For about four and a half years, I was a vegetarian.
It was a loooooooooong four and a half years.
Being vegetarian anywhere comes with certain challenges. Being vegetarian in South Africa — a country where lighting a fire and putting meat on it is practically a recreational activity — is something else entirely.
Braai times were TOUGH.
There are only so many times you can enthusiastically accept a mielie while everyone around you is tucking into a lekker steak.
And the teasing.
Oh heavens.
Let’s not go there at all.
But there was an upside. If I was going to survive another braai without spending the afternoon clutching a bread roll and pretending a green salad was terribly exciting, I was going to have to get creative.
And that is how I discovered that almost anything can go on a braai if you’re determined enough.
First, the mushroom steaks
I still make these.
Big brown mushrooms, topped with feta, olive tapenade, garlic, salt and pepper, wrapped in foil and put onto the fire until the mushrooms are juicy and the feta is soft and melting.
And I am pleased to report that I managed to get some meat-loving, beer-swigging, tong-twirling braai masters to fall in love with them.
They are, to be fair, bloody delicious.
Would I choose one over a lekker steak now?
Let’s not be ridiculous.
But those mushroom steaks did teach me something during my vegetarian years: there is a hell of a lot more you can do with a braai than throw meat on the grid.
Then came the parcels
Ah, aluminium foil.
The braaier’s answer to what else have we got in the fridge?
Potatoes, butter, garlic and herbs. Onions with butter and seasoning. Mushrooms. Vegetables. Fish with lemon and herbs. Sweet potato. Feta, tomatoes and olives.
You wrap it up, put it near the coals and hope you’ve remembered which parcel contains what.
And inevitably somebody asks:
“Is this one ready?”
Nobody knows.
We poke it. We turn it. We put it back.
It’s a highly scientific process.
And what about that cage thing?
The vegetable grilling basket — although I think the cage thing you stuff full of veg describes it perfectly well.
These are brilliant because suddenly all the small stuff that would otherwise disappear through the grid can join the party.
Peppers, baby marrows, mushrooms, onions, mielies, asparagus — a little oil, some seasoning and onto the fire they go.
And somewhere along the line vegetables stop being the obligatory thing on the side and become something people actually fight over.
That is progress.
Then somebody put a pizza on the braai
This is where we begin moving from ordinary braai into oh, look at you territory.
Pizza stones, pizza ovens and portable braai ovens have completely changed what can come off that fire.
Bread. Pizza. Roast vegetables. Whole chickens. Pies.
Even pudding, if you’re feeling ambitious.
Suddenly the humble braai isn’t just replacing the frying pan.
It’s replacing the kitchen.
And I rather like that.
Fish deserves its own paragraph
Because fish over a fire is magnificent.
Whole fish in a hinged grid, fillets cooked in foil, snoek with the obligatory debate about precisely what should be basted onto it, prawns sizzling away...
Fish also brings with it that particular braai anxiety where everyone suddenly becomes extremely interested in whether it is sticking to the grid.
Nobody was watching the wors this closely.
Fruit. Yes, fruit.
This sounds suspiciously healthy until you put peaches or pineapple over hot coals and discover what fire does to their natural sugars.
Pineapple. Peaches. Nectarines.
Bananas — preferably with something disgraceful involving chocolate tucked inside.
Suddenly dessert has joined the braai too.
At this point there really is very little reason to go indoors.
And then there are the tools
For something our ancestors managed with fire and presumably a stick, we have certainly accessorised braaing rather impressively.
We have grids. Hinged grids. Fish grids. Vegetable baskets. Skewers. Cast-iron pots and pans. Pizza stones. Portable ovens. Basting brushes. Thermometers.
Aprons with enough pockets to qualify as luggage.
And, of course, the most important instrument of all:
The humble braai tong.
Because apparently it is physically impossible to pick up a pair without giving them at least two test clicks.
Click click.
Ready.
Nobody knows what was being tested.
But we’re good to go.
So what takes a braai to the next level?
I don’t think it’s necessarily the fanciest gadget.
A portable pizza oven is fabulous. A cast-iron pot bubbling away next to the coals is fabulous. So is that cage thing full of vegetables.
Perhaps the next-level braai is simply the one where we stop thinking that the fire is only there for the meat.
Those four and a half meatless years forced me to look at the braai rather differently.
And although I am very happily back on the steak side of proceedings,
the mushroom steaks stayed.
So did the parcels.
So did the vegetables.
And I will absolutely make room for a pizza.
Because once the fire is going, you may as well make it work for its dinner.
And whatever you decide to put on it, there is one little ritual that apparently remains compulsory.
Pick up the tongs.
Click click.
NOU GAAN ONS BRAAI