Reviewing Our Cape Town Restaurants

As a strapping young lad, I love nothing better than to sink my teeth into a juicy steak, a tasty fish or some crunchy asparaghus. Having eaten food every day for almost a quarter of a century, I can lay claim to being a bit of an expert in this field.

Here, I give my reviews and opinions of some of the various restaurants and eateries that I have encountered during my adventures.

Borruso's Pizza.

It was Saturday, and we had reached the time of the week when we needed to eat something. Usually, this would mean hauling out the old gingerbread house and waiting patiently for naive German kids to get lost in the woods, but on this occasion we were in the mood for pizza and so decided to go to Borruso's instead.


Naive German Kids, Lost In The Woods.

Borruso's has an interesting vibe, it has a very "homely" type of atmosphere - with dim lights, rustic decor and the smell of rich mahogany. You can either sit outside in the yard, which is actually recommended, or inside, which is actually not recommended as it can get ridiculously warm and stuffy inside - causing fat people to shed buckets of perspiration, which of course can then be bottled and sold at the Neighbourhood Market at the Old Biscuit Mill.

Borruso's make pizza as well as pasta. I didn't try the pasta, because I hate pasta, a hatred stemming from my days as a struggling Hollywood actor in the late nineties, when all I could afford to eat was Taglietteli coated with salt and pepper.

So it was pizza then, and yes, they certainly make a good one. I had the one with bits of chicken and sun dried tomato, which was was rather pleasant and left me feeling quite satisfied.


Borrusos - Leaves You Feeling Satisfied

The staff are friendly and decent-looking, the food is pretty good, and it's well priced as well. They don't accept bookings though, so if you're ever in Kenilworth, and you're buying booze at the 7-11 on the corner, make a stop at Borruso's and get yourself a pizza.

You'll thank me later.

What: Borruso's Pizza and Pasta.
Where: On the corner of Kenilworth Main Road, next to the 7-11 (Where you can buy booze)
How Much: + - R65 per person.

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Pepenero Restaurant In Mouille Point

Cape Town masochists and other locals looking to get messed around can now enjoy a new and exciting venue. Pepenero Restaurant is a seafood eatery in Mouille Point, Cape Town - that apparently strives to offer the WORSE customer service in the city. Which to all those familiar with past Cape Town experiences will agree, is no mean feat. These boys are not to be messed with though, and they pull it off with aplomb.

The food is fairly bland, but this can be excused as steak was ordered and they DO seem to be a seafood restaurant after all.

Payment time however, is when Pepenero's staff and management REALLY show their class.

It seems as if the restaurant policy is for the waitress to take your card, go off into the downstairs cellar and then begin writing out her 800 page memoir. Yes, this is how long it will take before you get to see your plastic again.

When you eventually get hold of the waitress in question, and request your card back, she will literally THROW it back at you.

Take in what I just wrote there... Sip on it slowly like a strong Jameson on the rocks.

I kid you not, she will actually do this. She will take your card and HURL it at you, like a javelin thrower, or a cavewoman hunting with a crudely-made spear.

Understandably surprised at this peculiar turn of events, you will look to the other waitrons and management for a reaction. The other waitrons will then come over, telling you that "Shame. She's actually having a tough time at the moment."

Oh, okay. That excuses everything. Of COURSE she can act like a wild chimpanzee, she's "actually having a tough time at the moment".

Shame.

To try and get some clarity out of this quite incredible farce, you will seek out the manager on duty, who will of course be on the phone. Although seeing you and realising that you need to speak to her, she will carry on with her conversation, and leave you standing there for several minutes, before your ego taps you on the shoulder and tells you to leave.

Which you then do.

Seriously, what on EARTH is going on, Pepenero's? Are you running a restaurant or a circus? Do you really expect people to come back after being treated like that?

Shocking and pathetic, the behaviour of the waitress was quite unacceptable - and needless to say - a certain bespectacled and ruggedly handsome Capetonian shall not be dining there in future.

What: Pepenero Restaurant (www.pepenero.co.za )
Where: No. 1, Two Oceans Beaches, Bay Road, Mouille Point
How Much: + - R200 per person. If they act like animals though, you can just leave without paying.

