Africans - white English speakers, black and coloured South Africans - white Afrikaans speakers are spoken of with a certain amount of disdain. Quite a lot of disdain. And usually a curling of the lip and wrinkling of the nose that implies ... I don't know what exactly. At best that they're a bit ... different. At worst, that they're red-neck throwbacks. Not that the latter was in evidence in Saturday. Anyway, just thought I'd throw that anthropological observation into the mix.)

Afterwards we walked around the very quiet town – asleep in the hot summer sun.

Door 7

I've been thinking about Aix the last couple of days - what a lovely town, with so many fountains. Here are Maire Aine and Dave in front of one - just beside the best pizzeria in town, Chez Jo.

Eithne/Elizabeth

Yesterday evening I did a quintessential lone traveller thing: I went to the cinema by myself. This isn’t a cry for help – I was passing a cinema; there was a film I wanted to see; the friend I called last-minute-spur-of-the-moment wasn’t able to make it; I decided to go anyway.

The film in question was Julie and Julia. It’s about Julia Child, the American cookery writer, and Julie Powell, who decided to cook every recipe in Child’s seminal work Mastering the Art of French Cooking in one year and blog about it in the Julie/Julia Project.

I’d read both the memoirs the film was based on and was curious to see the film. It’s not a film for the ages, but it was fun in the way leafing through a nice glossy magazine full of yummy food is fun. I especially liked looking at all of the kitchens and kitchen equipment featured.

On the way home I thought about cooking and blogging – and wondered why I hadn’t been cooking more in Cape Town.

This is a large part of the reason why:

The kitchen of the Little Yellow House is small, and the equipment limited. The gas burners are temperamental and I burn my fingers every time I try to light them. They also have a bad habit of blowing themselves out when they’re on low.

But on the evening in question I felt the urge to cook something and write about it. I didn’t grow up with Julia Child so don’t feel the same affinity towards her that Julie did. But I have read a lot of Elizabeth David who first influenced my mother and then me. (Rattdl feel free to comment/correct!) Elizabeth David famously described the perfection of an omelette and a glass of wine. So I decided to make an omelette.

I lit the stove for the first time. (Singed fingers slightly). Put quite an obscene amount of butter in a frying pan. Beat two eggs for just a few seconds and poured into the pan. Shook the eggs in the pan. Turned the pan down a little. Went to the fridge to get some rocket. Came back and realised the stove had gone out. Lit it again. (Singed fingers again.) Tried and failed to flip omelette so had to turn it with a wooden spoon, a poor stand in for a spatula. Seasoned with lots of pepper and a little salt. Served with rocket, over which I sprinkled a little balsamic vinegar and olive oil. Despite everything, it was delicious.

The only sad part was that I had no wine, only water. If you were wondering whether there was going to be a hint today, here it is: in South Africa, buy your wine before 5pm on Saturdays, because there are few places where you can buy alcohol on Saturday evenings and Sundays.

Door 6

My Room

I was going to post this yesterday, but had a busy, busy day and lousy internet connections all evening.

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If you’ve been wondering what the little yellow house looks like inside, then wonder no more.

Here’s a guided tour of my room:

From the doorway: (By the way, when I first moved in the curtains were a horrible green and yellow print. I turned them around so that only the lining shows – with the landlord’s approval, I hasten to add.)

The bed:

The worktable:

The inspiration wall:

Door 5

Door 5's picture was taken in Paris - this shop sign caught my eye down a little side street.