Chapter 22: Opera and Salomie
…continued from 31 May 2026...
FIRST TIME HERE? NO PROBLEM – START AT THE BEGINNING – WARNING YOU WILL BECOME ADDICTED TO THE STORY.
Next to him sat a resplendent Aletta, who had continued her transformation since meeting Stanley. She turned heads in a body-hugging black dress, which, while tastefully fell to just below her knees, could not hide her smouldering sexiness.
Her hair was long and strikingly blonde, and her make up, which was now done for her at a beauty salon, was understated, but sublimely effective in highlighting her beautiful blue eyes and sultry lips.
She found herself forever smiling around Stanley, spellbound in the rapture that was her beau and his generous gifts of passion and largesse.
She felt the hold of Stanley’s hand around hers tighten and relax during the ebb and flow of the Opera and she loved that he was sharing this experience with her.
She knew that he would be channeling this passion straight into her later on tonight. She giggled quietly at the thought.
Looking at him out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the tears trickling slowly, almost imperceptibly out of both of Stanley’s eyes…gently rolling down his cheeks, falling softly onto his coat.
He seemed completely immersed in the final scene.
She turned her head, ever so slightly, so as not to break the spell, and saw Stanley’s tear-glazed eyes blinking rapidly as he took in Rodolfo’s desperate pain when he realises Mimi is actually dead and not sleeping. Aletta felt her own tears welling up as Marcello’s horrific expression at receiving the news, brought out an involuntary, chest-racking sob from Stanley.
Despite her tears, Aletta smiled and was overwhelmed that this enigmatic man of hers involuntarily revealed his softer side. At that moment she felt her heart would overflow with even more love for him.
The rousing applause from the audience burst into Stanley’s consciousness and he was up in and instant shouting “bravo, bravo, bravo,” at the top of his lungs. Unclasping his hand from Aletta’s he smacked the palms and fingers of each hand against the other, applauding the performance in wild abandon, not bothering to wipe away his tears.
Aletta felt his joy and passion and clapped on in blissful admiration of both the performance, and her boyfriend. After a lengthy applause and several encores. The patrons of the opera began to slowly make their way out of the theatre.
Stanley was rabbiting on to Aletta about the opera, explaining how the different scenes had moved him. He went on and on until they approached the foyer when he realised that he was quite hungry and so would Aletta be.
“Are you hungry my skat?” he said to Aletta. (skat in this context is an Afrikaans term of endearment meaning treasure)
“I could eat a horse,” came her reply while kissing him lovingly on the cheek.
He smiled again, he just loved how her little tokens of affection made his tummy tickle inside.
“I have an idea,” said Stanley. “I know an all night roti take-out place not far from here. How would you like to try a proper Cape Malay Salomie?”
“What is a Salomie?” Aletta asked innocently.
“It’s a roti, filled with whatever curry you choose, like chicken, mince or mutton. The meat is rolled into the roti and you eat it like you would a hot dog.”
Aletta seemed dubious, especially since they were both dressed to the nines. Eating out of one’s hand didn’t see quite appropriate.
Stanley sensed her thoughts. “I know, I know, I know what you’re thinking, but we’ll get it to go and have it at my place okay. I’ll open a bottle of the red wine you like, and you can eat it in a plate with a knife and fork, if you like,” he said with a huge grin.
When Stanley smiled like that, something always became undone inside her soul. She could not deny him anything. “Okay my skat,” she smiled back at him.
Stanley eased his foot down onto the accelerator pedal and the car set-off to the Bo-Kaap, an area known for its vibrant Malay community and delicious food.
Continued tomorrow 2 June 2026, before 12pm
Reader Reviews (3)
Nogge Daltjieby
17 August 2026Dankie tog that Easter only comes once a year, I hate pickled fish. But stiek uit with a koesister and we can become dik brasse.
Shiela
17 August 2026It's so interesting how food evolves and survives culturally. I saw a documentary about how things like offal and snails actually found their way onto the fine dining menue these days. Fascinating indeed. Great story btw.
Marshal B Roaman
17 August 2026In Today’s Author Insights, I ask WHAT CAN AUTHENTICALLY BE CALLED COLOURED FOOD? And do we all agree on our food heritage? So, what exactly is Cape Coloured food? Well, that is almost like asking, “Where did the Cape Coloured people come from?” and then expecting a one-line answer. Good luck with that one. Take our food. Pickled fish, snoek and sweet potatoes, bredie, bobotie, koesisters and curry and rice, these aren't just dishes we eat because they taste lekker. They are edible pieces of history. Pickled fish tells the story of a coastal community making good use of what the sea provided and finding a clever way of making fish last before anyone had a fridge. The turmeric gives it that unmistakable yellow Cape character. Snoek and sweet potatoes are another marriage of sea and soil, and both became staples because they were accessible and affordable. Then you've got bredie and bobotie, dishes that carry the fingerprints of several cultures Dutch, Indonesian, Malay, African and others stirred together over generations until they became something distinctly Cape. And don't even get me started on koeksisters and koesisters. Same family, different cousins, and both capable of starting an argument about which one is the real one. Curry and rice tell another part of the story: centuries of people, ingredients, spices and cooking traditions meeting at the Cape and eventually becoming part of ordinary household life. That's why these dishes have survived. They weren't preserved in museums. They were cooked. They were made for Easter, Sunday lunch, family gatherings, religious occasions and ordinary hungry people. And every time somebody's grandmother says, “Come here, I'll show you how it's done,” another little piece of Cape history gets passed on. And that, dear readers, is how culture survives — one plate at a time. What’s your favourite?