How to make new friends in an Estate
Why would you want/need more friends? You can’t have enough! If I walk around a mall or my new estate I want to bump into people I know. I love small talk and random conversations. I’m a bit like a hairdresser in this regard. As for the how…..it’s simple really: Join every WhatsApp group on the estate.
Words: Judd Campbell
We moved into a new estate last year and I did just that. Admittedly, the Whiskey Group was a little too hardcore for me. Naively I thought it would be sipping fine whiskey on someone’s concrete and glass veranda watching whales breach. However, having missed the first event due to a previous engagement, I woke up to the videos and pics of the previous night’s shenanigans. They are an elite group of connoisseurs and I’m scared of them.
The Bird Watching Group seems to be a lot tamer (but still involves a few Field Bars). Alas, a decision needed to be made between a new pair of binoculars or a padel racket for the newly formed Padel Group, not forgetting I’d forked out the week before for a new potjie pot. The comp was cancelled due to rain (size 5 pot if anyone’s interested. I skipped the Photography Group when my first selfie was rejected. But I'd like to talk a moment, if I may, to share with you the pitfalls of joining a Come Dine With Me Group.
With over 30 years in hospitality, I felt it was a group I could not only join but dominate, win and use the significant prize money to pay off the padel racket.
How’s this for a diverse group of wanna be culinary masters? I’m not sure if I would’ve met these people without the Come Dine With Me competition. It’s a motley crew and we all have very little in common. But going into random strangers’ houses gives a very unique insight into who they are before you become friends. Just imagine only weeks into a budding friendship that they have twelve cats and now it’s too late to walk away! Luckily the 6 we met were “normalish” even though the one couple has a dog cam for when they leave the house. It’s best I leave their names and faces out for the sake of the POPI act.
We had a mixed race gay couple, mixed race straight couple, an Afrikaans couple and a boring straight couple. I'm in the latter. My partner is a marketing guru but if the kitchen wasn’t at the entrance to our apartment she would never see it. I was alone in this challenge.
Everyone had to choose a theme. Couple A went with a "Fire". I could beat that. Couple B, "French". No one can cook French food well except the French. Couple C "White Lotus”. Pfft. And I went with "rival Mexican drug cartels" – the obvious winner…you’d think! I felt the shock factor as well as taking a theme we’ve all tried our hand at before would allow me to create something unique and blow the competition away.
First to host was The Afrikaans. I knew we had lost the second we arrived. This wasn’t some half-hearted attempt at Tom Yum paste and mung beans with some over-boiled chicken in a lame broth after a trip to SunSun in Durban North. It was three courses of high restaurant-quality cuisine. I was in real trouble. Between starters and mains we even changed locations and moved to the estate's pool club which they had also decorated. The Temple of Dawn Khao Soi Noodles were served on a themed table cloth with matching napkins the wife had hand sewn. Never underestimate the Afrikaans, they don’t just braai.
Second up was the gay couple, and the theme was fire – everything cooked on an open flame. Don’t get me wrong, that beautiful Indian man cooks a tomahawk steak better than Heston Blumethal, but their welcome entree of braaibroodjies stuffed with figs and prosciutto and painted with a homemade mayo before being subjected to an open flame was a bloody triumph. A show stealer that wasn’t even their starters. Can you feel my anxiety? What really hurt was the hosting – everyone’s drinks filled, prep done to allow for interaction, fine wines – the list goes on.
Third up, the French Resistance. A bold menu, I thought, with so many complex flavours and room for error. The French have done for cooking what Rassie has done for this country – made it infinitely better for all. The champagne served that night alone must’ve cost more than my padel racket, potjie pot and rent! They paired it perfectly with a Bone Marrow Butter on Steak Tartare (who makes this at home? I ask myself) without going into detail about their second starter, mains or desert but the champagne was endless and the meal was a clear winner for me. Rumour has it that they were practicing their courses for weeks before, and it showed.
Then it was my turn, along with a chalk outline on the floor of a dead Mexican Cartel member and small clear packets of “fake” contraband on the tables. I made a desperate attempt at some deconstructed chipotle pulled pork nachos and substandard tacos. By the standards set before me, I ended with chilli and chocolate churros that paled in comparison to the gay guys’ pumpkin pie. Luckily Mexicans drink tequila and I found solace at the bottom of an ice cold bottle of El Jimador. The gang responded well to my theme, enjoyed the food and took turns laying in the chalk outline for photos. All four nights were a blast, we talk about them often, but I’ll never do that again.
If you’re thinking of arranging a Come Dine With Me, don’t. But if you find yourself compelled to then follow my 3 commandments. DON’T go last, NEVER go last. DON’T think cause your mates say you’re a good cook that you are. DON’T skimp on the booze – an average meal can be hidden under a layer of mixed drinks.
In closing: My plan worked a treat. I play padel tournaments on biweekly thanks to the Afrikaans, we dine out weekly with the gays, wave at the French resistance when I see them walking their dogs but alas that scar hasn’t healed yet. They wave and smile and I’m immediately triggered.
This was not AI Generated, that’s exactly how it happened.
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