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Cape Town Fish Market In The Waterfront

Whilst skipping along the mean streets of the V & A Waterfront with The Girlfriend, we decided to mozy over to the Cape Town Fish Market, as we had the sudden urge to consume large amounts of sushi, as one tends to when seeing a giant sign saying "Sushi Bar", which is what CTFM proudly boasts.

Upon arriving at the so-called sushi bar however, we were presented with this:


This Isn't Sushi? What The F**k Is This?

As you can imagine, we were QUITE ecstatic to discover that we were being served chicken strips, as well as bits of salad, which was CLEARY the reason why we had decided to dine there.

The Girlfriend, being more confrontational than I, found the manager on duty and royally shat on him, which certainly wasn't pretty.

Once he cleaned himself up and changed his shirt, he explained that the chicken dishes were due to a shortage of sushi, as well as the staff changing shifts.

Not sure what this had to do with us, and why the sushi bar was open in the first place then, but hey, that's what he told us.

The Girlfriend, not impressed with his answer, proceeded to kak all over him again, which left him feeling rather sheepish as he only had one change of shirt.

Hopefully a harsh lesson was learnt though - don't bother opening the sushi bar if you're going to be serving chicken and salad dishes.

Don't pull a stunt like that again Cape Town Fish Market, or next time it will be me taking a dump on your manager.

Figuratively of course.

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The Food Company In Gardens Centre

After doing my Sunday shopping for extra large condoms at Gardens Centre in the city, I enjoy nothing more than parking off somewhere and having a little nibble. This would usually mean grabbing a table at the Food Company, on the 2nd floor next to Creme. Incidents over the recent holiday season however, have lead me to re-evaluate things.

Incident 1 - The Newspaper Debacle
The Girlfriend and I had ordered breakfast. I enquired from the waitress whether I could get the Sunday Times, which is normally kept aside for me, as I'm terribly important. "Someone is reading it." she said whilst cowering - keeping her head bowed and avoiding eye contact, for fear of being turned into a pillar of salt - "but I can go and buy you one".

"What a lovely waitress," I thought, and made a mental note to leave her a good tip, as well as a bottle of pure greatness, something I exude whenever I exercise or do anything strenuous. Minutes passed, and I began getting impatient, agitating over what news and current events awaited me. Eventually I hurled a pork sausage at her, temporarily blinding her but serving to grab her attention and leading her to return to our table.

"Newspaper?" I enquired with an irritated tone, her one-eyed expression beginning to annoy me as she now resembled a cyclops. "Yes, I'm going to get it for you right now," she said, seemingly forgetting that this promise had already been made.

Minutes passed again, our bill arrived, but alas, my f**king Sunday Times didn't - the waitress shrugging and saying she forgot for the second time. Don't bother offering then next time, if you have no intention of getting it for me.

Bitch.

Incident 2 - The Vanishing Waitress
The Girlfriend and I arrived to have a quiet coffee, and talk about how great my hands and feet were looking. Our waitress in question took forever to give us our menus, then take our orders, and then finally get our bill.

Towards the end we had to grab the attention of the manager, which we achieved by constructing a crude loudspeaker out of the plastic spoons and sugar sachets. Basically this waitress forgot we were there, which really pissed me off because I certainly wasn't invisible. Not on that day at least.

Incident 3 - The Self Service Episode
A few days after, The Girlfriend sat at a table after a few hours of Christmas shopping. And sat. And sat. No one came to serve her, and eventually she upped and left.

That's three instances of shoddy service over the course of about ten days.

Seriously, the service at The Food Company leaves a lot to be desired. Besides that, they also have a nasty tendency to play one song over and over. And over.

The food there is pretty good but it's VERY annoying trying to enjoy your poached egg whilst listening to Brian McKnight's "Back At One" for the 13th time.

Not good enough guys, time to crack the whip with your staff.

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Porcini Restaurant In Heritage Square

Wednesday nights are usually FTV nights, but we were feelish peckish and so dedided to check out Porcini Restaurant, where the famous club Pu Na Na used to be.


Shaun - Feeling Peckish

It was cold, it was wet, my hair had minced and I was helluva hungry so was looking forward to eating something in a reasonably warm environment.

Did Porcini's offer a reasonably warm environment?

No, they certainly did not.

They had a fire going, but it was still f**kin cold inside the restaurant, as the massive doors invited a biting wind which caused my testicles, Ryan Dobcrest and Professer James Merryweather, to shrivel up and force themselves into my tummy, giving me indigestion.

