It is raining and I feel misserable, wet and cold. What to make for supper?
And then I remember. . . other cold nights with feet, freezing cold and a nose that was even colder. Sitting around the table with my parents and siblings. The lamplight a soft yellow over everything and from somewhere a persistent draught that catches the back of my legs and leaving a cold trail behind, even though I have my school tights on underneath my 'langbroek' ... My hands around a porridge plate. . .My mother has just dished up - I remember -her 'Melkkos'.
Actually, the correct name, the one she grew up with, was 'Melksnysels' , meaning the flour was mixed with just enough water to form a compact dough. Then the dough is rolled out untill it is see-through-thin; dusted with enough flour on both sides to keep the sides from sticking together as it is tightly rolled into a cylinder. With the sharpest knife it is then THINLY sliced into rings and when all is done, these thin rings are dropped into the boiling milk , making sure that the rings stays apart as it quickly boils untill cooked. A few sticks of cinnemon and a few scoops of sugar - according to taste- and dished up as a first course on cold evenings
My mother was a no-nonsence lady and this whole process was stopped when she realized the compliments all around the table were not for the fineness of the 'snysels' or the correctness of each individual ring as it floated in the milk. All the time and frustration that went into the perfect executed 'snysels' and in preparing a meal fit for any connoisseur,but only good enough for her loving family , was overlooked. The 'Melksnysels' was appreciated for taste and quickly scooped into all those empty places that happen during a day's hard work on the farm.All that painstakingly correct 'snysels' and the time and effort put into seperating each individual ring- getting it to float in the correct consistancy. . - not WASTED, but even worse..-UNAPPRECIATED!
She improvised- to give the horde, eating the King's ransom, what they would appreciate - thus saving her more time. Time she spend with the children as they did homework, time she spend darning her husband's socks or baking or preserving fruits. Imrovised? Yes, An empty spice bottle. Making holes in the top with a nail and filling the bottle with water before putting the top back on. Next, a plate with flour on it. With one hand she would shake the water droplets onto the flour and with the other hand she would make sure the mix of the two would not cling , but stay apart like breadcrumbs. End result= 'frummels' :) The method stayed the same but the end result was more mushy.
We could not get enough of it -it was more substantial, and tasted sweeter and the smell . . !. We ate it like 'pap' and sometimes, with a full tummy, fell asleep at table. It became her speciality and I am sure, although we as children never realised it, it was a lifesaver through many cold nights when the cupboards were empty, except for flour and fresh milk from the kraal. We called it 'Melkkos', but for her it stayed a substitude The real deal was 'Melksnysels'
Even years later when we would visit with our families and ask for 'Melkkos' , she would remind us; "Actually, it is 'Melkfrummels' "
So , any guesses as to what's for supper?
Melkfrummels will fill me up, and maybe I will fall asleep on the coach in front of the TV. Most important is the filling up of all those empty places that happens during a life of hard work All the warmth of memories -companionship and love and caring - when taking time to remember, flood those caverns we have erected a barrier around - giving us the motivation needed so we can again lift up the banner of LOVE .
And then I remember. . . other cold nights with feet, freezing cold and a nose that was even colder. Sitting around the table with my parents and siblings. The lamplight a soft yellow over everything and from somewhere a persistent draught that catches the back of my legs and leaving a cold trail behind, even though I have my school tights on underneath my 'langbroek' ... My hands around a porridge plate. . .My mother has just dished up - I remember -her 'Melkkos'.
Actually, the correct name, the one she grew up with, was 'Melksnysels' , meaning the flour was mixed with just enough water to form a compact dough. Then the dough is rolled out untill it is see-through-thin; dusted with enough flour on both sides to keep the sides from sticking together as it is tightly rolled into a cylinder. With the sharpest knife it is then THINLY sliced into rings and when all is done, these thin rings are dropped into the boiling milk , making sure that the rings stays apart as it quickly boils untill cooked. A few sticks of cinnemon and a few scoops of sugar - according to taste- and dished up as a first course on cold evenings
My mother was a no-nonsence lady and this whole process was stopped when she realized the compliments all around the table were not for the fineness of the 'snysels' or the correctness of each individual ring as it floated in the milk. All the time and frustration that went into the perfect executed 'snysels' and in preparing a meal fit for any connoisseur,but only good enough for her loving family , was overlooked. The 'Melksnysels' was appreciated for taste and quickly scooped into all those empty places that happen during a day's hard work on the farm.All that painstakingly correct 'snysels' and the time and effort put into seperating each individual ring- getting it to float in the correct consistancy. . - not WASTED, but even worse..-UNAPPRECIATED!
She improvised- to give the horde, eating the King's ransom, what they would appreciate - thus saving her more time. Time she spend with the children as they did homework, time she spend darning her husband's socks or baking or preserving fruits. Imrovised? Yes, An empty spice bottle. Making holes in the top with a nail and filling the bottle with water before putting the top back on. Next, a plate with flour on it. With one hand she would shake the water droplets onto the flour and with the other hand she would make sure the mix of the two would not cling , but stay apart like breadcrumbs. End result= 'frummels' :) The method stayed the same but the end result was more mushy.
We could not get enough of it -it was more substantial, and tasted sweeter and the smell . . !. We ate it like 'pap' and sometimes, with a full tummy, fell asleep at table. It became her speciality and I am sure, although we as children never realised it, it was a lifesaver through many cold nights when the cupboards were empty, except for flour and fresh milk from the kraal. We called it 'Melkkos', but for her it stayed a substitude The real deal was 'Melksnysels'
Even years later when we would visit with our families and ask for 'Melkkos' , she would remind us; "Actually, it is 'Melkfrummels' "
So , any guesses as to what's for supper?
Melkfrummels will fill me up, and maybe I will fall asleep on the coach in front of the TV. Most important is the filling up of all those empty places that happens during a life of hard work All the warmth of memories -companionship and love and caring - when taking time to remember, flood those caverns we have erected a barrier around - giving us the motivation needed so we can again lift up the banner of LOVE .
