Searching for bunny chow in Durban

In India, I may or may not always do like the Indians do, but in Durban I certainly did. Now, it had very little to do with the fact that Durban can easily be mistaken for an Indian town. And I am not the who-wants-to-meet-more-Indians-on-trips-abroad sort.

Anyway, while I chalked out grand plans for Durban and Pietermaritzburg, tasting traditional South African cuisine topped my must-do list (I had vowed to stay away from the usual suspect, Nando’s).

I ran an internet search and loved the sounds of dishes like Mielie-meal, Potbrood, Potjiekos, Koeksisters and Mala Mogodu — provided there were vegetarian versions available, of course.  Not to forget the legendary bunny chow. Bunny chow is to Durban what, perhaps, haggis is to Scotland.

Though it has deeper Indian roots than African, I wanted to know how delicious can some curry in hollowed-out loaf of bread be. Most South Africans insist that the dish dates as far back as the migrant Indian workers’ arrival in South Africa.

One account suggests that the hollowed-out loaf of bread was a convenient way to transport the workers’  vegetarian curries. Meat-based fillings came later. Some locals however, believe that the Indian banias at the famous Grey Street came up with the dish as a take-away for the discriminated during apartheid. Hence the name bunny chow.

At my first dinner in Durban, I saw the usual suspects on the menu — prawns, ravioli and so on. There’s time, I told myself and smiled when two from my group of journalists called for the vegetable curry. I think I also heard “intrigued to try out an Indian curry in SA” and “let’s see if it’s better than home” from one side of the table.

Was I betting on the next morning’s breakfast? Not really. On the contrary, I was glad at the familiar baked beans, omlette, cheese toast and yoghurt affair. I wanted to be in the right mood to roll a local dish around my tongue. Drowsy, early mornings when you’re gulping down breakfast just aren’t my time for that.

But the prospect of my dinner at a glittering casino that night certainly seemed to be — surely, this must be the place where people would want to stomach the unknown. “The highlight of this casino,” began my affable tour guide, “is the award-winning restaurant, Silverani’s, which serves the best Indian curry.” Overheard somewhere at the table: “Can’t wait to taste how an award-winning Indian curry taste like…”

Don’t get me wrong. Silverani’s did serve very good Indian food. So did an endearing Pakistani restaurant owner at Peitermaritzburg. As I began my rant about my bunny chow pangs, he shook his head and said, “Kya khaas baat hai bunny chow mein? It’s such a messy dish. Your tour operators have arranged the best foods for you, my lady!”

During my tour to a Zulu village, the closest I came to South African cuisine was when I heard about a restaurant that challenged its guests to eat crocodile meat sitting in a pit full of crocodiles (I’m vegetarian), when the Zulu tribe showed us their kitchens, pots and pans (they were empty), and when they gave us some of their beer to taste (I’m a teetotaler). It was time to give up hope.

Or was it? One of our last lunches took us to a restaurant called Moyo’s, complete with African interiors and artifacts on display. As the waitress offered to paint my temple as Zulu women often do as body art, I wondered if the tradition would extend to the food too.

And it did. We were served some thick, African soup made of carrot and other vegetables. One of my fellow-travellers who knew of my erstwhile angst smiled at me across the table. I happily piled my plate with dishes whose names I still cannot pronounce. It was curious, exotic and different all at once. Gastronomical satisfaction, uninterrupted.

Overheard at the table this time: ‘Yeh khaana samajh mein nahin aaya…Anyone for a round of vegetable curry and rice?