Category Archives: Material

Biltong – South Africa’s meat

Age: 21

Collection Date: 04/29/2026

Context:

My mom’s side of the family immigrated from South Africa when they were really young. My cousins on that side all have had more experiences and exposure to South African culture because their dad immigrated from South Africa much later, when he was in his thirties. I remember going to their house as a kid and seeing biltong and being very interested in it. So to learn more, I called one of my cousins to ask more about the tradition.

Text:

My cousin goes to South Africa with her family on holiday very often. Nearly once or twice a year. She explains that meat is very central to the food culture. For example, when she was younger, her family would throw Braai (South African BBQs) for their neighbors and other Afrikaner families who lived in the area. The Braai were their way of sharing the fun side of South African culture. They would play South African music, play games, and cook South African food.

One of the foods her parents taught them to make is called boerworst (farmer’s sausage). It’s a traditional South African meat sausage that the whole family would make on the spot for the party guests. They would mix chopped onions and coriander with fatty tri-tip cuts, sometimes with pork. The meats weren’t lean, but quite juicy. My cousin was always in charge of the meat mincer, a large metal machine that ground up all the meat, onion, and coriander into a bowl. Then her sisters would take the ground meat and put it into a sausage-making machine. They used pig intestines for the sausage liner and turned the machine handle to crank out freshly made, delicious sausages. She remembers this being very fun while she was growing up, and looking back, it’s a fond memory. They’d give the boerworst out to guests as party snacks, and with the leftovers, they would stick them with a metal stick and put them into a homemade cardboard chicken-wire box in the garage. There, they had fans set up so that they could dry the meats out into droeworst. They would save these for snacks around the house. They’re easy to store, last a long time, and are seriously tasty.

Her parents are both immigrants, but her mom basically grew up in America because she moved so young. Her father on the other hand, lived most of his life in South Africa. When they decided to get together, they planned to live in America, but her dad really wanted to teach their kids South African traditions. It was important to him that, while they weren’t raised in South Africa, they would learn Afrikaans and Afrikaner music, and eat as well as make traditional foods.

One of her favorite foods to make and eat is biltong. Biltong is “the” South African food, like burgers or hot dogs for us Americans. For biltong, they would buy nice, high-quality tri-tip, going for very lean cuts. They would pack a suitcase full of spices like coriander and peri-peri when they visited South Africa, because the spices are rare and just not the same here. They wouldn’t really eat the peri-peri, though, because it’s too spicy. She explained that most South Africans can’t handle spicy foods, least of all her dad. They would use a biltong block (a huge knife with an attached cutting board that looks kind of like the huge cutting boards teachers used to cut stacks of paper) to cut it really, really thin, then stick it onto a thin metal spike. The meat spikes would be placed in the same boxes in their garage, with fans to quickly dry them out. They would eat these as a casual household snack. But her dad loved eating them with bread and butter as a biltong broodjie (pronounced “broikie”, meaning biltong bread). They would also put them in a gritty porridge called Pap, which was a great sweet-and-savory breakfast food.

I asked her if the biltong is any different from what they make here compared to what they make in South Africa. She explained that “the meat cuts are just fire in South Africa.” You just can’t beat the fresh cuts a meat they have. Growing up, the food didn’t feel South African; it was normal. They didn’t especially feel South African, but her parents would pack her little baggies of biltong for school. She’d share them with friends and get really mad if they made fun of or refused to eat any. I remember growing up, I was really weirded out by their biltong setup. The stakes of small cuts of dried meat were so weird-looking. My older cousins used to tease me, saying that it was bug meat, and I refused to ever try any until much later in life.

I also brought up how Biltong is becoming somewhat trendy. I have seen it on Instagram, in stores like Sprouts and Costco. In a way, biltong is a cultural ambassador for South Africa. She’s actually really happy because when she tells people she’s South African, they might say, “Oh, I love biltong.” It’s just a fun food to become popular and great to have some positive South African representation besides Chappie. I told her about Kalahari Biltong. The brand was founded by three non-Afrikaners after a great vacation. They ripped off the name from Famous Kalahari Biltong, an already existing biltong chain in South Africa. Its the biltong I see most commonly in stores and has the slogan “goodbye jerky, hello biltong.” Very American. She was somewhat surprised at this, because all she’s seen is the Costco’s biltong, which paid homage to its South African roots. In Kalahari’s case, the reference to South Africa was more of a marketing gimmick rather than any sign of respect.

