When I sit down to write about myself, I find that the story is never just mine. It is stitched together from the voices, aromas and handwritten notes of those who came before. Most especially my mum, whose kitchen was the beating heart of our family. This cookbook is not simply a collection of recipes; it is a living archive, a tribute, and a promise to carry forward the legacy she left me in the form of hundreds of pages of handwritten recipes, notes, and tips. This biography, then, is not only about who I am, but about the journey of honouring her memory through food, storytelling and the preservation of heritage.

 

In a South African home, food was never just sustenance. It was ritual, celebration and comfort. My mum’s kitchen was a place of warmth and order, where the clatter of pots and pans was accompanied by her gentle laughter and the occasional stern reminder to measure properly. She was meticulous, yet generous. Her recipes were written in Afrikaans, often on scraps of paper, sometimes in notebooks, and occasionally tucked into the margins of old calendars. Each page carried not only instructions but also her personality. Little notes about substitutions, reminders to taste as you go, or tips for stretching a meal when unexpected guests arrived.​

 

When she passed way to soon in 2013, I inherited this treasure trove: hundreds of handwritten recipes, layered with her wisdom and her voice. At first, I tucked them away, overwhelmed by the sheer volume and the emotional weight of holding her culinary life in my hands. But over time, I realized that these pages were not meant to gather dust. They were meant to be cooked from, shared, and celebrated. They were meant to live again. My professional life has been spent in the world of boardrooms. Yet, in the last year in the quiet hours, I found myself drawn back to those handwritten recipes. Translating them from Afrikaans into English, adapting measurements for modern kitchens and clarifying instructions for accessibility became a labour of love. It was as if I was in conversation with my mum, hearing her voice guide me through each dish. The process was meticulous, but it was also deeply nostalgic. Every recipe carried a memory: the smell of cinnamon in her milk tart, the crackle of oil when she fried vetkoek, the comforting aroma of her stews simmering on the stove.​

 

This cookbook is my way of weaving those memories into a narrative that others can experience. It is not just about food; it is about family, heritage, and the power of storytelling. Each recipe is accompanied by notes that evoke the context in which it was made. Birthdays, holidays, quiet Sunday afternoons, or bustling family gatherings. In writing, I sought to capture not only the flavours but also the emotions, the laughter, and the lessons that came with each dish.

 

The act of preserving these recipes became a tribute to my mum’s life. She was not a professional cook, but she was the kind of cook who could turn a simple meal into a feast, who understood that food was a language of love. Her handwritten notes were her way of passing down knowledge, ensuring that her children and grandchildren would never be without the comfort of her cooking. In publishing this cookbook, I am extending that gift to a wider audience, inviting others to taste the legacy she left behind.​

 

Of course, the journey was not without challenges. Translating recipes across languages and cultures required careful thought. Afrikaans idioms do not always have direct English equivalents, and traditional South African ingredients are not always readily available in the UK. I had to adapt, substitute, and sometimes reinvent, all while staying true to the spirit of the original. It was a balancing act between authenticity and accessibility, between honouring tradition and embracing modernity. Yet, in every decision, I asked myself: what would Mum do? And the answer was always rooted in generosity and practicality.​

 

As I worked, I realised that this project was more than a cookbook. It was a way of building community among South African expats and anyone who cherishes the idea of food as memory. I wanted the book to resonate not only with those who grew up with these dishes but also with those encountering them for the first time. I wanted it to be a bridge between cultures, between generations, between past and present.​The process of writing also became a journey of self-discovery. I learned that my mum’s legacy was not only in the recipes themselves but in the values they embodied: patience, resourcefulness and love. I learned that food can be a form of storytelling, a way of keeping memories alive.

 

And I learned that by sharing these recipes, I was not only honouring her but also creating something new, something that could inspire others to preserve their own family legacies. This author bio, then, is not a list of accomplishments or credentials. It is a story of inheritance, of grief transformed into gratitude, of memory turned into manuscript. It is the story of a son who found his mother’s voice in the margins of recipe books and decided to share it with the world. It is the story of a cookbook that is more than a cookbook - it is a tribute and a legacy.​

 

So, in this space, I step away from the corporate boardroom; I am simply a son honouring his mum.