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Uprooting one’s life in search of new beginnings comes with expected challenges. Language barriers and differing social customs are usually at the top of the list for most—this has certainly been the case for me. What I didn’t expect to grapple with quite as much, however, was how deeply I would miss the local cuisine from my home country.
A few months after my big move, a colleague and I bonded over our shared South African roots. Whenever we spoke about the motherland, our conversations more often than not revolved around the dishes we missed or wished were available on menus here. After several of these mouthwatering exchanges, my colleague had the brilliant idea of inviting me over for dinner. On the menu? Boerewors rolls and milk tart. It doesn’t get more South African than that, does it?
I looked forward to our little gathering with giddy anticipation. My boyfriend—who just so happens to be a chef—couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about. “Broodjes and wors? You two are having a dinner party with broodjes and wors?” he asked after I showed him a picture of a delicious boerewors roll smothered in caramelised onions. His chef’s brain simply couldn’t justify my excitement over such a simple dish.
He offered to whip up something more elaborate to bring along to dinner, but more wasn’t needed.
How could I explain to my very Dutch boyfriend the role of the boerie in South African society? The alluring smell of braised onions from street vendors lining the sidewalks. Its omnipresence throughout life—from childhood to old age—at school events, sports days, church bazaars, fundraisers, braais, and more. I realised then that it wasn’t so much about the food on the plate, but the nostalgia it evoked.
I began to notice how I missed certain foods at certain times. It’s no coincidence that my mind drifts toward roasted chicken and potatoes on Sundays more than any other day. It’s the quality time with family during Sunday lunch that I truly long for—the noisy chatter as I stuff a second helping of potato bake into my mouth, trying not to make eye contact with my dog who’s hoping to score a treat from the table. Even just a “taste” of that feeling is enough to make me bypass a chef boyfriend’s home-cooked meal and head straight for a boerewors roll or even a simple chicken mayonnaise sandwich.
Curious, I started asking other expats about their experiences and realised I wasn’t alone. Everyone had stories to share about the foods they missed and the lengths they went to keep those culinary traditions alive—painstakingly sourcing ingredients to recreate the flavours and aromas that once filled their childhood homes. Some spoke about substituting hard-to-find ingredients with local alternatives. I thought of how I had smuggled a few jars of butter chicken spice into my luggage on my last trip home. It became clear that my culinary catch-ups with my colleague were far from unique.
One expat told me she travels from Scheveningen to Arnhem every other week just to cook up a storm with friends. The commute, she said, was a small price to pay for a taste of home.
Hearing these stories brought me a sense of comfort. Even with the best support systems, emigrating to a foreign country is hard. And on the days when things feel heavy—or when you simply miss home—it helps to know that something as simple as a familiar dish can soothe the soul.
Summer Jacobs holds an Honours degree in English and has a rich background in journalism, where she spent years interviewing fascinating individuals and sharing their stories. An avid traveler, she recently relocated from South Africa to Den Haag, bringing her passion for storytelling and global experiences to a new chapter in life.
