My mother is the original Kitchen Alchemist. At least she is to me. A complete original, it is in her kitchen, where I learned to cook, that I absorbed her alchemical approach to cooking. The combination of magic and science is indivisible in her world and I never realised until I was in my twenties and working in other people’s kitchens that there was any other way.

Stepping into her kitchen was, and still is, like stepping into another world. Time is suspended as nothing worth cooking can be rushed. Against the backdrop of hot stoves and the central kitchen table would be little vignettes that told the story of my mother’s day.

A handmade ceramic jug with stems of fresh cut lemon leaves, their citrus tang freshening the humid African air and their acid green colour a zesty visual pick me up.

A fresh laid tea tray with a melange of antique porcelain cups and my grandmother’s teapot awaiting the rapidly boiling water that would bring the aromatic tea leaves to life, and with them, memories of a childhood in Nyasaland and Northern Rhodesia, and older genetic memories of travelling and adventure, tea clippers and spice islands.

A rack of cooling Dutch Spiced Butter Biscuits, redolent with nutmeg, almonds and vanielje, and impossible to resist.

Bowls of exotic fruits, apricots, prickly pears and mangoes, piled high, their colours ripe with sun and summer.

And platters of apples, spring green Granny Smiths, tart and crunchy, freckled Golden Delicious, softer and more subtle, and fiercely blushing Braeburns or the super juicy and crispy Fuji.

My mother is an artist and her forte is to magically weave all the senses into one delicious and thoroughly satisfying whole. Colour and a visual approach play an important part in her cooking, and choosing the right dish is an art form. A chunky handmade pottery bowl for hot braised cinnamon apple slices with yoghurt – a winter after dinner treat for the children. A pale lemon porcelain bowl for the same apple slices braised in their own juice for an under the weather daughter, languishing fragilely on the couch. An African Kitsch brightly coloured plate for slices of fresh apple casually left on the kitchen counter to tempt growing teenagers. And a perfectly polished Snow White apple held in the hand while she quietly and confidently peeled it in one shiny red bobbing strip in front of the wide eyes of a five year old.

‘How do you do that?’ I would ask, not for the first time, and her answer was always the same. She would glance around as if checking for eavesdroppers, then with the furtive air of someone imparting great secrets ‘Magic!’ she would whisper, her eyes full of laughter and mischief, then she would smile as she tossed the strip to whichever salivating hound was lounging at her feet before cutting the apple in half and handing me my share.

I have seen my daughter try over and over again to peel a whole apple in one strip, and have no doubt that one day she will get it right. After all when she looks over at me and asks for the 100th time ‘How do you do that?’ I give the only reply possible. And if there is one thing I can be proud of teaching my daughter, it is to believe in magic.

It seems like, along with many other people, I have got a slow start to the year with various colds and illnesses. For this reason Jeni at The Passionate Palate and I have extended the closing date for this month’s Apples & Thyme. So if you thought you had missed it, don’t despair, you still have until the 15th (officially) or even a few days after that to link your stories to us. If you find you have written a post in the last month that centres on kitchen and family recipes, feel free to send that in as well. We love the collection of memories that is growing around this event. If you would like to read other Apples & Thyme stories, the roundups are here and here.

And check the Vanielje Kitchen Cook Book for easy Hot Spiced Apple recipes.

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