We’re conflicted. On the one hand, it’s frustrating to her and me that companies like Kalahari Biltong are basically dressing up their product’s authenticity. They don’t proudly use South African suppliers, or give back to the community that gave them this product. And somehow, they are more popular in America than other brands that use century-old family recipes. On the other hand, it’s great that the food is gaining popularity and that people are learning about our culture. It’s great to see foods you grew up with in a store.

Analysis:

It’s really sweet to hear that her dad wanted to keep the traditions going. It also makes complete sense, because he had to give up a lot, like family and friends, to move here and start a family. To him, these traditions were home, and teaching them to his girls was creating a new home. To my cousin, the traditions are home as well. They were normal, integrated, and part of their culture, and what made them unique. I always remember growing up, they did feel different. Even for me with my South African roots. They embraced their roots, while others like me are only just discovering them.

For her and her sisters, making boerworst was a family event. She mentioned how at the braai, they weren’t just showing food. They were showing their strong family values and culture. It was undercover diplomacy. The whole family was helping make food. Nobody left hungry, everyone enjoyed. It’s something she looks back on fondly, and it brought her and her sisters really close together.

It’s also really interesting to see how a simple food holds so much power. It’s fun to hear people talk about biltong when they hear South Africa, because as silly as the food or connection is, it’s real and it’s our culture. The food is showing what it means to be South African to average Americans; it’s approachable, it’s easy, and it tastes really good. When my cousin’s gave out South African foods, they did it from a place of passion. Food doesn’t preach, yet it’s a really effective communicator.

But what upsets my cousin and I is seeing others profiting from that culture. For Kalahari Biltong, biltong isn’t a passion, interest, or any sort of personal connection to the culture. It’s a product. These tourists created a company to make money. The brand’s story centers around them, not the people, the country, or the food. I think that is what my cousin found upsetting about it. The fact that the brand wasn’t showing any appreciation beyond the bare minimum. That makes it really difficult when the brand is so popular. We love what the company is doing, spreading South African culture and good food. But we don’t like why they’re doing it.

My cousin hasn’t tried Kalahari’s biltong, and she probably won’t. She has tried the Costco version of biltong. She explained, “The cuts of meat just aren’t the same.” Her family made them out of larger, higher-quality slices. She appreciated it, but it couldn’t beat the ones she made at home, and definitely not the biltong in South Africa. The taste was similar, but that doesn’t make it authentic. Kalahari’s choice of slogan, “goodbye jerky, hello biltong,” is also worth some attention. It suggests that biltong is a replacement or an alternative for American culture instead of its own unique thing. We don’t need biltong to replace beef jerky.

When community folklore gets commodified, something is lost for those who grew up with it. The authenticity comes from an individual’s context and experience. To an average American, that biltong is about as real as it gets. It might as well be speaking Afrikaans. To me, maybe it’s partially authentic. But, to my cousin, it’s just not and it can never be.

Rave Cards

Age: 23

Date Collected: 04/27/2026

Context:

My roommate and friend of three years has been involved in the rave scene for about 5 years now. More specifically, he helps out one of the largest hard techno organizations in the country. He occasionally DJs, mixes, and knows a lot of people in the scene. The organization he works for and the scene he is involved in are more underground; they throw warehouse raves around the Los Angeles area. He was showing me his collection of items he’s gotten from raves and festivals, and these unique cards really stuck out to me.

Text:

My friend was telling me about the deep culture and really interesting community of LA’s hard techno scene. The organization he works with, 6 AM, recently started giving out custom Pokémon-style playing cards at shows. They don’t have any official name yet, but my friend calls them rave cards.

The cards are unique to each event; new ones are made for each night they have shows. Most cards feature a performer, headliner, or crew member specifically from the show you attended. They also feature brief descriptions such as “type: human” or “age: unknown” to build lore about the performers. The special attacks listed are either inside jokes, the DJ’s popular songs, or just funny facts about the character. They range in rarity, with headliners and special guests being rarer and more desirable. Those rare cards are typically printed with foil or holographic coloring to make them stand out visually from the rest. Performers returning to perform at a 6 AM event receive multiple evolutions on their cards. So my friend has some performers with multiple evolutions. You can see that the yNOTI cards are a first and second evolution. There are also other cards, like quest cards and curse cards. For example pictured above, one card jokingly curses ravers for an ever-growing bathroom line that stretches for miles. Another quest card challenges ravers to meet new people and high-five them. My friend says there’s no real benefit or reward to completing the challenges, or to being cursed. It’s just for fun to mix things up.

