All language subtitles for Barbecue.2017.720p.WEBRip.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX]

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I've found that fire...

when you really think about it...

is something that
brings people together.

At night it gets cold and dark.

If the fire is small
it's hard to get warm,

but the bigger the fire is,
the warmer it is.

So fire makes people huddle around,

and start to talk and tell stories.

The glow of the flames draws people in...

bringing them closer together.

I must say...

I think South Africans
are the best 'braaiers'.

I think we are on top in the world

when it comes to putting the best meat
on the table for our friends...

at the end of the day.

Braai in South Africa, first and foremost,
is about good conversation.

Secondly... about very good meat.

Thirdly... about lots
of 'Voggies'.

But even just to get together
and be merry.

That's obviously what it's really about
at the end of the day.

To have a 'lekker' time.

'Lekker' is 'lekker',
that's all there is to it.

That's what it means:

it's 'lekker' to visit your friends,
or 'this food is lekker'.

Braai is 'lekker', because we drink!

'Townships' were first built
around the 1950s.

It was a way of segregating
black people from white people.

As time went by, and freedom arrived...

townships changed, and have become a place
where black people can have fun.

Barbecuing is something that black people
and white people have always done.

Barbecuing used to be something
you did just for fun.

Now it is something people
can make a business out of.

I found this place
and cleaned it up by myself.

Before me, it was a dump.

There was dirt, rubbish and diapers.

But I saw it as a spot where I could work.

I started with rusted corrugated iron.

And people thought,
'what good can come from here?'

I want people to see that you can
always find a way to make a living.

They must know that
God gave them hands, a brain and ears.

BUTCHERY
BUY

And when He gave you these things,
it wasn't for someone else.

You can't give your hands away
like a spade, or a fork.

You need to work for yourself.

It's... lekker.

It's primal.

The fact that you're standing around
a fire, braaiing a raw piece of meat.

What I really like about
organizing a big braai

is the opportunity to meet new people.

People are not necessarily friends...

and they don't necessarily stay friends...

but they can interact.

Unfortunately, growing up
with an Afrikaans upbringing...

I was 18 years old
towards the end of the Apartheid...

I was raised to fear black South Africans.

Although it wasn't intentional...

we were all raised with this idea that
it was dangerous to know black people.

Everyone treated black people
as if they were inferior...

as if they couldn't do the same things
that white people did.

Which is unfortunate,

because as children, you're easily
influenced in the way you think.

Obviously when you're a teenager
you start to think differently.

Luckily for me, things started changing.

You make up your own mind,
and you start to figure out...

that people are just people.

Every person has the right to be
who they are, and to be respected.

Every person has a story about
who they are, or how they behave.

Respect for who people are,

understanding where they come from...

makes it easier
for people to get along.

To give people a chance
to be who they are,

free of any judgment.

It's a cyclical lifestyle...

One's own state of living...

is cyclical.
That's what I wanted to obtain.

Since coming here...

what is really important for living...

and the ability to live without excess...

That has become clearer and clearer to me.

Every leaf is its own god.

Every tree is a god.

The mountain itself is a god.

With that in mind...

I receive the trees from the mountain.

I give them my best regards...

and ask that I am not injured by them.

And then I do my work.

There was an article in some magazine
about the charcoal maker here...

and I wanted to see it in reality.

So I came and visited.

And I made the decision right there
that this was the place.

I was in pursuit of beauty...

and of functionality.

We cut down the wood

and prepare it.

Then we put the wood into the kiln

and seal it up.

After, underneath the kiln,
there's something called a 'kogama'.

We start the fire there.

Inside it is like a roast.

Then we leave it,

for about a month.

During that time, the raw wood above
almost completely dries out.

The raw wood is inherently flammable,
of course...

so when it reaches
a certain temperature...

the heat breaks it down...

and it turns to carbon.

This white charcoal is called 'binchotan'.

Saying I enjoy 'playing with fire'
sounds strange...

...but I do enjoy cooking with a flame.

At some point, I just became crazy
about cooking yakitori...

and I've now been doing it for 32 years.

I just know that I enjoy
raising the temperature.

The hotter the flame,
the more delicious the yakitori.

So I want to use a quality binchotan.

Would you call it a fight?

Yeah... it's a fight.

The temperature must be high.

To achieve this high temperature,
you must let in air.

You need lots of air.

Grilling is a simple task...

but your timing has to be spot on.

Perfecting it is truly difficult,
and it takes a long time.

Put simply, yakitori is anything
pierced onto a skewer.

It's a very simple food.

