Outside, a lowering pewter sky. Inside the kitchen, it is time to make soup, and I am instructing Chris in the art of soup-making.
He is a skittish student, and keeps darting off to the lounge to catch the latest cricket scores.
Chris has hauled out the knife set he got from our friend, chef Simon Kerr of Clarens, and is carefully chopping up an onion. Using the cook’s knife (huge), he is careful up to a certain point. Once small enough, he whacks the onion up into shards with a dancing horizontal blade.
“My way is more fun,” he insists when I show him my method. I have to agree.
Onion chopped, leek sliced, turnip grated, tomato puree poured, carrots, potatoes, soup mix, butter beans. This is a serious veggie soup.
The apron, though is silly, and reads “Ronnie’s Sex Shop”. When we bought it, Ronnie solemnly said it could only be worn by someone who was otherwise naked. But hey, this is winter in the Karoo.
The fire is lit, the dog is happy and the red wine is poured.