Our guest today: Milan Kundera

When we decided to invite Milan Kundera to come and eat with us, he was still alive and kicking away in France. So was Mauritz's father. Alive that is. Not kicking away in France.  First Milan passed on, hopefully to a world of ideas, a soft world, a home, where people speak Czech. A world without any totalitarian states and kitsch, lies or people being sent away. 

And then, just like that, Mauritz's dad went. To be with God and wine, high mountains and Mozart. A place without dementia and pain. A place where he could be Hugo again,  which made it kind of obvious to invite both of their ghosts to come and eat and believe with us. Even though these two ghosts are absolute polar opposites. 

Image of Kundera by Boris Percer, as used in the article "Does Milan Kundera still matter?" The Atlantic 2015

I Lightness and Weight 

I was fourteen or so when I saw The Unbearable Lightness of Being for the first time. A tad young for such a... complex film. I made bloody  sure that I would go through those doors though. I smiled extra wide at the person behind the ticket booth, and I did put on a bit of make-up and the clincher... Going with people who were actually over the age of eighteen, and had been to see The Movie twice already. (Irene and Ian!) It turned out to be easy to slip through the cracks and emerge on the other side with wide eyes, a very bushy-tail, and  then feel ten or so years older than when you went in. 

Our here's picture, with some of his translated books

It was 1988, the country was burning, my innocence was white, my desire to see more than the humdrum of small town life was huge. No. It was volcanic. It was my first art house film and it was the first time that I came face to face with something that was bigger than me, something so beautiful and strong and different that I wanted to grab all the thoughts in that film, and explore a way of life that I couldn't name yet. Maybe still can't. Apart from the fact that I felt light with the weight of a new world to discover.

II Soul and body

I was eighteen or so when I met Hugo, my father in law, for the first time. I remember the first meal we had together and my astonishment that he wanted to hear my humble opinion on politics or some such topic that was discussed around the table. I remember that, up till then I had never felt so at ease expressing my opinion. A young opinion. One filled with idealism and all kinds of arty dreams. I had never felt  so listened to. And I remember well that I didn't feel judged at all. Hugo had that ability to make space for people's opinions. That was before dementia took hold of him, and boxed him in and denounced him from himself. 

Hugo de Kock, Mauritz's dad and my father in law

III Words misunderstood

Over the years, I've devoured Milan Kundera's books. I've read them and re-read them. I've named my cats Sabine and Tomáš.. I've printed Milan's picture and it still hangs in my writing space. Sabine in her hat, is probably one of the images that still haunts me as a kind of wild and beautiful symbol of being free within yourself. 

And so I've decided to re-read The Unbearable Lightness of Being to see if it was written for the idealism of the youth, or if it could still hold a heaviness, a guide... Or were the words misunderstood? Was I attracted to it just for the sexual content? (Giggling wickedly) 

 In the meantime so many obituaries appeared for Milan Kundera that I was kind of relieved that we could invite Mauritz's dad as well. It would be impossible to compete with what had been written about him over the last month, in spite of the fact that Milan rarely spoke about himself or allowed interviews. He was a firm believer that the books should speak for themselves. That what Milan Kundera had for breakfast or read at night had nothing to do with his books. 

Juliet Binoche as Tereza in The Unbearable Lightness of Being

Hugo, my father in law,  was the opposite of Milan Kundera. He was a family man living behind the proverbial white picket fence. He was one of the good ones, a father and grandfather,  a balance to Milan's cerebral and artistic views. He loved classical music and he loved food, and he would have loved the hearty meal we cooked today. 

After reading The Unbearable lightness again, I wondered if I even understood all the intellectual claims the book held: Claiming not be be a novel. Adding definitions of words mid story. And then there was Tomáš.  All of a sudden  Tomáš was a problem. A problem he couldn't have presented in the eighties. Or maybe I was just more naive than I thought I was back then.

IV Soul and body

We had to eat and believe though! It's been almost three years of inviting imaginary guests to come and eat with us. And blog about it. (Confession: I had a little self pity stunt! I refused to write a thing! Working through a lot of self doubt about friendship, writing, being... Thus: you have missed out on a few blogs, but we did eat together! With guests! And had a grand old time. And here I am on the other side, with a firm belief in the power of writing and the super power of good friends.)

