Chicken Korma and Yoga
Jan and Aarav’s house sits proudly next to the dairy farm, right at the start of the main street. The house also boasts one of the few thatched roofs in the village. The ornate whitewashed central gable is typical of the Cape Dutch architecture.
Their front garden is a dense jungle of tall overgrown grasses and exotic green shrubs. Given the average summer temperature, which can reach up to 50 C in Nieu Albertina, it is quite surprising that the garden has kept its vibrant green color. Most of the other gardens in the village are just a mishmash of dry shrubs, faded brown geraniums and suffering cacti.
The treatment space is one of the rooms that open onto the covered porch. Several framed certificates on the wall confirm Jan’s illustrious status as certified reflexologist and RIFE consultant. The room smells of herbs and spices. The heavy waft of incense mingles with distinct Indian aromatic cooking scents. The decor is a mix of bohemian and ‘buddha’ inspiration, wild patterned textiles covering large parts of the wall. Slightly faded vintage posters displaying lusciously exotic landscapes complete the African Nirvana feeling.
‘Aarav, my partner is cooking us a small lunch if this is ok with you’, Jan says. ‘When I told him that you were coming for a treatment, he could not resist getting his chef’s apron back on, just like in the old days when he would cook for our guests.’
‘He shouldn’t have’, I quickly reply without much conviction in my voice. ‘But I would be very honoured to taste some of his dishes’, I quickly add.
I was told to wear ‘pure fabrics’, so I swapped my polyester shirt for a freshly ironed cotton T-shirt to complement my shorts. I settle on the soft treatment table and Jan starts tackling my painful right foot. He expertly tests the flexibility of my ankle. He hands me two metal rods connected to a panel with switches.
‘Those are the RIFE rods, they will neutralise your negative energy’, Jan explains.
‘Of course’, I reply, as if I had a pair at home.
I hold a rod in each hand while Jan vigorously works away on the sprained ankle. The electrical discharge from the rods works its way right down to my sore foot muscles.
'Do you have problems sleeping too?’, Jan asks. I pretend that I don’t have any sleeping problems or any existential issues to hasten the treatment. Just the idea of having to wait for a feast of Indian dishes laid out like jewels makes me want to skip any treatment.
A large and long groan emanates from my stomach area. ‘And I can hear that you also have some digestive issues’, Jan nods to himself.
Just as my hunger starts getting the better of me, the RIFE rods peep three times, signaling the end of their pulsating madness.
More rubbing and stretching for what seems an eternity. I try to visualise the dishes being prepared by concentrating on the smells coming from inside the house. A frying noise adds to the culinary experience and my mind is now firmly on fried chicken wings, garlic shoots and lovely tender naan bread.
‘Well, I think that is enough prodding for today’, Jan says and takes the rods from my hands. He hands me a glass of tepid green tea and tells me to keep still for another 5 minutes. Now that the treatment is over, I do feel quite comfortable and relaxed. I am not totally convinced of the effectiveness of all this, but after all I consented to an intense three-day course, so I will stick to it.
Jan comes back and gently puts his hand on my right shoulder, ‘whenever you feel ready, we can go to the kitchen’, he says. At last! I jump up and follow him barefoot through corridors and hallways to the back of the house into the brightly lit dining room. Surprisingly, my painful ankle feels like a distant memory.
…
Large windows give out to a back garden which is even more luscious than the front yard. The kitchen dining room is an exotic mix of baroque-looking furniture, big mirrors, and burgundy red wallpaper.
A warm and comfortable smell oozes from the myriad of small, lidded pots and bowls on the grand-looking kitchen table. The setup resembles a fine Indian banquet, including old bone China dishes and teacups. Extravagant water glasses and a steaming tea pot in the shape of a cigar smoking bullfighter complete the display.
I shake Aarav’s hand and compliment him on his wonderful presentation. Aarav seems a bit younger than Jan. ‘Oh well’, Aarav replies, ‘it’s great to get the chance to cook like this again, I sometimes miss the good old days at the restaurant’.
I take my seat at the head of the table and look around at the colourful dishes like a child on a Christmas morning. 'Where do I start?’, I ask Aarav, humbled by my knowledge of Indian dishes, shamefully limited to Kormas and Tandooris. 'Well, I have prepared some vegetarian dishes, as we don’t eat any meat or fish. I also left out all dairy products. We avoid all toxins in our food, so I don’t use anything that isn’t pure. No eggs, nor starch nor honey and obviously no carbs. We also don’t like coconut milk or bread. We really want to have a healthier, holistic and sustainable lifestyle’, he adds.
My expectation level drops to the floor. I was so looking forward to a gut-filling lunch of soft butter chicken with thick dark gravy, or some tender beef in a korma sauce with a plate of saffron rice sprinkled with toasted almonds.
'But I made you a special dish if you crave coconut milk’. He dismissively points to a small bowl at the far end of the table. ‘O good!’, I exclaim and reach out for my last hope of a fulfilling lunch.
‘So, are you a chef?’, Aarav asks while helping himself to a watery red sauce with lentils. I reassure Aarav that I am neither a chef nor a writer, but that I intend to write my very first cookbook as a personal project during my 3 month stay in the country.
A strong disapproving glance hits me across the table.
‘Well, it actually took me about 20 years to reach this level’, he replies and waves his hand over the displayed dishes as if he was blessing them. ‘Flavours reflect experiences, don’t they. The smell of these dishes reminds me of my childhood in Goa.’
‘Well, you are right, I also think food is a lot more than just cooking’, I reply. ‘It’s about so much more, it’s also a social, cultural and even artistic moment for me’.
I try to find a morsel of bread, to no avail.
'Why don’t you try some of these turmeric kidney beans’, Jan asks and puts some on the side of my plate. I can taste the turmeric, but I can’t really make out what else is in it. It’s either celery or courgette but it all tastes very watery. The kidney beans are cold and have a strong salty flavour.
I try to tell them convincingly that it is absolutely delicious while scanning the table for something more comforting.
'I actually supply the dairy farm next door with a range of my ready-made dishes.’, Aarav proudly announces. ‘They sell like hot cakes in the shop’, he adds.
The cake metaphor doesn’t seem adequate, so I ask him which dishes he sells.
‘O just some Tandoori and Korma dishes, you know, food for the masses’, he shakes his head. My disappointment grows even further. I am trying not to scream. I am one of to the masses as well, so why am I not getting any Korma?
‘O dear’, Jan jumps up and looks at his watch. ‘I have a zoom yoga class with London in just 10 minutes, and you have a Zoom meditation class with Nairobi in 5!’. ‘Oh bugger, where did the time just go?’, Aarav replies in a fluster.
‘We are so sorry, but we must run. Let us make you some doggy bags so that you can take the food home with you and then tell us what you think’, Jan hastily grabs some plastic tubs from one of the kitchen cupboards, quickly fills them, piles them up in a high stack and hands them over to me.
I retrieve my slippers from the floor of the treatment room with my free hand while balancing the pile of food. A few seconds later I stand next to my car, open the trunk and shove in my valuable load with a sigh of relief.
I drive home to my little house on the dust road, lovingly glancing at the brown geraniums and dried up cacti in my front garden. I hungrily sit at my plain kitchen table and vigorously tuck into yesterday’s pasta with meat sauce. I feel blessed and comforted.
(all copyright E. Sohl - Illustration: Nirina- Editor: C. Hommez)
