Spicy Butternut squash Soup with Yogurt and Coriander Raita

Spicy Butternut Soup with Coriander Raita

Last night we went to see Jersey Boys - which is a show about Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons - with all their hits being performed of course! Lots of fun and fantastic 50s costumes.

It was the last show to be performed this season at the Artscape in Cape Town and it was only after much uhm-ing and ah-ing that we finally found ourselves in the Computicket queue in Checkers to purchase tickets. We had missed getting any of the good cheaper seats but such was our commitment to see the show now that we moved up a tier (on the pricing).

When it came round to dinner on Sunday evening, we were on a bit of a budget and besides, having played tennis most of the afternoon, there was no time to get ready and then still to go for dinner before the play. As anyone who has tried to go somewhere for dinner before a movie / play / show / opera / concert, can attest, that if you do not set aside at least 2 hours at any given restaurant, even if you are planning on having the Gazpacho, everything including the bill will take far too long to arrive. There will not be any languid conversation and enjoyment of food. Instead there will be a great deal of anxious looking at watches, stilted conversation as each party thinks about how to interrupt the time-space continuum in order not to miss the first act and gnashing of teeth. After a great deal of forced politeness with the waitress as she offers dessert and coffees and loiters around the waiters station, and then only eventually brings the bill, there will be a mad rush for the door and then the theater.

After show eating is, though, also somewhat a difficult. Agnes Jekyll's "A little dinner before the play", while I dote on her advice on eating in all situations, does have a rather extensive menu planned to eat before going to the theater. A little dinner, in other words is not so little in her books. At least not by modern standards.  One doesn't want to be eating anything too heavy as it will probably be a little on the late side. Yet there is the probability that having had to wait for dinner - if you are sensible you may have sneaked in a quick piece of toast with jam - will make one reasonably hungry. Anything too rich will keep you awake so meat is best avoided.

This is where the humble butternut - that South African squash that only the last ten years has made its gloriously and radiant orange flesh known to the rest of the world - comes in.

But if I may remove one from the world of charted maps and exotic locations, or if my mentioning of the rest of the world too brief and I left you coming out of the theater with your tummy rumbling slightly, I just want to whisk you back to the Computicket queue in the supermarket.

Having dispensed with our shekels on the more expensive tickets I posed this question: "So what budget do we have for dinner?"
"Thirty rand," came the reply, at which I eyed Christopher incredulously.
"Fine," I answered, because I'm the kind of person that likes a challenge.

Now, perhaps I should explain something here. It is still the early days of our relationship. But even if they weren't early days, since I consider myself a gourmand, my pride demands that cooking exquisite meals forms part of establishing my reputation in this relationship. But every urban princess, who would like to present their current beaux with delicious delicacies, when they are not being wined and dined by said beau themselves, have to be practical where there is a budget that has to be respected.

My tour of the supermarket done, I met up with Christopher who can abide any type of shopping except food shopping, and informed him that we would be having butternut soup for dinner.

I knew the look that I would get. It was a skeptical look. Men who are almost 2 metres tall never think that soup is a meal so much as a starter. I'd also been informed of this fact when, much to his credit, Christopher had brought me soup when I was ill for about two weeks running. The conversation went something along the lines of:
HIM: You really like your soup.
ME (with enthusiasm): Yes, soup is delicious and so nutritious!
HIM (without enthusiasm): I didn't like it when my mother made soup. I ate it. But I didn't like it.

So that is how I knew what kind of enthusiasm (or the lack thereof) the dinner plans for that evening would be met. He did manage a "that's great," though. The lack of complaining was noted.

When we got home we fell to making the soup. Since we would only eat it after the show, a three or four hour time lapse did everything to enhance its flavour.

Ingredients
Soup
1 tbsp Sesame seed oil
1tsp coriander seeds
1tsp fennel seeds
1 largish french shallot
1 celery stalk with leaves
1 clove garlic
fresh ginger
1/2 red chili (optional)
600g butternut
1/4 cup port
1 tblsp white wine vinegar
1 L chicken stock
Salt and black pepper to taste

Raita
4 generous tblsp plain white yogurt
1 handful fresh coriander
1/2 lemon zest
juice

A smattering of flaxseed oil for the top of the soup

Fresh white loaf

In a heavy bottomed saucepan, heat a tablespoon of sesame oil. Add a teaspoon of coriander and fennel seeds. Allow them to fry until they pop. Reduce the heat.

Then add a finely chopped banana shallot, a clove of finely chopped garlic, a centimetre thick piece of grated ginger and a stalk and the leaves of celery (also finely chopped). If your tastes tend towards enjoying the very hot, you can add half a red chili - but the ginger will already give it a bit of sting. Saute until the onion is translucent and be careful not to burn the garlic.

Add the butternut (approx 600g) that has been peeled with the seeds removed and diced. Add a good few twists of freshly cracked sea salt and black pepper. Fry over a medium heat for about 3 or 4 minutes. Then increase the heat.

Add a quarter cup of red port and a dessert spoon of white wine vinegar and let it cook off for a minute or two. Then add a litre of chicken stock to cover the butternut. Cover and reduce to a slow heat. In the meantime, peel and core a sweet red apple. Cut into pieces and add to the pot.

