A rich aroma of herbs and melted butter permeates the air. Onions slowly caramelise to translucent perfection as they sizzle and pop in their pan. The rhythmic chop-chop of a knife on a cutting block and the cheerful chatter of the cooking staff give character to the intricate vapours. The marvelous alchemically concocted scent drifts to my face like a very gentle sledgehammer and smacks me right in my soul. Magic is being made! A sudden pang of hunger reminds me that I have been too busy today to make time to sit down and appreciate a well prepared meal; something I certainly intend to do shortly!
In tourism there are a few basic pillars to maintain the loyalty of satisfied guests; impeccable service, having novel and fun things to do, sleeping safely and comfortably in fresh linen and then of course, eating; our core primal need for survival. Although food at a lodge is certainly not consumed for fear of starvation, food can nonetheless make or break a travel experience, and this boils (cooks, fries, blanches, bakes and grills) down to having great ingredients and a superb brigade de cuisine.
Often overlooked in the tourism industry, rarely there to receive tips and thanks alongside porters, waiters and guides, these humble artisan men and women frequently work the longest hours of the whole lodge staff complement. Up at four to start the bread, pack the lunch packs, get breakfast ready, and often last at night to lock up after another dinner. Incredibly, many of these Namibian cuisine magicians lack any formal training and have worked and hustled their way to the stove front through sheer determination and perseverance.
I sit down and look at the neatly arranged cutlery, crockery and variety of glasses, service for royalty. I am humbled and always feel grateful for the opportunity to take part in this vesperal lodge routine. Back home I would almost certainly be eating a desultory assemblage of bread and something spreadable, or the remains of a hurriedly cooked lunch… all the tastiest parts now sadly absent from Le Restaurant du Tupperware.
But not here! A waiter smoothly swerves around my table, plate aloft. With a gregarious smile, the plate descends to my demarcated placemat; finally!
Entrée. Plat. Dessert. Satisfaction.
After we share our meal, my fellow travellers and I share a few anecdotes with our nightcap. With inquisitive questions we pick at each other’s pasts, regaling one another with stories of our colourful histories and hopes for our future. These are interesting times we find ourselves in, and Namibia seems like a shelter from the anguish and uncertainties out there. For a moment, as the soporific effects of my meal take effect, life is perfect and still and as it should be. With my belly full I retire to my room. Right now, my gratitude is for the chef who has given me the gift of contentment, but I can’t wait to be hungry again!