Soul food

JESSIE’S AARTAPPELPORRING

Fahiem Stellenboom

I am my mother’s child. I mean I am of her, the firstborn of three, with so much of her in me that I carry her in me and with me. Proudly.

On 19 June 2020, Yasmina Stellenboom, better known as Jessie, my mum, celebrated her eightieth birthday during lockdown. I broke the lockdown regulations for the occasion. After all, it’s a milestone. However, I wore a mask, sanitised regularly and did the social distancing thing. It is she who inspired, encouraged and instilled in me a love for the arts and beautiful things. This was most unusual for a nice Muslim girl from a traditional Cape Malay family in District Six.

My mother had other dreams and aspirations as a teenager and young woman. She wanted to play the piano and do wonderful things. By the time she reached Trafalgar High School, it was already decided that she would get a good job, find a husband, marry, settle down, have kids and start a family. Just like all the Muslim girls in her family and community. It’s how things were back then. So, instead of following her dreams, she did what was expected.

Luckily she met my dad, Ebrahim (Whitey) Stellenboom. One Sunday morning, while they were dating, he came to bok (visit) on a white horse at their house in Frere Street, District Six. Although she was highly embarrassed at the verspotheid – and the neighbours and my grandparents were wonderfully bedonnerd at the romantic gesture – it was probably the deal clincher for her. In December last year, Aunty Jessie and Boeta Whitey were married for 58 years.

My mum retired at 70 after working in the heart of Cape Town’s legal and judicial scene as a receptionist/PA to advocates of the Cape Bar Council for well over 40 years. It used to be a highly respectable job and she loved it, as it meant that she was always in the know. Many of the advocates she worked for later became Supreme Court judges. One of her favourites was Benny Kies, the respected activist, intellectual, teacher, headmaster and lawyer who had received three banning orders from the apartheid government.

I don’t think my mother ever considered herself a great cook. I don’t believe she took it very seriously. After all, she had bigger dreams. Yet she was a wonderful cook and experimented with traditional and other cuisines. Hell, at one point when I was a teenager, our family were vegetarian for about a year.

Sunday was the big day for cooking and fun in the kitchen. With Radio Lotus or Springbok Radio at top volume, she used to get stuck into preparing the Sunday feast. It always included roast, a curry, a stew, veggies and salads. Plus dessert. She made the best seafood and mince curries, but somehow couldn’t crack rotis and koe’sisters. Instead, she made delicious puri – a small, round bread that’s like a light and fluffy vetkoek and the perfect alternative to roti – to enjoy with curry. Her alternative to koe’sisters were melt-in-the-mouth, divine bollas – light, deep-fried vanilla dumplings with sugar syrup and coconut.

Another of her great desserts is aartappelporring (potato pudding). My mother made them the old-fashioned way by first mixing the ingredients in three separate bowls before combining them in a bigger bowl to make the batter.

PUDDING

Preheat the oven to 180 °