But the heat at which you cook
is the thing.

By adding sake,
you draw out the sweetness and umami.

I believe it's the most simple,
but also most profound food.

With tebasaki, or 'chicken wings'...

the skin must be crispy.

The oil between the skin and the meat
is delicious.

So, if the temperature is low,
the oil runs off.

And if the temperature is high,
it becomes crispy.

But if you add sake,
it turns a beautiful color.

And to get that crispy, juicy meat...

you have to use binchotan and sake.

With breast meat...

it's a part without much oil.

So after cooking,
you add soy sauce and wasabi.

As for the innards,
they're quite an acquired taste...

so with things like liver,
I coat it with tare sauce before cooking.

It's also very easy to eat
with karashi mustard.

Yakitori is a food
brimming with creativity.

You can have very cheap
yakitori restaurants...

and you can have this kind
of fine dining restaurant.

You can have cheap yakitori places
in an alleyway...

or you can make it into a dining
restaurant in New York, London, or Paris.

With yakitori, people connect...
it's a friendly feeling.

You can say 'lets go to yakitori', and
just go casually down to the restaurant.

It doesn't matter
if it's expensive or not.

It's a friendly atmosphere, and you can
chat about absolutely anything.

Yakitori is definitely something
that's for the people.

Perhaps it's something primal.

Using flames to grill meat,
and all eating together...

It's something our ancestors
might have done.

I wonder if we have that in our DNA.

Cooking the meat you caught
on an open fire, all eating together.

It's along the same lines.

Using fire to cook meat is perhaps
something only humans do.

That may well be
the beginning of the human race.

That's something special...

I've never really thought of it before,
but talking about it now...

that's what I think.

Countryside living
generally is really nice.

Maybe because it's our ancestral land.
My grandfathers, my father... lived here.

Everything is wide open.
It's an open steppe grassland,

where everything is calm.

If you speak in current trends,
then there is no stress,

and it's very serene.

Even your mind is much more relaxed.

In the city it's different...

there's more pressure.
You have to do this, you have to do that.

Here, your main responsibility
is herding animals...

there's not much else to worry about.

The legend of the marmot is that...

the marmot promised he'd never
drink water, or eat grass...

would never go out in the dark,
would stay in his hole...

and in order to keep his promise,
he cut off his thumb.

I used to kill the marmot,

and sell the fur and meat,
in order to survive.

But now I hear the number of marmot
is diminishing.

So this is why they've prohibited
the hunting of marmot.

Firstly, you put two hot stones
into the rear legs,

and a big stone in the butt.

Then you put some meat,

then 2 or 3 stones, then more meat,
and more stones, until it's full.

Last time we used a sharp stone,
it poked a hole through the skin.

Usually we use a very rounded stone.

You open it up,
sit down together, and eat.

Coming here from far away...

finding a wife,
having three beautiful children...

It really is the happiest thing
in my life.

Personally, I've never made goat boodog
on my own...

but I think it will be okay...

I will make it tomorrow.

Get it in the legs, in the legs!

Keep those tongs away from me!

Because you all gather, sit down
and enjoy the boodog together...

the meat tastes better.

The main pleasure of the meal
comes from eating it...

and sharing it together
as a whole family...

because you laugh, and smile, and talk.

That's the pleasure of
sharing it with your family.

I am very proud that I am Mongolian.

Our ancestors said that
we have ties to the sky.

So I am really proud that
I am a Mongolian.

If there is such a thing as an afterlife,
I'd like to be born as a Mongolian again.

Like this.

It becomes an extreme

form of depression...

when it's very cold for a long period.

You get tired, and feel down.

You don't have the happiness
and willingness to do stuff,

create stuff, be creative.

You get bunkered in,
just laying around watching TV.

And the very second
the sun starts shining...

there's some kind of euphoria in people.

And in some way, you have to go out,
you have to do stuff outside.

You have to take the chance
to experience the sun...

the warmth, for as long as you have it.

You have to fill up on sunlight,

so that you have the memory of it
for the rest of the year.

So, really when summer's near,

the 'engangsgrill' becomes hard currency.

The engangsgrill is practical.
It's a small box in which you have coal...

and it comes with
a flammable piece of paper...

so it's a complete grill set
which is ready to be used.

It's very easy to engangsgrill,
maybe that's why you do it.

It's a bit like the industrial revolution
in a tin foil package.

You rip off the plastic wrapper,

take out a match, and wait for 20 minutes.

And when the glow is gray,
you can start grilling.

It's like a self mounting tent,
or a self inflating pool bed.

It's ready to go.

