AtoZ: P is for Persiflage


Did you there is actually a word for dirty old men?

There is. It’s pornogenerian.

Isn’t that a fabulous word? He’s such a pornogenerian.

And a pornocracy is a government by harlots.

I live in a different of ocracy altogether.

I live in a paedocracy – government by children, both in my home and the mental age of my actual government.

My daughter has palentine (that’s royal authority) over my home.

It can be a real pain in the podex. That’s rear end for you plebeians who don’t know your Ps.

It’s Good Friday and I’ve observed a rather odd occurrence in my community of friends and Facebook acquaintances. Pickled fish.

Currently, all over the place people who I swear have never eaten pickled fish in their lives suddenly making it from scratch.

Is this a South African thing? Like the Scots and haggis?

Even more stomach churning, is that apparently you eat with hot cross buns.

Hot cross buns and pickled fish. Yum.

Apparently it is a Cape Malay tradition something to do with three-hour church services and not cooking over the Easter weekend. Three hours of church and I just might eat my pew book.

I’m not pantophobic. I’m not scared of everything. Just pickled fish. To feed me pickled fish would be a parapraxis of the first degree. I would be appalled.

However, I cannot judge, that would be very parvanimous of me. There are people for whom Brussels sprouts are the height of culinary paradise. All power to them. Actually, I don’t hate all Brussels sprouts. Just those grown in South Africa that are tough and taste like petrol.

Enough of this persiflage.

Here is a recipe for Malay Pickled Fish if you feel like it.






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