The Australian likes the outdoors. He likes a bit of time in the garden, down the beach, out in the bush. So it stands to reason that he should make a good braai. But to be blunt, he doesn’t. There is no art to the Aussie braai. In fact, you can hardly even call it a barbeque, never mind a braai. It is more like outdoor stoving.

The Aussie cooks his meat over LPG. On a Liquefied Petroleum Gas stove that just happens to be outside. There is no wood, no charcoal, not even a lowly briquette. Just a turn of the valve, a push of a button and he is away. Sizzling sausages on naked propane fumes.

I have been told it is about ease, getting the job done quickly and with minimum fuss. Well, you could have used the microwave.

The braai is an act of love. A ritual that predates the pyramids. It is a line drawn from the dawn of time until this Saturday, 11am. Because that’s what time you start a braai. You don’t start it one minute before your guests arrive. The fire must burn. It must be discussed, and debated. It must be revered by all and sundry.

Maybe it is a third world thing. When I say third world, I mean it in the most gangsta sense of the word, because people from the first world don’t seem to get the braai. So many people have come over to my house for a braai, and said nothing of the fire. Asked nothing of the wood or the temperature. The only people who do are the South Africans, the Zimbos and the South Americans. A Chilean girlfriend of a friend showed more interest in the quality of the wood and the fire than any of the Aussie blokes we know. Now I am not saying that fires need to be a man thing, they certainly don’t, the braai loves everyone, but I will judge you if they are not your thing, and you happen to be a man.

Over the last year, I have preached the cause of the braai to anyone who will listen. But the message doesn’t really sink in. And it is not polite to go to another’s home and complain about the offerings. Even if they are blackened on car fuel. You just have to eat, smile and drink a few more of their beers to make up for the insult to the meat.

Because ultimately that is what it comes down to. It is an insult to the meat. Cows, pigs, chickens, lambs, and those unidentified animals they put in boerewors, all died so we can eat. Show them the love they deserve: a real braai.

Author

  • David Smith is a world famous artist and a British Olympic hammer thrower. He is a curler for Scotland and Manitoba. A pro wrestler fondly known as the British Bulldog. A Canadian economist and a Mormon missionary they call the Sweet Singer of Israel. He is a British historian and a bishop. David Smith is the biographer of HG Wells, a professor of physics, a composer and a music teacher at Yale. He played rugby for Samoa, England and New Zealand. He created the Melissa worm, a deadly computer virus. He is the Guardian's man in Africa, he starred in a reality TV show and shot his way to silver in the 600m military rifle prone position at the 1920 Summer Olympics in Antwerp. But this isn't that David Smith. This is the blog of the other David Smith. David J Smith. The one from Durban by the Sea. The one who lives in Amsterdam. Yes, him. The David Smith who likes to write about himself in the third person. To learn about all the other David Smiths: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_Smith To contact this David Smith: [email protected]

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David J Smith

David Smith is a world famous artist and a British Olympic hammer thrower. He is a curler for Scotland and Manitoba. A pro wrestler fondly known as the British Bulldog. A Canadian economist and a Mormon...

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