From Aberfoyle to Africa

Serving in the bar was an education, both in human nature and the fascinating world of spirits, wines and cocktails. Be on guard for the loudmouthed girl who wants to bankrupt her boyfriend by ordering a Pimms No 6.

“Apologies, madam, but the cherries and mint for the No 6 are out of season.”

Thirty years later, my wife and I started a small restaurant and takeaway at Simunye, a company village surrounded by sugar cane fields and game reserves in northeast Swaziland. It had previously been a tawdry bar with elastic opening hours. Anne Marie christened it Delite Bite and it rapidly became popular.

It was kept very clean and we were particularly proud of its toilets and rest room, painted a soothing pastel pink – a haven from the subtropical heat. There were 15 tables eventually in the restaurant, each with fresh flowers. Batiks scattered on the walls

The baking was done at our home and included samosas flavoured with wild mint and chillies from the surrounding bush, cakes of all shapes and sizes, and wedges of a spicy delicacy called a sifiso, much in demand by passengers and drivers of the

long-distance buses between Mozambique and South Africa. Sifiso was our mascot, created by a Swazi friend and Rastafarian, a plump toddler squatting on his heels while he stuffed his face with a fistful of nourishment.

We were gravely informed that local folk did not like spices but the lie to this was their enthusiastic response to Dennis Chetty’s offerings from the Victoria Market in distant Durban. Dennis was an affable Indian who insisted on making his own spices fresh every few days.

These were piled in pyramids outside his shop with an appropriate description – The Terminator, Mother-in-law’s Revenge, Biryani Volcano.

A continuous stream of young Zulus brought bunches and sacks of bay leaves, aniseed, curry plants and much else for inspection and purchase. They were introduced to Delite Bite’s menu quite painlessly.

An outside area with a low parapet was built with scented bushes from our garden and half a dozen tables under large umbrellas. The main attraction was sifiso chicken, its leg and haunch marinated overnight, then barbecued to the customer’s order. The house rule forbade customers to cook it themselves – in male-dominated societies, this would have led to chaos and arguments.

A wine licence was secured but we refused to sell beer as most menfolk could not handle more than a bottle or two.

It was no coincidence that mothers began to bring their children for refreshments, single women could sit in peace, and small traders puzzled over their business accounts at quiet periods.

During the not-infrequent periods of industrial unrest with rival trades unions flexing their muscles, Delite Bite offered neutral ground for all sides in their endless discussions – but orders for beer were refused.

Vegetarians were catered for too – unheard of in this beef-dominated culture – with lentil bakes and aromatic vegetable stews going down well. Traditional Swazi food was available – boiled chicken stew, tripe, intestines, and a variety of wild spinach.

Quality control was essential. The chips must be crunchy, not pale, thick and flabby. All dishes must be secured in a (really) cool room overnight or in the deep freeze. Table covers were wiped after every customer and salt was not provided on the table unless the eater had tasted the food and still demanded their fix (if demands were frequent, the cooks were told and asked to check their offerings).

A microwave oven was not to be found on the premises. Ground coffee was brewed for a few minutes only in a large steel pot bought in Glasgow – and the waitresses were instructed that its aroma had to reach most of the customers in case a caffeine virgin might succumb.

Dr David Vost studied medicine at Glasgow University and works at a hospital in Swaziland. He and his family live on a farm in Northern Uganda near the Albert Nile. davidvostsz@gmail.com