To get the cards, you need to find “KL,” the organization’s marketing guy, somewhere at random in the crowd. When you find him at a show, ask him for a card, and he’ll fan a deck of cards faces down, and you get to pick one card. The cards are all free, but “he only prints about 50 per event, so you have to find him quick.” He also doesn’t give them out before 2 A.M. because the event hasn’t really started yet, and it would be unfair to give them all away so early. There’s no special quote or saying he says because the sound systems are pretty loud and conversations are hard to hear. “You only get one per show. Once you pull your card for the night, you can’t switch with him or try again that night.”

My friend told me that KL makes the cards himself. He comes up with the designs himself and has a card maker at home; he creates all of them himself. My friend doesn’t think that the idea is completely original. But it might be pretty close to being new or original. KL makes cards for crew members’ birthdays, as well as making enough for the crew. One of our friends who got one made for them didn’t even know about it till they were given out on her birthday. KL pulls the pics from Instagram or online and edits them to fit whatever vibe he is feeling. My friend explained that all the cards are KL’s ideas; he doesn’t really ask the artists or headliners what they want on them. KL definitely takes pride in this and sees it as art. My friend explained that only people who are really into the scene will get cards, because most people don’t know to find KL or that the cards even exist.

My friend has amassed quite a collection; he has about 25 cards, and they only started this new trend last year. People collect these cards and trade them with one another at shows. But again, this is fairly unique to one organization operating mainly in LA. My friend can’t think of any other companies really doing this, definitely not “mainstream” rave companies. We tried finding stuff online about this, but it’s pretty hard to find and also unique to the hard techno scene. Other raves he has been to don’t really have those cards; they have other things.

But he does have a card from another popular DJ, Vendex. That DJ plays in the hard techno scene and is really on top of trends and personal branding. Vendex designed and makes his own Yu-Gi-Oh!- style playing cards, which he personally hands out at events to fans and friends. My friend has one of these, which is one of the coolest stories behind a card he’s got in both of our opinions. He met Vendex outside an event. Vendex was unmasked, and they talked for a while about the genre, scene, and equipment. After, Vendex gave him the card and followed him on IG. My friend has also gotten real Pokémon cards handed to him by other ravers at events. So maybe that friendly community interaction inspired KL to make custom cards.

Analysis:

I got to document a tradition that’s only just beginning to develop, which was really cool to me.

KL rightly sees himself as an artist. He is a true folk artist creating art that is unique to his community. These cards mainly hold value to ravers because they loved that night’s set. But, it could also be because they love the DJ or the card itself. Although he gets paid by the organization, KL doesn’t make any commissions off the cards themselves. They’re for the love of the game and to build lore, community, and excitement. Aside from being an artist, KL is kind of recording the history of his organization. The cards are marked with days, specific performances, inside jokes, and the performers or crew themselves. This memorializes significant events and gives people ways to remember fun events. Also, the only way you could get them is if someone tells you who KL is, you find him, then ask him. Although the cards themselves are physical, the ways you get them and learn about them are not.

These cards are also a fantastic example of bricolage folk art. They recombine elements like Pokémon cards, taking them from a commercial purpose, giving them a memorial and independent meaning. In fact, my friend told me that he’s been given Pokémon cards many times at events long before Pokémon came on the scene. Maybe, that pre-existing folk custom is what incentivized KL to make his cards. Unlike other folk art or collections, these cards create a hierarchy and bestiary of characters, jokes, and people. It shows what’s popular at a certain time, who or what the community values, and what’s worth preserving. As well as categorizing them by type and highlighting what makes each unique. Also, what’s interesting is that the cards are static. You might be pissed you pulled a “low” card or a non-trending artist. But then, 5 months later, that original, pre-fame card is so much more special and valuable once the artist blows up. Similarly, the evolution system rewards and reinforces performers to stay loyal to the company. Of course, the DJs don’t really care much about the cards, but it’s a small thing that does help.

The cards are also anonymous; the backs are unique to each show, but fanned out and in the flashing lights, you can’t possibly tell them apart. The act of choosing one is something like divination. You don’t actually pick the card, with the smoke lingering from the fog machines, neon lights, and dark, heavy atmosphere, you feel like the card has selected you. Especially when you get the one you wanted. I’ve been to shows with my friend, but never picked a card. We typically get there fairly early, around midnight, but even then, the atmosphere feels unreal. It feels magical. The cards only enhance that atmosphere.

