By Phila-Nathi Mapisa
I walked into the kitchen and immediately a “No! That’s not for tonight!” left my ears ringing – the sous chef prepped the wrong dish. After what felt like hours in ‘Hell’s Kitchen’, the Chef’s eyes made their way to me, “And who are you?”
Nervous, I chuckled and announced my over-rehearsed introduction, “I’m Phila-Nathi, a reporter with Cue, I’m interviewing Eunice and Agnus, the dishwashers.” After slight negotiation, we agreed I’d come back at 5pm. I did.
The romance had been initiated. Walking in the dark with the entrance lit by candles, I was absorbed. I poked my head into the kitchen and two bright smiles met mine.
“Sizophuma eTvini,” yelled Eunice. “Nyan?” Agnus tried to confirm.
Thotyelwa Eunice Funani joined the Long Table pop-up restaurant in 1997. Her sister’s daughter – her niece, worked for Michele Kloppers as a housekeeper when Eunice lived eBhayi. The niece called Eunice telling her there’s a job opportunity at the Festival and she MUST come to Makhanda. That winter, marked the beginning of 28 years of service at the Long Table for Funani.
She affectionately recalled that she began at the restaurant in the main hall; sweeping, cleaning toilets, wiping tables. As the years progressed, she found herself behind the sink chatting away for hours and being a part of the furniture.
Eunice shared how much she loves the quick income that comes from being a part of the Long Table, “Every year ndithenga CASH! Last year, I bought a microwave-– cash. And this year, I’m going to buy lace curtains and upholster my couches-– cash. I’m a pensioner, so this job really helps me out.”
The quieter of the pair, Lungiswa Agnus Matiwane, joined the restaurant in 2003, after her job at St Phillips Care Centre came to an end. The Human Resources officer Zoleka Maqwili told her, “Go to the Long Table restaurant when it’s Festival and tell them I sent you.” And just like that Matiwane was absorbed and never left.
During the year Agnus is a home baker and runs a small tuckshop, however, every year when the Festival arrives, her customers know she packs up and disappears behind the long dishes of the Long Table.
The pair have met some very famous people, and didn’t miss a beat when complaining about how rudely the “talent” would often treat them. My heart broke when they continued to share that they had no one to share some stories, “Our grandchildren have these new phones, and don’t care to listen to use old people talk about our days. ”
But I watched as their eyes light up when they spoke about food, “Michele cooks for us all the time. We eat lasagna, curry and roast all the time. All the food is delicious. But Junitha [Els] has never cooked for us, maybe she will soon,” said Agnus.
I asked the pair to share one anecdote over the past 20 years, they had none. “We come to work, telling ourselves we’re here to wash dishes, we wash the dishes for hours until 1am, then we go home, and do it again the next day,” said Eunice.
“I don’t have unordinary stories but every year, I tell Michele I’m never coming back, but whenever she calls, I think I forget and I come back,” she continued.
The two ladies embraced me in their arms and told me to eat at the Long Table, I told them I would.
Later that same evening the candle lit aisle welcomed me once again; this time in a feather dress, locking arms with my boyfriend, ready to be part of the Long Table history books.
Immediately, I felt the homely, informal, warm ambience they have been all-too recognised for. The culture, that has kept them bustling for over three decades.
We were taken through the lengthy menu. After an arm-wrestle, indecisiveness won. We both ordered lamb roast. A friendly cashier spoke to me, ” Thanks for your order, please help yourself to cutlery.”
In front of me spoons, forks and butter knives gathered in cans, waiting to be picked. My eyes landed on serviettes that sat alongside, and I helped myself to those as well. “Please wait at the buffet for your food,” the cashier said.
“The restaurant has been steadily getting packed today, but cold days are chaotic, no one wants to cook but still wants a home-cooked meal with fresh ingredients. I love working here, I hope it opens again next year. I’m scared Festival doesn’t come back. Have you seen what’s written online?”
I had.
We went over to the bar. I tried to be classy and get a glass of sweet rose wine, but when the lady in front of me received a half empty glass of Sauvignon Blanc, I questioned my commitment. Then I learnt they didn’t have sweet rose, I figured classy was overrated. I got a Savanna.
Plate in hand, we scurried our way to a seat. Sitting on top of strangers and across from one another. A shared look of understanding that “this is different” echoed between us.
As if on beat, the Indian lady my boyfriend sat next to moved her purse, ensuring it was very far from him, but not without shooting the well-known friendly smile at him. They had been holding their seats at one of the tables while another family member was queueing to order food. But, they all got up and left when the designated queuer reported that a white co-queuer was helped before he was.
The lamb roast was tender, the shreds melted on my tongue and the flavour-filled gravy forced my eyes shut to savour it.
My eyes followed the hosts slash owners slash chefs as they made their way around the long tables, checking on their guests; it was lovely to see the care.