It's that 'ready-to-go' concept.

Just light it in that corner.

Everyone grills.

There isn't really
a certain personality

that makes you grill, or not grill.

However, when you're in a group,
there are different personalities...

and usually there will be one person who
takes charge, who is the driving force.

And in my case, I don't know...

sometimes you become that driving force,

to make sure things get done.

I don't think that there is anywhere
in the whole world

where you can find such sun-sick people
as in Sweden...

so when the sun comes out
after six months of absence...

people are running out of their houses,
just to get some sun on their face.

There's a certain vibe

from sitting outside all night long...

until the sun rises extremely early...

and it kind of gets romantic,
in a way that only exists in summer.

Swedes are innovative and creative people

like Ikea, and that whole thing.

The only problem with it is...

that you can't really regulate
the coal and the heat...

so when it goes out, you're fucked.

Us men are like whiskey...

which gets better with age, so to say.

But my life right now...

I feel like I'm on my way
to being an adult.

But not adult enough
to buy my own barbecue.

I'm incredibly fortunate to be able
to do what I want...

to live in a really great country
and have a good start...

and to have those possibilities.

When I first killed a pig,
it was not easy.

When I cut the pig's throat,
it did not die quickly.

At first it was a big struggle,
but now I can kill it easily.

You put the pig in a barrel with
boiling water, and shave off its hair.

Then you cut the pig down the middle,
and take out its internal organs.

You put it on the pole,
then put in the spices.

After, you put it over the coals,
and start rolling.

I am only concentrating on my work.

My only concern is that
it will be cooked on time.

I don't think of other things.

Only my work,
because that is what's important.

I learned how to cook it
by watching others.

I put it in my brain, to learn it.

And now I've been doing it for 30 years.

For the skin to be crispy,

the first step is,
the coals should be just right.

The crispiness is because
the heat is right.

If the heat does not reach
the other parts of the lechon...

it will not be crispy,
and the skin will be rubbery.

When you stop turning it, it will burn.
You keep rolling, so it cooks evenly.

When I cook the lechon,
I don't need to eat...

I'm already satisfied with the smell.

I feel full.
So I'll just drink water.

I'm happy as long as there's water.

I seldom go to church, but I always pray.

I pray to God for good health,
more business,

and that my children and my grandchildren
will not be sick.

That's all I ask from God.

Good health always.

When eating lechon,
the first taste test is the skin.

If I keep licking my fingers,
it means it's good lechon.

But if it's not tasty,
I won't eat any more.

If it doesn't taste right,
why bother licking my fingers!

The best lechon is in Cebu.

Outsiders who come to Cebu,
they always want to taste the lechon.

The best lechon is made in Cebu.

Cooking with heart,
that's how I do it.

When I cook lechon,
I cook it wholeheartedly.

That's what I can give to my customers.

It is a spiritual environment
for each of us,

where different conversations are held.

The asado calls us and reunites us.

I believe that is the thing,
the essence of the Uruguayan asado.

For all Uruguayans, the theme
of the asado is the same.

From a very young age,
let's say from when you're a baby...

you're already experiencing asados,
because it's a tradition...

from many years ago.
From our ancestors.

We maintain this.

And we still do it almost every day.

Uruguay's greatest wealth undoubtedly

is its agriculture and its beef.

Above everything else... the beef.

I don't know if it's
because I'm Uruguayan,

but I find the asado's meat so tasty.

I love it... I love doing asado.
I love it!

I love it.

There's nothing tastier than an asado,
and for me I'll never say no to an asado.

Whenever I'm invited to an asado
or put one on myself...

I love it.

Here life happens in a more tranquil way.

Everyone knows each other.

We experience and enjoy the beautiful
moments that happen in our town.

To be an Armenian...

Well... how to describe that?
You have to be an Armenian to know that.

Hard working, joyful, hospitable.

A people who have suffered in the past.

This is what it means to be an Armenian.

Always emigrating. We have always
been made to change our home.

We are few, but we are Armenians!

And there isn't a country in the world
that doesn't have Armenians!

When you make a fire, and put children
of different nationalities around...

you can guess which one is the Armenian.

If everyone is sitting still...

the Armenian will be
playing with the fire.

We are all said to be fiery.

We have the phrase 'fiery Armenian'.
The Armenian's horse is a fiery horse.

The Armenian soul is fire and flames.

I have loved sculpture since childhood.

You have to be in a good mood
to make a sculpture.

If you are angry,
you can't make a sculpture.

Making khorovats is an art too.

You have to be eager, put your soul
into it, to make the khorovats tasty.

