Getting to grips with the gogogo

LONG before Charles Glass brewed that somewhat dry, somewhat bitter but never sweet lager that had waxed Edwardian moustaches twitching with delight, a much heavier ale -- teased from maize and sorghum malts -- was fermenting in Xhosa hamlets. GRAESON HAW went taste testing.

Steeped in tradition

RITUAL circumcision would seem as good a time as any for a stiff drink and so it is for the many sons and brothers who at this time of year return home to find their families brewing umqombothi.

The tradition of brewing this ancient beer is as much alive today as it was hundreds of years ago and important social occasions are still characterised by the brewing of umqombothi, the recipe for which has been passed down through the generations.

While variations of sorghum beer, like Chibuku, Namaqua and the just-add-water Munathi, can be bought over the counter these days, they are really only commercial hybrids of what is essentially a ceremonial drink. The over-the-counter products are unlikely to be consumed by traditionalists during an initiation home-coming celebration.

Porridge with an attitude

WHILE your average pub crawler is happy to slug back a couple of dumpies with little concern for the ingredients, umqombothi's intricate brewing process is integral to its enjoyment.

"Since this is our traditional beer we don't cook it here on the stove: we cook it outside in the pot and we don't cool it in the fridge, we cool it outside. That is our custom," explains local brewer, Ma Nowelile, as she prepares to lift a large pot from her kitchen table and take it out to the cast-iron potjie squatting on an open fire outside.

Ma Nowelile learnt the arts of umqombothi from her in-laws and, much to her husband Wilberforce's delight, has brewed beer regularly since then.

The contents of the pot are poured into the waiting potjie and within minutes they are spluttering vigorously and thick globules leap off the thick steaming mixture. It looks like malt porridge with attitude.

"For the circumcision it is made for the ancestors," says Ma Nowelile, as she stands watch over the potjie. "If you are doing something that is for the ancestors everything must be outside and somebody who is cooking something for the ancestors must have something on their head and something on their waist. That is for the ancestors, to show respect."

A kick like thunder

LAGER louts and barflies should, however, note that while traditional umqombothi undergoes a lively fermentation process it does not have a very high alcohol content. But this doesn't mean there aren't those who follow less traditional brewing methods.

Ma Nowelile says some of the more hedonistic brewers add bread to their pots to juice up its potency, but she hasn't yet found her husband sneaking off to the fermentation drum in the middle of the night with the bread bin cradled under his arm.

Bra Wilber is nevertheless well versed in the more robust versions of the traditional ale. No doubt speaking hypothetically he describes the ingredients of "Skopdonder" -- a feisty little variation on the original umqombothi blend.

Up in Johannesburg, Skopdonder is known as uhambaNabani (with whom are you going?). "They won't give you any if you are alone. You are only served if you are with someone," he notes.

To give Skopdonder its skop, brewers add seven dry yeast measures, seven loaves of bread and 2,5kg of brown sugar to their brewing pot. In fact a partridge in a pear tree is about the only thing missing.

"If you have been to sea on a windy day, you see how the waves come down. You cannot drink a jam tin of that and get out of the gate," says Bra Wilber. According to him, some hardy brewers go even further and add lethal battery acid to the fermentation process. "You add battery in phase two," he grins.

Ma Nowelile's brew consists of one litre quantities of mealie meal, crushed mealie malt and crushed sorghum malt. It is the mealie meal that gives the beer its heavy creamy texture.

Brewers will use the mealie malt to acquire a lighter-toned beer with a more mellow flavour. The sorghum malt is generally used to achieve a darker and more boisterous blend of the beer. Ma Nowelile has added both these malts to her brew, giving it a well-rounded character.

All the ingredients are mixed together in a pot of four litres of warm water and left overnight. The following day, bubbles in the mixture and a lingering, sour odour will indicate the concoction is ready for the next phase.

Ma Nowelile removes six ladle-spoons of the corn-flavoured water, which she pours into a smaller pot which is covered and put to one side.

She then takes the remaining mixture and cooks it until a crusty sediment forms around the rim of the pot. The cooked product -- known as isidudu and eaten as a porridge-- is left to cool for at least a day.

After the mixture has cooled it is poured into a 20litre plastic vat. A handful each of mealie malt and sorghum malt is added to the vat along with the spooned-off liquid that has been left to stand.

The brew is then stirred vigorously with an ipini (traditional stirring spoon). The lid is then put on the vat and a blanket placed over it before it is put away in a warm place to ferment overnight.

"As you enter the house you can smell that there is beer. You can feel it and it has fermented," says Wilber.

"If you want to know if it is ready, take a match and light it just close to it. If the match blows out quickly it is ready. If the match doesn't blow out, leave it, but don't cover it," advises Ma Nowelile.

The brew is then poured into a barrel through a large metal strainer which collects all the excess corn. The sediment at the bottom of the pot, known as intshela, is added to the strained beer in the barrel to give the beer extra flavour.

Meanwhile the corn is squeezed out and is then usually cast onto the ground for the chickens by the brewer who traditionally gives thanks to the ancestors while doing this. Bra Wilber has two obviously contented chickens scratching about in a coop at the back of the family garden.

After straining, the beer is poured into a communal 25litre drum known as a gogogo. Guests arriving at the brewer's home traditionally bring a bottle of brandy, offering it to the host as a sign of gratitude.

Chin-chin

WHEN I visited Ma Nowelile to sample her final product I presented her with a bottle of Oudemeester brandy and then seated myself in front of the gogogo, from where she drew cup after cup of the light brown beer, pouring it into the smaller bhekile.

I lifted the container and offered it to her but she noted it is not customary for women and men to drink together. Lifting the large tin to my lips, I savoured the beer's heavy and distinctly sour aroma. The frothy liquid is smooth and lukewarm vis-a-vis traditional English ales and the sour taste is somewhat reminiscent of guava. As you swallow, it leaves a pleasant tingle in the back of your throat and a warm, bloated feeling in the guts.

Hee hee hee

LIKE many other East London brewers of the traditional Xhosa beer, Ma Nowelile purchased her imithombo (ingredients) from Pullins Cash and Carry which looms over an encampment of street vendors in Beaconsfield Road.

Nelson Ndlazi is practically part of the furniture at Pullins, having started work at the bustling little cash 'n carry back in 1961.

Nelson takes me through to the back of the store where we find burly shop assistants plunging metal scoops into massive drums of corn. As they busy themselves, customers wait patiently for their portions. This is a busy time of year for the packers because the Abakwetha are returning from their journey into manhood at the hands of the assegai-wielding ingcibi (traditional surgeons). Beer must be brewed for the ancestors to mark their return.

"You come at the weekend and there are queues of people waiting like this," says Nelson, demonstrating how the army of home brewers lean up against the hippo-sized hessian bags, bloated with the raw ingredients of Umqombothi.

"Here, this is a very good one," he says, suddenly reaching out and grabbing a handful of powder that looks like sulphur. It is in fact Natal Yellow mealie malt.

It might not be sulphur but according to Nelson you don't have to mix it up with charcoal and saltpeter to get a hard kick out of it.

Nelson grins as he holds the malt in his hand and lets off an excited "hee hee hee", while grabbing his stomach and rolling his eyes.

You don't see folks showing that kind of enthusiasm when ordering themselves a Castle Lager.