Allow to simmer for 20-30 minutes. (If you have the time, allow it to sit for a couple of hours).

Zap with a blender until smooth.

Reheat.

While the soup is reheating, toss a nice, Portuguese white loaf in the oven to crisp up. Also this is a good time to make the raita. In a small bowl, spoon in four tablespoons of white yogurt. Add a decent handful of  fresh coriander that has been washed and chopped up. Add salt and pepper to taste and lastly the zest of half a lemon. Add a few drops of lemon juice if you wish and then mix.

When the soup has been reheated, dish out into bowls and add the raita on top. Serve with the freshly warmed bread.

Some nice wine suggestions would be a nicely chilled Riesling or Viognier. You could go for a creamy Chardonnay if your tastes tend towards something richer for winter. If your tastes tend towards a red, I would suggest a light Pinot Noir or a light red blend that displays the spiceyness of a Shiraz.

A little Tuesday dinner at Bizerca Bistro

An odd name to choose for a restaurant, but the evening did turn out to be a little on the odd side, so I guess that that was fitting then.

I was delighted to be picked up for the evening even though my companion's driver was evidently off that night and because he stayed almost adjacent to the restaurant, was told that I was lucky to get a lift. None-the-less, I could live with this considering he was a fellow gourmand who had wooed me into giving him my number with rose water-flavoured promises of an eight course tasting menu at Cellars-Hohenort's Greenhouse.


There was a big walk going on in Cape Town central that held up the traffic and which seemed to complicate parking arrangements. These were eventually reached after circumventing the venue, via Heerengracht Traffic circle... and then through the Adderly street circle because we couldn't get around the first, driving through a police barrier (kindly moved aside by a bergie) and then reversing 100 m down Hans Strijdom Avenue (happily not busy because I assume that the barrier that we had driven through, had now been replaced by an official. I fear that this was something of an oddity for my companion, who is a Joburger and who assumes that one always parks at a venue and not near it.

But, the bistro was just down the road and my heels, high but sensible (as a seasoned Capetionian, I am accustomed to find the first available parking within 500m and then walking to my destination)  were up for the little stroll down to Tilbugh square, where we found ourselves at Bizerca.

The  restaurant is elegant and we were lavishly welcomed by the host in French as we were swept inside and taken to our table.

Starters and mains were chalked on blackboards but we were given the seasonal menu as well. The asparagus with prawns and hollandaise sauce immediately caught my attention. I was in for a treat I thought smugly.

The wine selection is excellent, though don't expect a sauvignon blanc or a wooded chardonnay by the glass.

None the less, the waiter waxed lyrical about the hollandiase sauce pairing with the viognier, which was slightly more on the melted butter side and less on the sauce side and not all together that tasty. And then there were little cubes of tart tomato which I snobbishly ignored and left on my plate. The viognier which the waiter recommended was excellent and a beautiful honey colour, but not with the starter where it became overly acidic. The unwooded chardonnay, whcih was more acidic at first might have mellowed out and proved better at pulling the dish through, especially with the tomato. (Which might have been nice if they were boiled in cream. I can't really comment on the prawns in the dish since they were hardly there.

My companion's veal tongue looked very interesting, but I wasn't sure if it was beyond the boundries of politesse to ask for a taste. He was definitely enjoying it so I didn't want to interrupt.

The courses were well paced and there was a great deal of chit-chat and laughing, as we talked of travel and art and, well, food like old friends.

The main course however was superb! The beef bourguignon was delicious and the malbec which we had with it complemented it superbly! The beef was tender and the little mushrooms, onions, carrots and potatoes that attended the beef were all cooked to perfection. I have to say that I could not leave any of it behind. I did briefly consider mopping up the sauce with a bit of bread but then my companion did that for me.

And how could I deny him the pleasure of tasting that delicious sauce?

Dessert was a surprise as the berry panacotta trifle came in a martini glass. Quite pleasantly it came with an aside of berry sorbet that had a shot of vodka at the bottom of the glass.

Refreshing. I always like a bit of a digestif – in fact I had been craving a vodka martini the whole evening because I had just signed a contract and as everybody knows, a vodka martini is the only way to celebrate. But I fear that the vodka perhaps did me in. Oh who am I kidding? When I mix white and red wine, even with food, I'm a cheap date and I was having a very entertaining time.

That said, the espresso was excellent. Though it does mean that I am still up at 1am writing this post.

Mr Vidulich, you will be pleased to know that after all, that you were indeed right in your estimation and that I would still give the place a 6 out of 10.

 A little harsh, I know, but mostly becuase of the aircon that was suddenly set to artic blast at around 10:30. And that we were constantly asked which dish we had ordered. So service could do with a bit of a dusting up.

No lingering there then, unless you went to go and peruse the cellar, which was slightly warmer than the 14 degrees it should have been but a more comfortable temperature than the restaurant itself, like that of a sunning room in fact, in comparison to the rest of the restaurant. I could have happily sat down and opened one of the expensive bottles of wine (a bottle of boujoulais and the Russell-Hamilton pinot noir caught my eye) and enjoyed it in there. Indeed both the location and temperature were conducive to being a little on the mischievous side - except the walls were glass and the wine would have cost a fortune if we had been caught at it!