Nutrition for Real People – The Braai Edition

Nutrition for Real People – The Braai Edition

You haven’t really tasted life until you’ve eaten something that’s been kissed by flame and flipped by someone who calls everyone “dude”—even their dog. That, dear reader, is the essence of the braai.

I’ve been standing by a fire for over 30 years, tongs in one hand, something cold in the other. And while the smoke’s gotten in my eyes more times than I can count, what it’s really done is clear my head. So let me tell you—braaiing isn’t just a way to cook. It’s therapy. It’s nutrition. It’s an ancient, smoke-scented spell we keep casting, week after week.

Cooking Over Fire: The Real Health Hack

Let’s get one thing straight: braaiing is not some fly-by-night TikTok detox trend involving Himalayan moss and oat milk foam. It’s real food, made real simply.

When you cook meat over fire, you skip the litres of oil, the chemical circus in bottled marinades, and the sadness that comes from boiling a chicken breast into bland oblivion. Braaiing keeps the good stuff where it should be—inside the food. Protein stays intact. Nutrients hold up. And that charred edge? It’s flavour, not a felony.

Plus, you control the ingredients. Grass-fed lamb, hormone-free chicken, budget-friendly veg from the market—if it’s going on your fire, you know exactly what it is. That’s nutrition that doesn’t come with a label you need a PhD to understand.

As dietitian and real-food advocate Thandi Mokoena says:
⁠“When you braai, you’re working with fewer ingredients but more intention. It’s whole food, prepared simply, which makes it inherently healthier than many ‘wellness’ meals.”

The Ritual of Fire

But if you think braaiing is just about food, you’ve never really lit a fire.

It starts with that first flame. The whoosh. Then the wait. You have to slow down. There’s no rushing hot coals—it’s nature’s way of forcing us to breathe, chat, sip, and chill. And that, my friend, is where the real magic lies.

Whether it’s just you and your dog on a Tuesday, or a full-on Saturday gathering with seven uninvited cousins and a neighbour who brought his own cooler, the braai is about presence. You’re not scrolling. You’re not pan-frying while checking emails. You’re here—smelling the smoke, listening to the sizzle, maybe arguing about rugby.

According to psychologist and fire-enthusiast Dr. Bryan Petersen:
⁠“Fire is grounding. It engages our senses in a way that digital life doesn’t. The crackle, the smell, the warmth—it brings people into the moment. That’s incredibly therapeutic.”

Braaiing as Mental Health Medicine

You could pay R800 for a sound bath or you could light a fire, flip a chop, and listen to the rhythm of crackling wood. No offence to crystal therapy, but the braai’s been sorting us out long before wellness had a hashtag.

There’s actual research showing that outdoor cooking can lower cortisol levels. The scent of wood smoke reduces stress. That simply being outside, involved in a tactile, meaningful task (like coaxing perfect grill marks onto a mushroom) is enough to help recalibrate a frazzled nervous system.

Let me put it like this:
It’s self-care, but with boerewors.

Real Food That Hits the Spot

And yes, you can keep it healthy without losing the soul of the braai. Here are a few of my go-to fire-friendly options that taste as good as they’ll make you feel:

•⁠ ⁠Lamb skewers with veg – Protein, fibre, colour, and that primal joy of eating off a stick.
•⁠ ⁠Grilled aubergine with tahini drizzle – Earthy and rich; even the carnivores will sneak seconds.
•⁠ ⁠Chicken drumsticks in yoghurt, lemon & herbs – Tender, gut-friendly, and way more exciting than plain fillets.
•⁠ ⁠Snoek with mustard & apricot glaze – A coastal classic. Sweet, salty, satisfying.
•⁠ ⁠Garlic-butter portobello mushrooms – Meaty enough for the plant-based crowd, decadent enough for anyone.
•⁠ ⁠Grilled peaches or pineapple with cinnamon – Dessert that doesn’t feel like penance.

Or, as my friend Sipho always says:
⁠“If it didn’t need a label in the fridge, it probably belongs on the braai.”