Comparing the 6 AM cards to Vendex’s is also interesting. Because 6 AM’s is made by an individual who has minimal connection to the characters he creates and the cards he produces. He doesn’t do it so much for branding, instead its more for the love of the game and to reward people involved in the scene. They’re anonymous and fairly impersonal. The person who draws the card decides the value from context. Vendex’s cards, on the other hand, align more with personal encounters, narratives, and personal branding. He personally creates them and gives them out after meeting people. That’s an important difference from the 6 AM cards. The story of how you met him, the conversation you had, and in my friend’s case, being followed on IG was as important as the card itself.

The cards are difficult to make mainstream. The company branding and personal images aren’t something that a company can easily profit off of selling. KL giving these out for free in a limited number and only to people who showed up somewhat resists the capitalist tendencies to commodify folklore. That is especially important when a lot of the organization’s other marketing strategies (merch, purchasable mixes, and branded collabs) are all monetized. The cards are by the people, for the people.

Kandi and PLUR

Age: 23

Date Collected: 4/27/2026

Context:

My roommate and good friend of three years is involved in the rave scene here in LA. He does operations for one of the largest hard techno organizations in California. He is mostly involved in the hard techno scene, but occasionally he goes to festivals and dub shows where passing out kandi bracelets (pronounced “candy”) is more popular. He showed me his collection of goodies he’s gotten in his 5 years raving, and these stood out to me.

Text:

Kandi bracelets are a great representation of the exciting and friendly rave scene. Kandi are handmade elastic bands made of colorful plastic pony beads, featuring fun messages, images, or small items tied to them. Some of them are quite complicated, including finger designs, while others are quite large and stretch up the arm. The most common, though, are simple bands with funny messages or jokes. My friend explained that “they’re connected to the dub, trance, and outdoor-festival communities.” You can see kandi passed around at mainstream shows like Tomorrowland, Lollapalooza, or Electric Daisy Carnival. Those festivals are during the day, when you can get away with lighter clothing and show off your kandi. People wear loose clothes with bright clothing to match the fun color of their kandis. My friend has gotten several kandi bands at Outside Lands, smaller Afro house shows, and other events with chill crowds. Its normal to give kandi to people you like or just feel a positive vibe from.

He mentioned that there’s a specific ritual to giving them away. The PLUR (Peace, Love, Unity, Respect) handshake is the way ravers exchange their kandi. He learned it from someone when they came up to him and gave one to him. He showed me holding up a peace sign, and I held up a peace sign to his hand. “To the beat, you dance around. Then you make half a heart shape.” I completed the heart for “love.” Now, you place your palms together his for “unity,” like a high five.” Finally, we interlocked fingers for “respect.” At that point, the initiating raver would pull one of their kandi bracelets from their arm, over their hands to their arm, all while their fingers are still interlaced. All this is done to the beat of the music, or in a fun flow state. Then you should pass one of your kandis over your arm to theirs. Then you can dance around and either part ways or make a new friend. But “you don’t need to actually give any back; people just want to give them out.” For example, my friend never brings kandi to shows; he doesn’t make them either, yet he has gotten around five from his time raving and has built up quite a collection. He doesn’t wear them to shows because, well, mostly they aren’t his style. But also because kandi bracelets are not common or popular at the shows he goes to. They are more associated with the mainstream EDM scene. He goes to underground techno shows, which are typically held at night and where kandi is far less common.

People trade them, give them away, and they are all made by hand independently. He doesn’t really remember who gave them to him; he was just enjoying the music. All the ones he has are very unique, and no two look really all that similar. He told me they’re all usually unique and like a fingerprint. Each artist has their own style. People try not to copy one another, and they all try to have unique ones so that you can remember that show or specific interaction. As you can see from the picture, they’re all made from relatively cheap beads and elastic string from Amazon or a craft store, yet each seems to have a unique bead pattern, color choice, and style. There’s one that says “sploinky” (no real meaning, just fun). Another says “xing”, which probably stands for crossing the threshold or barrier, and tripping. The final one says “cum bucket,” which was given to him by a girl. This highlights the ironic and really funny humor at these shows. There’s even one with a pacifier on it, which you can use if you’re grinding your teeth. Very practical. Another, pictured above, is pink and star-shaped and goes over the back of your palm. That one is great if you are wearing long sleeves or want a full sleeve of kandi.