Thus we left our table, telling the waitor that it was too cold and we would need to leave.

"Oh, okay" he said, not offering any solution.

And so we left.

Cough.

What: Porcini.
Where: Heritage Square, where Pu Na Na used to be.
How Much: No clue - didn't get that far because it was too cold.


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Willoughby's Restaurant In The Waterfront

It was a warm Saturday afternoon and I had been knocking back a few stiff Jamesons since 11am, which is entirely acceptable, as 11am is the new 12pm. I read it in this month's Men's Health so it's officially a rule now.

Anyhoo, an alcohol-induced appetite became apparent, and a luncheon at Willoughby's restaurant at the V&A Waterfront was quickly arranged for a party of 6. Two of the party arrived earlier and enjoyed refreshing beers, whilst the other four of us arrived soon after.

When we got there we were greeted by our waiter, who clearly thought he was too cool for school. I did a search on Google Images to find someone who looked like him.


Our Waiter At Willoughby's. Too Cool For School.

"How nice of you to finally arrive, " he said sarcastically, with a look which suggested we had shat in his lounge, and then eaten his last Rolo.

Our friend clearly wasn't in the mood to work on this particular day, and condescendingly kept correcting us when we placed orders. Example:

"Hi, I'd like the Rainbow Roll"

"Oh, I think you mean the Rainbow NATION Roll"

Come now buddy, we both know what the order was. Stop trying to be clever and bring me my f**king sushi.

Our friend was also too busy being a Smarty McSmartass that he failed to notice that Kim didn't have a drink, deciding to disappear for about 10 minutes, which eventually left Kim having to get up to tell the manager what a shit waiter we had.

To Willoughby and Co's credit, an older guy, possibly the owner, told us that the problem was addressed and that if we have any more issues we should just beckon the manager over.

Our buddy, having now been shat on by his supervisor, appeared without saying a word and sulkily gave us our cutlery. Clearly miffed at Kim, he gave her a soya sauce bowl which looked as if Paris Hilton has bathed in it. It was dirty. She pointed this out to him, and so naturally he gave her another dirty bowl instead.

More gnashing of teeth and complaints followed, and finally the manager arrived with a clean bowl and more apologies.

The rest of the meal played out like this, with Mr Sunny Disposition bringing our drinks and meal in stony silence, with an uncomfortable atmosphere hanging over our table whenever he approached, which kind of spoilt the lunch for us.

Willoughby's, your food wasn't bad, but the waiter who served us was an absolute wanker, who should have rather stayed at home and tended to his kittens.

Not very impressive.

What: Willoughby & Co.
Where: Lower Level, Victoria Wharf, V&A Waterfront
How Much: + - R100 per person. (Excluding drinks, and possible wanker serving you)


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Carlyle's Restaurant In Vredehoek

Carlyle's is a vibey little restaurant in Vredehoek, full of vibey little people, eating vibey little food. So this was where we found ourselves the other day, because we consider ourselves pretty vibey, and we were really hungry.

The place is not overly large, roughly the size of the lounge at The HQ, so it's a fairly intimate setting. There were 8 of us who arrived to celebrate an engagement, which proved to be a problem because, as previously mentioned, the place is the size of The HQ's lounge. Stay with me here.

Anyhoo, after much compromise and gnashing of teeth, we managed to squeeze everyone in, although I was forced to sit inside The Girlfriend's handbag, which was slightly uncomfortable, but I wasn't in the mood for complaining.

The place DOES have a nice little vibe, very chilled, without a hint of pretension, and the food was pretty good as well.

They make pizzas, steak, pasta as well as seafood. The entire menu is up on one of the walls, although the waitrons are also able to comfortable rattle off everything, which can take up to 5 mins but is pretty fascinating nonetheless.

We made our waitron repeat herself three times and she didn't forget a single item. I know this because I am a bit of a Rain Man myself. If you don't know who Rain Man is, I suggest you go and hire the DVD. Basically it's a great little 80's flick starring Tom Cruise and Dustin Hoffman.

Back to the subject at hand, the bill came and we were pleasantly surprised to see that they had charged us an extra fee for what they called "cakeage". Like "corkage" except with cake.

