Driving through Piet Retief — the small town where I was born — always brings back a wave of memories. The potholed main road. The awkward bends. That stretch outside the OK where the bricks have been wonky since I was in school. There’s a rhythm to these places — like time doesn’t so much stop as it just walks very, very slowly.
But this time, something had changed.
The old sign that had stood quietly on the main road for decades was gone:
Meier & Van Zuydam – Accountants and Auditors
Our Meier family isn’t very big, so over the years we’ve often wondered — who was this mysterious Meier in the partnership? No one seemed to know. It became one of those charming small-town quirks. A faded sign. A forgotten story.
But recently, that passing curiosity became something much more.
It started with a pot.
Not just any pot.
A Le Creuset pot.
Oom Paul and the Cast Iron Coup
I was reading about Paul van Zuydam — and the name jumped off the page. Not just because of the Van Zuydam in our old town sign, but because of what he owns:
Le Creuset.
Yes, that Le Creuset — the colourful cast-iron icon of French kitchens, design magazines, wedding registries, and cooking dreams around the world.
Turns out, Oom Paul is South African. Grew up near Durban. Once had to choose between farming and accounting (he chose the latter — “It’s an accrual world,” he once quipped). But what followed wasn’t your average financial career path.
In the 1980s, he turned around a failing bakeware company in South Africa and bought out his uncle. That was the first small step.
Then, he got wind of an opportunity in France — a company with legendary products but plagued by infighting and debt.
A Secret Visit to France
When Paul van Zuydam first visited the Le Creuset factory in Fresnoy-le-Grand, it was undercover. No fanfare. No meetings. Just a man quietly inspecting the bones of a business that had lost its way.
He later said:
“If this factory failed 50 years ago, it was purely because of the fact that the families were fighting each other.”
What he saw overwhelmed him — a production process that was still largely done by hand, yet incredibly intricate. While other manufacturers were chasing cheap, mass-produced pots, Le Creuset had always been about colour, craft, and quality.
“Most others didn’t care whether it was colourful or not,” he said. “But the DNA of Le Creuset was clearly its colourfulness.”
Turning a Crucible Into a Crown Jewel
In 1988, Van Zuydam made his move. He bought Le Creuset. The French government tried to block the deal, but he persisted. He saw something they didn’t — not just cookware, but culture.
Since then, he’s quietly doubled the capacity of the French foundry, modernised its systems (to the tune of $215 million), and introduced over 100 colours — from volcanic orange and sage green to glittery pink (a special request from Japan).
The factory still operates out of its original home in Fresnoy-le-Grand, producing over 25,000 cast-iron pieces a day. And while the brand is proudly “Made in France,” less than 5% of its sales are in France today. The rest? Kitchens around the world — from Tokyo to Cape Town.
Van Zuydam kept the quality, grew the brand, and never sold out. The company carries no debt, employs over 4,000 people globally, and is still entirely privately held.
His goal?
$1 billion in annual sales by 2025, the company’s 100th birthday. And they’re well on track.
A Signpost to Global Thinking
So there I was, back in Piet Retief, staring at the ghost of a sign that once read Meier & Van Zuydam — and I found myself wondering:
Could it be?
Could that Van Zuydam be that Van Zuydam?
Even if it’s not, the symbolism is hard to ignore.
It’s a reminder that small towns don’t just birth small dreams. They birth quiet legends. People who leave, who build, who create things the world didn’t see coming.
Our lekker community celebrates the Local Legends — the brewers, bakers, roasters, and butchers of Africa’s small towns and slow roads.
But every now and then, we stumble upon a story like Paul’s — a reminder that even the most global of brands sometimes have small-town roots.
From the red dirt roads of Mpumalanga to the furnaces of northern France, it turns out some pots are stirred far from where they boil.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s what gives them their flavour.
Got a Clue?
If you know anything about the Meier & Van Zuydam partnership in Piet Retief — or if Oom Paul ever had a chapter there — please share it in the comments.
We love piecing together these legends.
One stamp. One sign. One story at a time.
📍 Want more stories like this?
Come meet us at the Stamptisch — where legends are shared and passports get stamped.
🎟️ Explore the Lekker Passport™
🍲 Or check your cupboard — maybe there’s already a bit of this legend in your kitchen.