Analysis:

Out of his collection, these stood out to me. I immediately thought of them as folk art and, more specifically, I think they are a perfect example of bricolage. They are made of mass-produced items recombined to create something new. These items aren’t meant to sell; they have no real monetary value. But, they do have sentimental value. One of their main purposes is to serve as a physical reminder of your great time at a show or of a new friend you made. Each Kandi is given new meaning based on the context in which it is given. They are also deeply rooted in the festival and mainstream EDM scenes, and associated with rave culture at large. To me, they’re instantly recognizable as a great folk element of that scene that was made by the people. A company, the festival organization, for instance, can’t profit from or poach these Kandi. They’re just beads and string. Any unique bead design could be made by a raver using a 3d printer at a public library. I don’t think it could really be commodified easily. There is also a paradox that something sentimental or valuable is made out of such cheap materials. It’s funny because it reminds me of a crappy macaroni plate a kid makes for their parent’s birthday. Each individual piece is worthless; even together, it isn’t that valuable. But to ravers, these are memories. They hold so much individual value because of the context in which they were given. If my friend gave me a Kandi just for fun or sold one to me, I probably wouldn’t care as much as if I had gotten my own at a show. So the context is the value, a company can’t easily replicate that or profit off of it, which ensures it is of the people and for them.

Aside from being a tangible record of interactions, they also serve as a way to build community. I mentioned that these are very common in the mainstream scene. They’re bright, colorful, fun, and inviting. They help create bonds between ravers and give people an opportunity to connect. This is especially important because at these venues, the music is very, very loud. People wear earplugs or AirPods to protect their hearing. That makes casual conversation and small talk really hard. So, the kandi gives you an easy way and a reason to approach a stranger who is part of your community. It is also very helpful in the mainstream scene, since new ravers or shy people might be uncomfortable. But if they’re given a Kandi, that be like inviting them into the fold. They could feel valued and seen and a member of the community which is really cool and helps keep the scene thriving and positive.

Aside from the purity of the folk art, the PLUR handshake is also a great example of how folk gestures are taught and learned in real time. He said he felt a little confused, but he got the idea pretty quickly. I had a similar experience. The PLUR gesture also highlights the friendly vibes that rave scenes go for. The acronym isn’t just for fun, its a code. To be part of that culture, you need to be peaceful, show others love and respect, and be unified. The community really does care about being respectful. To the shows I have personally been to with him, I’d say they were far more respectful than your average line at Walmart or Disneyland. The PLUR is a great acronym that effectively sums up the values and code of the rave scene into one fun gesture. Its a great way to teach new members and remind old ravers what’s important.

Homemade Jams

Age: 62

Collection Date: 4/24/2026

Context:

My dad told me the story of how his mom used to make homemade jams from the fruit trees they had growing around their yard. My dad grew up in Canoga Park, CA, in the 1980s living in a lower-class, community-centered neighborhood. He said that his parents were very self- sufficient almost homesteaders and that my grandma had a way with plants unlike anyone else in the neighborhood. My grandma passed very recently, so this is a good positive memory for my dad, but difficult to ask too many questions on her specifcally. He told me this story while sitting around our kitchen, thinking of folklore and stories from his past.

Text:

My dad is pretty sure my grandma learned how to make jam from her mom, but he isn’t too sure because he never really helped out. He was usually “out in the neighborhood getting into trouble.” My grandma grew up in Orange County Ca in the 40s and 50s, back when they actually had oranges. In her neighborhood at that time, self-sufficiency and homesteading were essential. She lived on a small ranch with chickens, horses, fruit trees, and some vegetables. Essentially, the modern-day homesteader’s dream. She watched as their neighborhood turned more and more suburban. When she moved to the San Fernando Valley, she tried teaching those jam-making, gardening, and other valuable skills to my dad and his siblings so they could be self-sufficient, and because that was the world she knew. But it seems now, skills like jam- making aren’t a necessity, they’re more of a hobby.

My dad remembers that their house in Canoga Park had plenty of fruit trees and berry bushes, all grown and maintained by his mom. The property wasn’t especially large, but it had several plum, apricot, orange, lemon, and peach trees. As well as grape vines, strawberry bushes, and blueberry bushes. He thinks some of the trees came with the house when his parents first bought the place, but the fruit trees were an added plus that my grandma appreciated. They didn’t have any animals besides dogs growing up. so I can imagine that the fruit trees were a great way for her to pass on her upbringing. I always enjoyed talking with her about the fond memories she had of riding her horses and growing up in such a pleasant environment. I can imagine she viewed that as a real positive environment for kids to grow up in and wanted that for her own kids, even if making homemade jams weren’t necessary.

