Zanele was talking to her friend, Katy, at school.

Katy spoke softly so only she could hear. “Yesterday me and Mom made pizza. I did most of the work cos Mom was letting me learn… she was teaching me.”

Zanele listened carefully and made up her mind: if she can make pizza, so can I.

“Oh, that is so nice,” Zanele said, trying her best not to look jealous. Everyone loved pizza and she hadn’t thought of asking Maggie to teach her how to make it. “Tell me how you made it.”

“That’s my secret,” whispered Katy. “If I tell you then you’ll tell your gir… your nanny, and she’ll tell her friends.”

At once Zanele knew what Katy was telling her was not true. “She’s trying to make herself smart in the kitchen.”

That afternoon Zanele asked Maggie to teach her to make pizza.

“Pizza? Huh! Why? Don’t you get the best pizza from that shack you always bragging about?”

“Hut… they call it a hut. They do make the best pizza but I wanna learn to make it at home.”

“Good. I have an idea but there’s no tomatoes.”

“What about the cans of tomatoes in the pantry?”

“For just one pizza, child?”

“Yes, Mummy will say we wasting her groceries. Then let’s make pizza without tomatoes.”

“Right-o, but guess who’s going to do the work?”

“Can’t we use the mixer to make the dough?”

“Huh!” Maggie put her hands on her hips. “What does Peter like to say…? Read my lips… N.O. A rookie starts from the beginning.”

“I just knew you’ll say that. I hoped today you’ll be nice to me.”

Maggie laughed out loud. “I’m being very nice to you, Zanelli-kie. Teaching you to cook is hard work.”

“Oh Nanny, is it really hard work?”

“It needs a lot of patience because rookies are slow and old cooks are used to working fast. But don’t let that worry you. I won’t die. When you have experience you will work faster.”

While she spoke, Maggie gathered the ingredients: flour, yeast, a bit of sugar and salt, olive oil, and warm water.

“Now, young lady, two cups of flour and a teaspoon of sugar into that bowl.”

Zanele tried to hurry and as a result spilt flour on the floor.

“Oh, Aun’y Mags,” she wailed, sounding like a factory siren starting to go off.

“Haibo,” exclaimed Maggie. “Shh, child, don’t cry. That comes from hurrying. You’ll hurry when you have experience, didn’t I tell you, child?”

“Yes, Aun’y M. I’m sorry.”

“Okay. Be careful then you won’t be sorry.”

Quickly Maggie cleaned up the floor then Zanele started from the beginning. When the ingredients were in the bowl, Maggie guided her through the water adding process until the dough was just wet enough.

“Come, I’ll give you a start.” Not waiting for an answer, Maggie took the bowl and gave the dough a good kneading until it was all mixed together.

“There. Put on the timer and knead for ten more minutes.”

Zanele’s smile lit up the room.

When the buzzer went off, she put a tea towel over the bowl, but first she sprinkled the bowl and the ball of dough with flour. “So, it won’t stick, hey Nanny?”

“Yes.”

They left the bowl in the pantry on the warm windowsill.

“Now,” Maggie said, “the exciting part. The onion topping.” Maggie said on-yon.

“Ooh, Nanny,” Zanele clapped her hands. “Tell me, tell me, tell me.”

Maggie talked her through slicing four onions and three cloves of garlic. While she watched her little rookie, she had a few cups of bush tea with slices of lemon from the tree in the back yard.

When Zanele’s nose and eyes were flooded with tears, Maggie reached across and mopped her face.

“On-yons are cruel… they make you cry,” Maggie said. Zanele nodded rapidly. “Croo-well on-yons,” she muttered softly, imitating her beloved nanny.

Under Maggie’s watchful eye, Zanele fried the onions and garlic on medium heat with thyme from the garden. When the onions were golden, they switched off the stove.

“Do we need to put salt in the onions, Aun’y M?”

“Yow! Yes. But just a little. The cheese will add some, too.”

“Ooh… the cheese…” Zanele raced off to the fridge and plonked the ready-grated cheese on the table.

Maggie fetched the risen dough and emptied it onto the table top.

“Flour the table and the dough and use the rolling pin. I’ll grease the pan for you.”

They used the large biscuit baking pan and when the dough was rolled out, they worked it right into the sides and corners of the pan.

“Oh-ven!” Maggie cried. “We forgot to swish it on.” They laughed merrily as Maggie reached out to turn the knob. “High heat for pizza,” Maggie said, “220, for 15 minutes.”

“We did not swish on thee oh-ven,” Zanele imitated her beloved nanny again with a huge smile.

“Yes, we both forgot. Now we leave the dough and let it rise again a little bit more.”

“A leetle beet more, then we spread on the on-yons and cheese. Yum… scrum…” Zanele licked her lips. She was unconsciously imitating that interesting accent. “More thyme, Aun’y M?”

“Why not? Fetch just three sprigs – not too large… on top.”

When the oven pinged, the tray was put on the middle shelf and the timer set for 15 minutes.

***

Tell us: What other dishes would be suitable for a bigger than average family?