Starters: President Cyril Ramaphosas visit to Palace Fisheries was part of his charm offensive ahead of his speech. (Elmond Jiyane/GCIS)
President Cyril Ramaphosa this week seemingly drew the short straw in the presidency dinner club and was despatched on the lunchtime food run.
And, like most Capetonians, he turned up his nose at the well-presented meals of five-star gourmet platters and luxurious canapés.
Instead, he opted for something a little more traditional: a parcel of lekker fish and chips.
Ramaphosa’s motorcade rolled into Salt River, a working-class but soon-to-be gentrified suburb on the edge of Cape Town’s City Bowl.
Either he called ahead, ordered on UberEats or, unbeknownst to us, this is a regular arrangement, because 20 parcels of hake and chips were ready for him.
“I know you’re the best fish-and- chip shop in town,” Ramaphosa told the staff at the Palace Fisheries.
I know a president could be out of touch with the common man and woman but, come on, everyone knows the best fish and chips is at Lusitania Fisheries in Cape Town’s city centre.
“I prefer the hake one. But how is the snoek?” the president enquired.
Good call, Mister President. Snoek has the propensity to have far too many sharp bones and, with the president and the rest of the ANC top six reportedly at each other’s throats, a wayward snoek bone would not be helpful.
Ramaphosa’s lunchtime photo op was well executed and, more importantly, it worked.
The president uses these everyday engagements with South Africans to good effect, drumming up support for his personal brand, but also to draw attention to his State of the Nation address (Sona).
PR and marketing analyst Rachel Irvine, of marketing firm Irvine Partners, says: “President Ramaphosa is building his personal brand with visits to fish-and-chips shops and runs on the promenade.
“It’s a smart move. He’s telling the electorate he’s a man of the people, not confined to an ivory tower of privilege and indifference.
“This is particularly necessary ahead of a Sona, where the news is not going to be good. He’s signalling that he understands the struggles of South Africans and is not going to isolate himself behind high walls [and] blue-light brigades as his predecessor did. The buffalo is claiming his kraal.”
The president’s lunchtime run also highlights the dietary choices on offer for MPs and Cabinet ministers when they’re in Cape Town on parliamentary business.
Members of the Democratic Alliance are known to have breakfast at Bread, Milk and Honey in Spin Street.
Deputy speaker Lechesa Tsenoli also frequents this place where, if you visit regularly, the staff remember your name. Remembering names is something Tsenoli and his boss, speaker Thandi Modise, are going to have to learn quickly — there’s a new class of MPs in Parliament.
Others choose someplace a bit more in the diplomatic region of South-South relations. Café Colombia is a favourite for many ministers.
Run by an immigrant Colombian couple, who admittedly don’t pay too much attention to politics, MPs, ministers and apparatchiks are regularly seen caucusing in hushed tones.
Politicians tend to enjoy this nonchalant attitude of even the most politically aware in Cape Town.
Capetonians are far too cool. They won’t acknowledge or wave to a Hollywood celebrity, let alone a lowly Cabinet minister who sometimes walks out of the parliamentary precinct with a security officer in tow.
One deputy minister, out buying cigarettes at a neighbouring shop, hushed this journalist to secrecy. They were reassured the people in the shop didn’t know who they were and that the coast was clear.
Parliament-sponsored lunches were nothing to scoff at: scones with jam and cream, toasted sandwiches with cheese or chicken mayonnaise, fizzy drinks and juices were once in ample supply.
But they have now been replaced by rye bread, carrot sticks and fat-free yoghurt. There’s usually a lot left over once meetings are over. I wonder why?
For some, there’s always a liquid lunch at the parliamentary bar. Journalists and guests are allowed, but only at the invitation of a member. Apparently, the parliamentary bar has more privilege than the floor of the National Assembly chamber.
What’s said in the bar stays in the bar, a frequenting member tells me.
Parliamentary politics is indeed hungry and thirsty work.
I’m sure that when Ramaphosa returned to his Tuynhuys office he was welcomed as Mr Delivery.
Now he just has to deliver to the 57-million other South Africans.