Most of the fruits ripened in different seasons, so there wasn’t a single specific time or season for making jam. But my dad fondly remembers playing under the plum tree and snacking on fresh plums in the summer. The trees were so large and bore so much fruit that the plums, apricots, etc., often spoiled. His family was very conservative with their money because they didn’t have much. So, to avoid wasting good food, my grandma would turn all that extra fruit into homemade jams.

As far as my dad remembers, the process involved cutting the fruits and putting them in pots to boil on the stove. After that, they were sealed in mason jars with some special procedure to keep them from rotting. The mason jars were then left to cool and turn into jams. He never really saw her use a specific recipe, probably from memory. He said that his family “learned to be smart with their money and use everything.” He remembers they would mix flavors, sometimes adding sugar or new fruits. Generally speaking, it was much healthier and cheaper than store-bought options. The original jams were all used by their family in day-to-day cooking or eating. My dad usually snacked on the jams. He doesn’t remember them ever sharing any with their neighbors or using them for special occasions, but they did share fresh fruits with neighbors.

His older and younger sisters did help out a lot, though. My grandma taught them how to properly make the jams so that they were safe to eat. We briefly asked them if they still make any. They still do occasionally, following the general recipes that they remember, but it kind of fell off because it’s easier to just buy jams. They also don’t live in neighborhoods where they can grow their own fruits, so it’s not the same as when they were little.

Analysis:

At the most basic level, my dad and I understand that making food at home was primarily a money thing. They grew up in a relatively low-income household and neighborhood where saving money was important. So, saving money on foods like jams and homegrown fruits wasn’t just for aesthetics; it was primarily a practical necessity. My dad isn’t wasteful, and a large reason why is because of his upbringing. Making jam was first and foremost to prevent food waste.

But, I believe she also taught it to her kids for a more personal reason. It was the life my grandma knew. We don’t know if they picked the house specifically because of the fruit trees or whether that was a coincidence. But regardless of the reason, my dad’s family grew up in a house that had fruit trees. My grandma grew up in a similar environment, back in Orange County. To her, turning excess fruits into jam was just what you do. That’s likely a skill she learned growing up, and bringing it to Canoga Park was just natural. Teaching those skills to my dad’s sisters was probably a fun way to connect, but also to teach them a valuable skill. To her this wasn’t a hobby, it was a way of life. By teaching her kids, she was giving them a glimpse into her upbringing and teaching them to be self sufficient.

This is just speculation, but she saw the urbanization of Orange County. The gradual disappearance of that way of life she grew up with. I didn’t even know Orange County used to have anything besides suburbs and homes. So bringing that practice to Canoga Park could have served as a way to revive that tradition or keep it going. It could also have been a way to remember her past. Whenever I spoke with her about her childhood, she always had very good things to say. So, she probably enjoyed re-living those memories and loved being able to provide that same lifestyle and memories to her kids.

I’d say that worked! My dad and his siblings fondly remember the jams; such a simple food became an important piece of their upbringing. His siblings picked up and carried on the tradition as much as they could. But in a world that was slowly urbanizing, homegrown fruits weren’t as common. That homestead way of life is becoming a rare exception, especially here in California. My aunts all occasionally make jams, but they explained that it’s just too much work to make it, especially when it’s cheaper to just buy. This reflects what we learned. As folklorists, we try to collect these stories and dying ways of life, as we learned it’s salvage ethnography. They feel so different and strange, making them all the most interesting to collect and preserve. But, it’s important to remember that as the ways change, traditions don’t die, they just change.

The jams weren’t just for my grandma to preserve food. Whether this was her intent or not, she was also preserving a way of life. Planting the trees, making jam instead of buying it, was a way to resist urbanization and hold on to how she was raised. Now, some of her daughters make jams without fresh fruits, from memory, without her. The urbanization that changed her way of life is slowly eroding tradition, but that’s part of what makes it so special. If the tradition were timeless or abundant, then maybe my dad wouldn’t think it as special. It’s the fact that it has a lifespan that makes it special.