Real Food. Real Fire. Real Connection.

Here’s the thing: we’ve overcomplicated health. We chase green powders and fermented dreams while forgetting that some of the best things we can do for our bodies (and our minds) involve sitting around a fire with people we love, eating food that comes from the earth and not a lab.

The braai is more than a cooking method. It’s a connection ritual, a stress-relief system, and a nutritional win. And if you’re lucky, it becomes memory. A whiff of wood smoke years later, and suddenly you’re back there—laughing at a joke that didn’t need to be funny, watching the sky turn orange, feeling okay.

Because in the end, the fire doesn’t just cook the food. It softens us, too.

Till next time—keep the coals hot.

The Hardest Part of Healing No One Talks About

The Hardest Part of Healing No One Talks About

Healing isn’t a neat, Pinterest-worthy process. It’s messy, unpredictable, and at times it feels like you’re going backwards. You think you’re doing better, then boom—something knocks the wind out of you, and you’re right back in that heavy place. No one really talks about that part.

There’s this glossy narrative floating around about “overcoming trauma”—as if healing is just a matter of ticking a few boxes, drinking green juice, lighting a candle, and suddenly you’re whole again. But in reality, healing is gritty work. It’s slow and it’s quiet and most of it happens behind closed doors, in the dark corners of the soul where nobody claps for you.

For me, the hardest part has been the loneliness. Even when you’re surrounded by people who care, no one else can actually crawl inside your skin and do the work for you. And when the people around you don’t quite get it—or worse, think you should be over it by now—it can make you feel even more alone. It’s not just about processing pain; it’s grieving the version of you that never got to exist. The version that didn’t get hurt. The version that felt safe in the world.

Trauma changes you. That’s not a failure—it’s just a fact. And coming to terms with that truth is its own kind of heartbreak.

And then there’s the body—oh, the body keeps score whether we want it to or not. Trauma doesn’t just live in your memories; it takes up residence in your muscles, your immune system, your sleep, your skin, your everything. I developed Multiple Sclerosis, and I believe my body finally said, “Enough.” Years of tension, unprocessed fear, self-betrayal… it adds up.

There’s also this strange guilt that creeps in when healing doesn’t follow the tidy timeline society seems to expect. We’re conditioned to believe that recovery should be linear—fast, visible, “productive.” But healing doesn’t care about your calendar. Some days you’re meditating and eating your veggies, and other days you’re crying in your car and ghosting everyone. Both days count.

And then there are the triggers—the tiny landmines that can blow a hole in your progress without warning. A smell, a song, a stupid Facebook memory. Suddenly, you’re not here anymore—you’re there, again. It’s jarring. But here’s the thing: being triggered isn’t proof you’ve failed. It’s proof you’re still healing. It’s part of learning how to live with what happened without letting it define you.

One of the strangest side effects of healing is that you might outgrow people. As you start setting boundaries and prioritising your peace, some relationships fall apart. It hurts—especially when those people once felt like your home—but it’s a necessary kind of grief. Not everyone is meant to walk with you through your healing. Some were only ever there to survive the storm, not rebuild after it.

And then there’s the fear of feeling too much. When you finally let yourself feel, it can feel like opening a floodgate. Anger, sadness, shame, rage—all the things you’ve tried so hard to outrun come rushing in. It’s overwhelming, yes. But it’s also where the magic begins. Because the only way out is through. Feeling doesn’t mean you’re falling apart—it means you’re finally listening.

Truth is, healing doesn’t mean going back to who you were before the trauma. That version of you is gone. But that doesn’t mean you’re broken. It just means you’re building someone new—someone wiser, stronger, more self-aware. Someone with roots, not just wounds.

Relearning how to trust yourself after trauma is no small feat. But it’s possible. With time, with gentleness, with truth. And maybe that’s the most powerful part of healing—not the big, dramatic breakthroughs, but the quiet decision to keep going. To get up, again and again, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.

So if you’re in the thick of it, please know: you’re not doing it wrong. It’s just that healing is hard. And you’re doing it anyway. That’s the victory.