The interesting thing is,
you make it with your own hands...

and then you enjoy it.

That's the best thing.
That you make it with your own hands...

and put your soul into it.

And then enjoy it with your
friends and family.

People that are close to you.

Come here, my little one!

Is it ready?

Leave it a little longer...

Generally, everyone else wants to
do the khorovats themselves,

or at least give you advice...

Like 'you'll burn it,' 'turn it faster,'
'you don't know how to do it'.

But I'll say it again...
one person should do it.

The most important thing is that you have
to have vodka by the khorovats...

Just before it's ready,

when you first sample the khorovats...

you drink by the fire with your friends,

and that is the most enjoyable
and tastiest moment.

I was very naughty as a child!

When I was a child I was very naughty.

My father used to do khorovats a lot,
because we always had people coming over.

I remember this from a young age.

Now I do it myself. I learned from
watching how my father did it.

I've now done it many, many times.

And it turns out well!

It's something that you pass
from one to another...

because one can't learn it all at once.

Even a builder does not learn
to build a wall instantly.

Someone has to teach him.

Like all craftsmen,
everyone has their secrets.

The secret... Well...
usually you don't give out the secrets.

The secret is in your hand.

Even if the recipe is the same...

it's the hand of the one who makes it
that matters in the end.

Everybody's hand has its own taste,
and as such, you get different results.

The motherland is one of the most
valuable things there is.

It's your parents... it's your kids...

It's one of the very,
very best things you have.

It is irreplaceable.

It's not something that you can explain.

You are connected to your motherland

with your soul, with your body,
with your subconscience.

Motherland is the same as your family.

This earth gave birth to you, fed you.
Your roots are here.

No, I reject this idea
of abandoning my country.

Every day in our village...

there were bombs
from the ground or the air.

We have children and old people...

so we had to leave.

When we came to the camp,
it was just tents...

and desert.

We had everything.

We moved to a very, very bad life.

Usually you move to a better life!

We came to a desert.

Limited water, no electricity.

No freedom.

You can't leave the camp.

You can only live on the coupons
you receive from the United Nations.

You have to find another income.

Most of the people living in the camp
have to create one.

This restaurant is considered
one of the first in the camp.

It was the first shawarma
and falafel restaurant.

I really like shawarma a lot.

Not just the taste. I like to
work with it, and practice a lot.

It's a trade I truly enjoy.

I learned it in Syria, at a restaurant
I worked in for 7 years.

I established my life when I came here.

I organized my life.

I never thought I'd have work here.

Or that I could continue my trade here...
my life here.

For sure, it has lots of spices,
too many to name.

You must learn the spices you work with...

Nobody in the camp
knows the mixture that I make.

I am the first to use this mixture...
it's very tasty.

Syrians like shawarma.

Most Syrians, particularly those
from Hauran living here...

have shawarma every day.

We care about the type of meat we use.

It must be first class.

The spices also.

And then there's also our shawarma chef.

Good customer service
brings people in.

If you don't deal with people nicely,
they will never come back.

For me, I want to return home.

Things here will go on forever.
Home would be better.

Because you grew up there...

and every human being
wants to be in their home.

They don't want to be away
in another country.

In my case, if I go back
to my home country...

every person, Allah willing...

every Syrian will go back to their home,
and live life happily again.

I want to be happy, with my family...

and open my own restaurant,
and organize myself.

Allah willing,

if the bombing eases or stops
all of us will return home.

As a human you have to go back
to your homeland...

to where you grew up...

to your past, to your land.

You have to go back
for the sake of your children.

There is no future for the children here.

The mezcal process starts
when you sow the 'maguey' plant.

The plant needs to be
of good quality stock...

and it takes 5 years
for the plant to mature.

Fire is important

because when it is cooked, or "baked"...

the fire is what brings the flavor,
the sweetness to the mezcal process.

Once it's here,
the cooking process lasts 5 days.

After 5 days it's taken out...

and it's left to mature for 8 days,
depending on the weather.

I started producing mezcal

as a worker when I was 15,
almost 16 years old.

I studied, and in my free time,
I went to work.

That's how I learned it.
Now I'm 20, almost 21...

and I have been working
for almost 5 years.

When the work is finished,
and I taste the mezcal...

I say the work was done well,
the product is good.

And I like when people taste it
and say, 'this is really good mezcal!'...

and I say 'that's good, I have learned.'

Without fire, the production of mezcal
is not possible.

The same goes for other food in Oaxaca.

Fire is an essential part of it.

This business I inherited,
comes from my grandfather.