Bobotie – South African Dish

Age: 52

Collected 4/18/2026

Context:

My mom immigrated from South Africa to California as a child, growing up she was raised mostly as any other American child in the area would have been. But, to help and her siblings connect with their culture and history, her parents would occasionally cook them all bobotie, a traditional south African meat dish that is kind of like a meatloaf.

Text:

My mom explained, that once every two weeks, her parents would cook her and her siblings foods from South Africa. This wasn’t anything special, “just a nice family dinner to give us a taste of home.” One of the most memorable dishes for her growing up was Bobotie. The recipe originates in the lower Cape, but her family was north-east of Johannesburg, quite a ways from the historical origins. The recipe, as she explained, was fairly common in South Africa; they used a printed poster brought with them when they immigrated, which listed the ingredients and instructions. She says, “that poster is probably still somewhere in their family house.” But, back when her parents were cooking (this was 30-40 years ago) things like curry powder and chutney weren’t available at your local grocery store. So, her parents had to substitute other ingredients. For example, one that she remembered was substituting apricot jam for the chutney. Her family also commonly used raisins, bananas and other fruits to add to the sweet profile of the dish. To her this was normal, but back then, fruits and meat weren’t a common combination in American cuisines. She wasn’t embarrassed though, as she told me “it does remind you that you’re different, but that’s just a thing our family.” For her and her family, it was a way to connect with their roots and pass on some of that identity to my mom and her siblings who grew up primarily in America.

One funny memory my mom mentioned is that her family would sometimes serve the Bobotie to her friends when they stayed over. To most kids, this was a really strange (never-before-seen food). So, to mess with them, my mom and her parents would tell the kids they’re eating elephant stew, which surprisingly worked. Most of the friends she remembered trying it thought it was tasty and quite exotic.

She never really got to try the original until much later in life when visiting her “home town” in South Africa, but by that point, the California Bobotie was the norm. So, when she tried the real thing, she was kinda disappointed. Funny enough, “it didn’t taste nostalgic or like home because it was different.” She can’t remember whether her parents told her that they were substituting ingredients or not, but it didn’t matter. Because to her, the substitutions were the dish.

Analysis:

Before I go into my analysis, I should note my perspective. I grew up with similar cultural exposure. Especially from my mom’s side of the family and my cousins. So, to me some of these things were normal. I wasn’t eating weird foods, but also, I wasn’t raised with as much influence as she was. So to me, these things are somewhat normal, but also somewhat foreign.

One thing from this story that interests me is how the substitutions were forced by a necessity. The ingredients just didn’t exist in common grocery stores, so her family had to create their own “spin” on the dish, which I’m sure wasn’t uniquely their substitution. After a quick Google search, it looks like substituting the chutney is a fairly common thing to do. So many other families in similar situations might have made similar adaptations or substitutions when bringing the food here. My Oupa and Ouma weren’t degrading the dish or making it any less, they were adapting it to their environment so that that culture might continue to exist in their children.

As mentioned, my mom grew up mostly like any other American child. But small things like this are examples of how her parents allowed her to grow up in a new environment while maintaining that cultural identity and connection. And to that effect it worked. She doesn’t remember much else of what they did that was South African, maybe because whatever they did was just “normal” to her growing up that was all she saw. But, seeing and tasting a different food definitely resonated with her.

It’s also so funny that they all leaned into the weird or exotic food aspect. That really sounds in character for my Ouma to mess with someone like that. They didn’t hide the food when friends came over, instead they made it seem exotic by using the unfamiliarity of it. Also, it kind of flipped the roles. Typically, I would have pictured my mom to be embarrassed or nervous for her friends judging the food, but the joke reverses that idea, allowing my family to hold the power in the situation. They’re in on the joke, the other kid, not so much.

But, by far the most interesting piece to me is how my mom mentions that the California Bobotie was just Bobotie. To her, the substitution and “odd” recipe is what she grew up with, so trying the “real thing” felt weird. This shows that there is no one way to do something; instead, it’s in the cultural context and shared meaning that makes it the “right way” or normal. It’s all about perception and experience. The authenticity and connection to the food come from repeated experiences, not just the origin. This highlights the loose boundaries that can make it difficult to categorize or “own” folklore.

This raises a serious question we’ve asked in class. What makes folklore genuine? Well, my mom’s experience would suggest that authenticity is not about adherence, but about shared value and experience. To her, the California Bobotie was more authentic and genuine than any traditional Bobotie could ever be.