Bachelor Boy

Pat and I have just transversed Zim looking at Paprika crops which were amazing and if medals are ever given out it must be to the farmers still on the land trying to farm. They are heroes in my eyes and what they have to put up with, in some cases is beyond description. On our return to Mutare we stayed the night with Pat's brother Uncle Paul. On arrival Paul informed us he had organized a braai for the next day to meet up with old friends who were longing to see us. With that we all fell asleep. In the morning Uncle Paul dashed off at some ungodly hour to circumnavigate Harare on a bike. He was meeting Sharna and was already late and as he left he shouted a list of instructions on getting frozen chops out of the freezer and sorting out the braai. 

I waved feebly and went back to bed. When I surfaced again it was nearly ten guests were arriving at 12. I raced to the kitchen in a mad panic to find the frozen chops. Since Aunty Liz ran away with the farmer up the road after 30 years of marriage, Paul is a bachelor again. I opened the first fridge. It was fully stocked with beers and to my surprise and delight a chocolate lunchbar. I quickly ate it. Amazing what bachelors can survive on. Sitting on a shelf was a grey looking thing. I prodded it with my finger but it didn't respond. I picked it up gingerly with my thumb and forefinger and dropped it on the kitchen table, it made a ploppy sound. Paradzai the cook appeared. I asked him to hand me a knife. I swiftly dissected the thing. It had a curdly texture. Its cheese!! I shouted out triumphantly as though I had just discovered penicillin. Put it in the bin I said sternly!! I gave Paradzai a lecture on how to keep the fridge free of old cheesy things, he listened attentively. 

We opened the second fridge it wasn't working, a lonely jar of gherkins sat all forlorn on the shelf. I closed it. Where are the lamb chops Paradzai?? he pointed mutely to the freezer. I opened the door and gasped in amazement, four pigs legs looked out trotters included. I bent down for a closer look peering through the pigs's thighs, there was something entombed in the back of the freezer could it be the lamb chops?? Paradzai breathed heavily over my shoulder. Yaas! madam that's the chops. I didn't see how we were going to get to them without the help of an icepick. Paradzai was unfazed he bent to a half crouch, fumbled madly in the freezer and seemed to gain a grip on something. The was a splintering crash and Paradzai with what looked like an iceberg in his hands landed at my feet. In alarm, I quickly checked the freezer thank god it was still in tact. I held up the entombed chops for inspection but it appeared to be a leg of lamb. I made a swift change of plan. 

We would roast the leg of lamb instead, forget the braai. It would not fit into the microwave to defrost so I just slammed it straight into a roasting dish and shoved it in the oven, turned it on high and kicked the oven door closed. Paradzai looked shocked, Aunty Liz obviously didn't cook this way. I then turned my attention to the pantry to find what we could serve with the lamb. Climbing over the crates of beers I found a selection of the most delightful things. As I hit the kitchen again Paradzai in my wake, I noticed a thick plume of black smoke unfurling itself through the oven door. I rushed for the oven checking the dials to discover I had put the leg of lamb on grill. I opened the oven to be faced with a blackened, crusted roast. No biggie! scraped off the crust it came off easily as it was still iced and started again, I avoided looking at Cookie who was staring at me in wide-eyed disbelief. In no time at all the fragrant smell of lamb permeated the kitchen. 

By the time Paul arrived home with four aubergines and a tub of ice-cream, bent double with fatigue, everything was under control. Now I read somewhere that the most important thing about roasting a leg of lamb is to baste it frequently and believe me it works. When Colin and Ilse arrived for lunch we had a perfect roast lamb. As we sat round the table tucking into our lamb, mint sauce and Ilse's lovely salads I gazed fondly round the table, here I was, surrounded by old friends, people I love dearly, laughing about old times and I thought this is must be as good as it gets. Till I took a look at Uncle Paul, who can you believe it, was fast asleep. His morning's activities had got the better of him. Bachelorhood is not easy. Then it was back to Mutare which seems to be having a particularly hard time at the moment with brutal robberies. So try, as I will to be aware. 

Mandy Retzlaff
Bvumba
Zimbabwe