"What Is That Bad Smell?"

"David, please, what this bad smell in die house?" So asked one of my foster kids as he walked in after school.

I don't profess to be a good cook, but I like food - I love food! So, I have had to teach myself to cook the meals that I like, one of which is cassoulet, which is a dish from SW France.

Now, I don't want to bore you with the details, but suffice it to say that a lot of preparation goes into this dish, and it takes me the best part of two days to get it on the table.

I was in the outskirts of Johannesburg at the time, and decided that a cassoulet would be a good meal that would last a few days. I started preparation on Wednesday, and started to cook it as soon as I got home from work on Thursday.

But that's when disaster struck. I had not long been in South Africa and was still struggling with the lack of oxygen at 5,500 ft. So, having put all the ingredients on to simmer for an hour or so, I fell asleep.

I was rudely awakened by the smell of burning meat, not the "Oops! Dinner is a bit scorched" smell, but the "seriously burned to a cinder" smell, which is stronger and horrible.

And I had no dinner.

I opened every window and door in the house to try to dispel the smell, with little success. Hence the question on Friday afternoon,

"David, please, what this bad smell in die house?"

My Dinner in the Bin

After arriving in South Africa, for about a month, I lived in a hotel not far from Jan Smuts Airport. Then another ex-pat asked if I would like to take his rented house over, as he was returning to the UK.

I jumped at the chance and moved in about a week before they left, to get a feel for the place - and act as unpaid babysitter.

Then I was on my own. I still hadn't got used to the 7.30 start at the office, or the altitude and heat - although it was winter, the daytime temperature could rise to 28°C.

But, I was out of the hotel, I was free to do what I wanted, eat what I wanted. And I wanted cassoulet. I had all the ingredients so I set about soaking the beans for 24 hours and preparing everything else I needed, ready for the big cook-up the following evening.

So, the following evening, I started to make the most delicious meal I had ever had when I was living in France (each to their own). Everything was on the stove and I was very pleased with myself. I had prepared enough for that evening, and also for the two street kids I was looking after at weekends. It would be a real treat for them, I hoped.

I sat in the lounge and waited for my meal to cook - and fell asleep.

Now, do you know that smell of burnt meat, I don't mean singed around the edges, not BBQ burnt, I mean fully burnt right through to a cinder?

That's what woke me up. I sprang into the kitchen through a brown fog, opened all the windows and the door to try to dispel the odour. My maid, who lived in the compound rushed in.

"Devit, Devit! Dey being burn! Fire!"

I calmed her down (she had been caught up in some riots in a township and was a little anxious at the smell of burning flesh), and eventually sent her back to her room.

I had fish fingers for dinner that night.

That was a Wednesday. The cassoulet and the pans I was using ended up in the dustbin.

On Friday evening, the boys got to the house soon after I arrived.

"Ag man! Devid, what is this smell?" This from two township kids who live in an area where the smoke from the burners hangs around for days. It must have been really bad.

They were not amused when I told them that it was their dinner.