Everyone arrived at once. Helen, Hannes, Rebecca and Zenobia! Laden with food and flowers and love and cards and open hearts. So,  we started with beer! And drank to Milan and Hugo. We drank to life and a life well lived. 

One cannot find the Czech Pilsner Urquell here anymore, so we had Mad Giant instead

I  read about The Czech Republic and the Prague Spring. I read dozens of obituaries that flooded in for Kundera. We watched people taking us on tours through Prague's food life. To me the food looked very dull and sludgy. Brown sauce and meat. A walking tour in the footsteps of Franz Kafka made up for it. I didn't know that Prague wasn't damaged during either of the World Wars. It looks like a wondrous city to explore and is now on a bucket list.

Sauerkraut and pork sausage soup made by Zenobia

V Lightness and weight

The thing is, we are quite spoilt at this Cooking Club. We have made food that made the gods sing. So reading recipes of making soup with sauerkraut, cooking beef in water! - and baking dumplings in plain old H2O made us all giggle a bit in humble scorn at its simplicity. 

Zenobia made the starter: Zelñača, a typical Czech sauerkraut (kysane zeli) soup with paprika, caraway seeds, potatoes and klobasa (pork sausage) We were surprised. It tasted a bit like the South African landscape at the moment: Where we "make do" with what we have. No escaping, looking the beast in the eye. And we had a good old giggle. 

Beef, in a root vegetable gravy, with dumplings, cream and cranberry jam

We (read Mauritz) decided on Svíčková, a root vegetable sauce, poured over a beef slice, accompanied by some bread dumplings. (The dumpling dough is formed into a sausage shape and then boiled in water. We weren't so sure, but it was quite good!)  It is served with whipped cream and cranberry jam. (I know! Beef and jam! How empty was the Czech pantry when that recipe was forced upon the chef?) The meal was a bit brown and sludgy, but it was also delicious and comforting. Heartening, even. We joked that Milan Kundera must have had a complete new train of thought after tasting Parisian food. (We went to France when we invited Gaston le Roux, so we decided to stick to Milan Kundera's country of birth, the Czech Republic)

VI The grand March

When you type in "traditional Czech salad" in Google, the first hit that comes up, is a Šopsky salát. Cucumber, tomato and feta folks! Once again, quite exciting! I also found a cucumber and yoghurt salad just to have something green on the table. Nothing exciting. We opened one of Hugo's favourite wines and drank to the wonder of two lives that had a huge impact on ours. How did these two men's impact on my life differ I wondered? 

Cucumber salad and 'real Czech salad'

VII Kerenin's Smile

We all smiled by dessert time.  Helen baked a beautiful traditional poppyseed cake. Truly delicious and we almost had the whole cake in one go. It had been a full day. Memories of Hugo and memories of our youth spilled through it. A lightness covered us. A heaviness filled our bellies. We are making do in our crumbling city. A city that we still love. Surviving still. Finding joy in small things. Making do. Building community. Laughing at absurdity. 

Poppyseed cake with  lemon icing. Made by Helen

Post Script Chapter that I added. Sorry Milan, changing the perfect number 7 to an 8th blog chapter

VIII Max's smile 

My dog Max smiled. He could lick plates. Maybe Milan Kundera just set me on a path. Nothing more. A path I walk by. A path that is quite different. Or maybe not. But a path that makes me me. And Hugo? Well, he showed me grit. How to carry on midst severe difficulties. He showed me to make do with what I have. Maybe even more than that: to find exceptional joy in making do. And in that, you can even find art and beauty. 

Here are some extra's and links

Through my self pity stunt I listened to LINKIN PARK. "Don't Stay" was my favourite-favourite song. You can have a listen here. It will pull you right through. I promise. 

You can make the Zelñača soup! Give it a try. 

Have a look at the recipe  Mauritz used over here

Do you have someone you love who is locked up in dementia? Have a look at how to help  them here.

The titles that are used in this blog, are the titles used in The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Haven't read it yet? There are still, even in this age, many reasons why you should. Go buy a hard copy!