No oxtail pooitjie kos at Olive Grove Bungalows.

I took last week Friday off, hence my lacking blog that day, to go with a group of friends to Olive Grove Bungalows – a charming cabin-like lodge in Hartbeespoort.

If you want to feel like you’ve left the city, but haven’t had to trek three hours to get out, then I suggest you take the 45-minute [or so] drive to this gorgeous spot. Set along the Magalies River, this forest-come-bushveld retreat is the ideal place for nearby R’n’R. An ample-sized reed-clad house, and the forest and river bungalows for the more private couples, make up this breath-taking lodge. Check it out at http://www.domegos.co.za/11375/Olivegrove+Bungalows.

Main House

River Bungalow

Forest Bungalow

Back to the actual holiday. I was aware for the week leading up to it that two of my best friends would be making an oxtail pooitjie kos. I’ve tasted their sumptuous, traditional meal before – only it was a year ago during a holiday in Dullstroom when I was allowed to eat meat. How oblivious I was then to the struggle I would face 12 months later.

So at about one in the afternoon, the little pooitjie pot bubbled away outside on an enormous concrete fire place. Every so often a whiff of cooking meat and onions caught the draft and danced suggestively past my nose. Kind of like in those TV adverts, set in the morning sunlight, where the beautiful Parisian woman is lured to her apartment’s open window by the smell of the hunky guy’s coffee brewing in the apartment below. Only, I was hardly the Parisian model, it was midday, bloody cold, and I was already halfway drunk.

I will admit, the smell of the slowly cooking meat was at first gastronomically beautiful, but once I saw the chunks of it served on the others’ plates, I became somewhat put off. I won’t say “revolted” or “converted to vegetarianism for life” or “vegan, here we come”… just, put off. There was something about the layer of hard, yellow fat that had formed the next day with the remnants of oxtail in the porcelain casserole dish, which made me feel quite grateful for not giving in to its temptation. Because though that sickly layer wasn’t visible the night before when everyone but me tucked into the meal, it sure was there all along. It was just camouflaged as succulent, brown gravy.

So, I’m proud to say that although my friend put great effort into trying to force-feed me oxtail pooitjie, I rejected it, and noshed on my salad, corn fritters and other bunny foods instead!