I’ve always said in Hirsh’s previous life he was a Bushman because of his love for building fires and braaiing outdoors. (He also produces a mean string of Khoisan clicks.) Case in point: Hirsh never failed to grab the opportunity to light a fire at our gîte at La Petite Campagne. (This after we set off the fire alarm in our apartment while crisping up bacon on the stove. It sent out such an almighty ear-splitting yowl, the entire population of the gîte complex spilled onto the road, wild eyes turned to the sky. We feared the local pompier would pitch up on our doorstep.) We got over it. They did too, happily with some humour. So here is a former-life Bushman in action … chilled Chablis on the table, charbon de bois coals being fired up in the Weber, Alaskan white fish drizzled with lemon juice, olive oil and a healthy sprinkle of herbes de Provence on the grill, charred butterflied brinjal, a salad with thyme-olives and marinated sun-dried tomatoes, and voilà! a meal fit for Marie Antoinette.
It was also a near-as-dammit full moon, which lent a certain glow to our meal.