He taught me from when I was young.

Then I started helping him out.

It is a family business, a family affair.

My grandpa's such a hard working person.
He puts in all his energy.

Work was scant,
but he did it with all his heart.

While I was learning, we made a living.

He sent me to school.
In my case, I finished secondary school.

I had the dream to continue studying...
to study 'Tourism Management.'

To learn about the different dishes of
a restaurant. That was my dream.

But unfortunately, that was not possible,
due to lack of money.

God gives me ideas...
Sometimes I have those.

I am the main person here,
organizing my siblings...

and things come to my mind.

On how to do things, telling someone...
'you... you do this!'

Because... I think I have a special talent
that God gave me, organizing everybody.

In daylight, it's easy to work.

But at night?
Not just anybody can do it.

Sleep is treacherous.

You may have worked the whole night...

but what really matters...

is when a new day dawns.
When you go to the market.

Night after night...

all that matters is the final result
of a job well done.

To be able to make a profit,
selling this food.

PARENTS ARE THE PILLARS OF
A CHILD'S EDUCATION

Now I am on this,
I am going to say some words...

for all women who are going to watch this.

I am going to send a message for all...

all who are in the world,
now that I can come out and say it here.

I tell you, anything that
you are going through...

any test in life, any difficult situation
you are going through...

only... be strong.
Grasp the hand of God.

Keep going, and make your kids
the engine of your life.

Never give up. Push with all your might,
and you will persevere.

So that your kids don't lack anything.

Think about them, always.
And doors will open for you.

You'll always have something to eat...

and always do good...

without a doubt, and you will grow...

while you live on this earth.

We've got goat barbacoa, soup, tacos,
What can we get you?

Barbacoa, soup, tacos...

Come, have a seat.

The connections of my heart mourn

The essence of love

Swells within

It is a link to those lost

To the night

To the dark night

Of never ending

The legacies of yesteryear

Remain in the skies

As a beacon of hope and inspiration

It is the breath of life.

If you don't know where you come from,
you don't know where you are going.

You are lost.

You become a lost tribe,
you become a lost person.

You become of no consequence,
you become lonely.

You are likened to the wind,
that blows aimlessly.

The marae is a place for me to say
'I am Maori'.

'I am Maori, you are Maori'.
It is a place where you can stand proud...

.on your land and say:
'This is me.'

There's craploads of work needed to
put on a successful hangi.

So many logistical things that are part
of a successful hangi.

From collecting the firewood...

to fetching the stones,
to getting the iron baskets...

to getting and preparing the food.

There's craploads of work!

When you lay your wood out...

the bigger logs must be
placed on the outside,

while the smaller logs
are placed on the inside.

Just like that.
And the logs are criss-crossed...

right up until you have
approximately 7 layers.

Once that is completed, the stones and
irons are placed on top of the wood.

Once the setup is complete,
you then light it.

Bubba... come out of the smoke.

When the call is made
that the stones are ready,

the fire is down,
and the food is ready...

then the real work begins!

Your eyebrows get singed,
your skin gets burned...

your hands get scorched...

The rubber on your boots melts
for those wearing gumboots.

Sweat pours from your face,
your back aches.

And I liken it to our ancestor Maui.

Maui who slowed the sun.

Maui who beat the sun so that
the sun would slow down in the sky.

And that work is damn hard.

From the strength of the waves,
the roughness of the sea,

to the calm...

that's how I see this part of the hangi.

When that hard work,
that difficult work is done...

the seas are calmed, meaning that
the workers can now begin to relax.

The rule of the hangi
once it is in the ground is:

If everything is all good...

and your hangi is in the ground,
the only thing left...

is to have good thoughts...

to have good thoughts,
to say good things...

not to say any bad words in or
around the hangi.

To encourage laughter,

so that it generates a good spirit
and a good feeling,

which I believe positively affects the
outcome of the hangi.

My delight in watching our grandchildren
tending to the hangi...

makes my heart sing and soar.

Because they are
the next ones to take over

when we are gone.

That is the legacy that Turanga has left
for us, and future generations.

That's our ancestor, and that was
one of his dreams.

That you bequeath your knowledge,
your education, your wisdom, to them.

And in time,

they will follow suit, and pass knowledge
to their future generations.

Who knows what the future holds?

Who knows where the Maori world will be,
or look like...

in the next 20... 50... 100 years.

Who knows what will happen.

What is my contribution to my people?

What is my contribution to my tribe?

I ask myself,
'what is your gift to the world?'

That is indeed my question:
'What is my gift to the world?'