Tastes-like-home cooking in the Mother City.
When asked, I always say I moved out of the house when I was 17. Though I was in boarding school since the age of 12, I still came back to what I considered home, over school holidays. Once I matriculated, however, there was a noticeable shift in what I considered 'home' to be. I spent a lot of my university vacations with my father in Johannesburg, and took weekends off at my mother's house in the Eastern Cape. But that's what they were - my mother's and father's houses.
Though there was always a warm bed waiting and a hot shower ready for me to hop into, the space did feel different.
Moving out isn't easy. Once you leave the proverbial nest your family has created, a home-shaped hole is often what's left. Until you put down your own roots, find a place to stow away your suitcase and a cup to place your tooth brush in, you don't really feel at home anywhere.
That changed when I walked by Pitso's Kitchen.
It is a pleasant Saturday morning. My friends and I were wander through Neighbourgoods Market at the Old Biscuit Mill.
We'd lazied through the same lanes of food stalls numerous times before, but for some reason, on this particular Saturday, I have an appetite for nostalgia.
Anyone who's ever had homemade bread, whether baked in the oven or steamed in a pot, knows the distinct sweetness that lingers from the bread being baked with love. I hadn't seen my parents in months and I just wanted to taste home.
I stop at Pitso's Kitchen for a plate of Mogudu (tripe) and steamed bread. Because of my Xhosa/Zulu genealogy, I ask for ulusu, but the hospitable staff behind the counter know exactly what I mean.
With plate in hand, I become a child again. Like the seven-year old who'd race to the kitchen for this meaty breakfast, I completely disregard the cutlery I am offered and use the thick slice of steamed bread as my spoon. Greedily, I funnel generous mouthfuls of the tender mutton into my mouth. The meat itself is very difficult to season but the spicy stew it comes in more than made up for that. I taste salt, origanum, parsley, and a South African favourite, Aromat. The accompanying chakalaka- a pickled vegetable salad that packs a punch, and is best served warm - is the best I'd ever tasted (sorry mom).
I forget where I am for the 16 minutes it takes me to wolf down the hearty helping of traditional grub. I didn't waited to sit down. I look down to see my poor shirt is decorated with the shrapnel of my frenzied feast. I wipe my mouth in shameless glee, hand what was left of my plate to the appreciative staff behind the counter and go on my merry way.
Pitso's Kicthen is a breath of familiar air in a city saturated with foreign, though fabulous, food. If you want a taste of iizilali (rural homelands) Pitso will happily whip something up in her kitchen.
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Are you a sucker for a good food market? Check out my review of Johannesburg-based Fourways Farmers Market or read about my experience at the Maputo Fish Market.
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