Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Anatoli Turkish Restaurant.

OMG, as they say in teen speak. So sorry chaps, having had a few minutes to read my recent blog postings, which I hope you understand are usually done standing up at the kitchen counter between doing the dishes and the school run, I realize I have been moaning a lot of late. (Granted there have been reasons, but still...) My apologies, this is not meant to be a channel for vitriole, even though I have decreed it absolutely "ME space",  I don't want to bore you dear sweet readers with rantings and ravings. Back to being sweet, gentle, tolerant Suzy Q.


Allow me please to pass on some useful information to you, if perchance you don't know about this little gem already. When I was an alien backpacking abroad in the early '80s (and weeping those aforementioned buckets of tears about Zola Budd's undignified fall from fame and grace, whilst dreaming of a rare thumb's up for South African's during those dark days) I used to receive a copy of Fair Lady, my favourite magazine from home from my late mum. In this lifesaving slice of South African life (I swear I could smell the sunshine and fine wine off it's covers) I read about a Turkish restaurant which had started out in Napier Street in 1984. It sounded right up my alley, so to speak, for this was brave new terrain, waaay before the VnA Waterfront development transformed this dodgy part of the city. It's housed in a converted Victorian warehouse with an authentic redbrick facade, and the interior is high ceilinged with a most exotic, Middle Eastern air.


All this to say, that as soon as the soon to be Mr Suzy Q and I arrived back in my beloved Mother City, and got ourselves jobs (gasp) salaries (double gasp) and wheels (well, what more can I say!?) we headed for Anatoli. With a few hiatuses (take a generous handful or two for years of raising the little ones without an additional income) it remains a favourite with our family. I've never been to Turkey, but these dudes just want to make me get on a boat and sail the Bosphorous, and dine out on their fabulous cuisine.


However, till such time arrives, take my advice and pop into Anatoli for their fabulous mezzes. The waiters arrive at your table, biceps bulging, bearing heavily laden trays with all manner of delicious dishes. Spicy, enticing, hot or cold, take your pick and dip into Mucver (zucchini, feta and chives, pan fried) chicken and walnut paste, fried potato cakes and chilli infused dips served with piping hot breads. I must admit that it's been a long time since I tried any of the main courses as the starters fill me up so fast, and we all love to nibble, chat and share, but reading about them now to get this blog just right, I think that my next visit might just get me ordering a lamb in yoghurt with black pepper or something similar to do them justice. Main courses come in small or large portions, ideal for smaller appetites. All the better for being washed down with a passable glass of house wine, a bottle of Turkish beer, or if you're trendier than us, (no prizes for guessing here) a Turkish Delight martini. So whilst I might have had a minor gripe or two about establishments not doing it quite right lately, here's a toast to Anatoli's, 28 years old and still going strong.  To the rest of you amateurs out there, this is how it's done. Consistently fabulous food, friendly, efficient service, great atmosphere, and if you don't get too carried away as we occasionally do, a reasonably priced night out. To Tayfun and his team, whatever you do, please don't stop, if I could be a table boarder I would.  Just imagine, I could add to my middle aged girth and volunteer as a weekend belly dancer. Now there's a thought, and an offer they surely could not refuse!?


And don't forget the complimentary Turkish Delight on the way out - simply divine, doll. 





Dreaming of Turkey,  (and my new wannabe career gals)


Your, ever hopeful, 


Suzy Q
www.anatoli.co.za



Monday, April 9, 2012

Raging about rowing...

Miss SQ No 2's matric dance is all but upon us. Everything is ready,  and Prince Charming has finally been invited and willingly accepted the invitation. Happy days are here again, but not for long. Prince Charming is apparently a very good rower, (more than this we mothers are simply not allowed to know, or perish the thought, ask) and has since been summonsed to a training camp in Gauteng on the weekend of the dance. There has been no small amount of sadness about this, but as we all know, worse things happen at sea, and recently have, and we have a Plan B.  A good few sms's with sad faces have been received with strongly worded messages stating her feelings about rowing. However, where there's a will there's a way, and by some miracle, which is hopefully not detrimental to his rowing career, our fellow is somehow going to the dance, proving our South African saying, boer maak 'n plan. To that great patron saint of mothers of teenage daughters, I say a BIG "thank you."


So, rowing being the hot topic of the moment, I am full to overflowing with anger at this crackpot-halfwit called Trenton Oldfield, who leapt into the Thames causing the famous and hugely exciting Oxford/Cambridge Boat Race to be halted. He narrowly missed being decapitated (a pity, some might say) and drew worldwide attention to his half baked "anti elitist" cause. This coming from a guy born and raised Down Under, seemingly with a silver spoon in his mouth, with only the afflictions of his unfortunate name and features to blame for his misdeeds. Would they stand alone as being sufficient cause to scar him for life and excuse his bizarre and selfish behaviour?


Worst of all, he has single handedly dashed the hopes and dreams of the entire Oxford team, who have apparently gone through "seven months of hell," according to their captain, and who may never have a chance to relive or retry for this golden opportunity. For what? His own perverted attempts at creating some sort of justice against the inequality from which he has so obviously benefited, being so well educated, clothed and housed. How sad and ashamed his parents must be. Almost as sad as the many mums and dads who had encouraged and supported their rowing lads and hoped to cheer them on to victory. 


How heartbroken the Oxford team must be, and what a hollow victory for Cambridge.  A very sad day indeed. Just think of all the dates, dances and damsels they might have missed out on in pursuit of their dream of victory. I hope Trenton gets to do time in the looney bin and maybe the confessional for a spot of well deserved penance. It rather reminds me of that awful clash between Zola Budd and Mary Decker in the 1984 Olympics, when both their hopes were also so badly dashed. Although in that case, I still believe it was as a result of a bad accident. Nobody to blame there I don't think, well definitely not our little Zola. I can unashamedly confess that I wept buckets for that innocent, barefooted girl from Bloem, who simply wanted to run, and had gone to such great lengths to get to that 3000m women's race. 


Down with Trenton, who looked so smug and self satisfied being dragged off by the coppers in the face of all the misery and chaos he had caused! And may there be some divine form of consolation for all the disappointed and broken hearted rowers. Can there ever be any justice in this?


Your outraged, 


Suzy Q