Yes, we had brought in a cake as part of the celebrations. All we wanted to do was have our cake and eat it.


The Cake

So yes, whilst Carlyle's may offer a good night out, beware of their extra costs.



The Cakeage Fee

They charge a corkage fee, as well as a cakeage fee. In addition, they allegedly also charge extra fees for any dinner party bringing in fat people, men who wear two toned shirts as well as women who have overly large heads. So be warned.

What: Carlyle's
Where: 17 Derry Street, Vredehoek
How Much: + - R120 per person. (That includes a stiff Jameson or three)


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Sinns Restaurant

It was a tepid Friday night at The HQ, and I was scavenging around, desperately looking for food. The fridge was a definite no go area - the bowl of tuna pasta was old enough to be my mother, and the slice of pizza at the bottom shelf was actually waving at me, asking me where the party would be that evening.

I didn't know where the party would be that evening, but I did know where Sinns Restaurant was, and so The Girlfriend and I ventured forth to Wembley Square in Gardens, for what we hoped would be an evening filled with gastronomical delight.

Sinns is what one may call a "trendy spot". The location is certainly superb, on the ground floor of Wembley Square, opposite that sushi place that everyone loves, and S-Bar, which is actually Sinns bar.

S-Bar was understandably packed - full of beautiful, hip, upwardly mobile people - with a sprinkling of ugly, hip upwardly mobile people. And one distinctly immobile person, who looked like she would need an oversized crane to help her off that ottoman.

Sinns on the other hand, was relatively quiet, which was rather disconcerting for a Friday night. I remember trying to make a reservation some time last year, phoning on the Friday afternoon hoping to make it for that evening.

The hostess at the time, laughed her tits off at the thought, and I ended up at McDonalds instead. This time round though, it was actually possible to stroll in without a reservation and get a table.

In terms of the food, The Girlfriend yearned for the duck, whilst I settled for the line fish, which was Silverfish. Both dishes came with a side order of fresh vegetables, which consisted of broccoli, pumpkin, carrots and a horrible beetroot mix.

The food was... adequate, certainly not horrible, but not exactly spectacular either. Bland is probably the word I would use to best describe it. The chef is obviously trying out some creative concoctions - my fish was on top of a bed of cream spinach, surrounded by crisp strips of bacon - but it just didn't quite come off.

The Girlfriend felt the same way about her duck, and we were both left feeling that something was missing. The food lacks that X-factor, that thing that makes you say, "Shit, that's helluva tasty" and gives you a semi erection at the thought of it, days after, when you're lying on your leather four-seater eating toast.

A redeeming feature was the dessert though, a rich chocolate cheese cake surrounded by fresh fruit and creamy ice cream. That was something which certainly met my expectations, leaving me with a warm chubbiness in my loins for days after.

In summary, Sinns was like the new Linkin Park album, very well packaged and marketed, until you actually play it on your iPod and realise that there's only one good track worth listening to.

Slightly underwhelming, let's try harder next time, shall we?

What: Sinns
Where: Wembley Square, Gardens
How Much: + - R180 per person. (Give or take a stiff Jameson or two)


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Beluga Restaurant

I have long considered myself a "creative", a free spirit and someone who thinks outside the box. As a young impressionable chap, I remember scratching my head at the concept of "long play records" or "LP's" as we cool kids called them back in the 80's.

"These things are so impractical", I remember saying. "Surely they could come in a more compact disk?"

Then there was the time I was trying to watch German pornography on a poor quality VHS tape. "Bah humbug" I said aloud.

"Why can't this be displayed on a high quality disk which we would then call a DVD, for no apparent reason?"

Yes, these were just some of the many crazy and "out there" ideas I came up with whilst growing up.

As a creative, I enjoy mingling with other like-minded people, and so it came to pass that we arrived at Beluga, a rather trendy little spot at the Foundry, just off Somerset Road, Green Point, where many a creative can be found eating sushi or drinking beer.

Alex the manager seated us at a very exclusive spot upstairs, and The Girlfriend, Kurt The Rep and myself prepared to tuck into sushi, one of Beluga's specialties.

Although reasonably priced by Cape Town's standards, Beluga also offers great specials from 5-7pm every day. Or evening, if you really want to be pedantic about it.

This include massive discounts on their sushi dishes (up to 50% off), which I obviously took advantage of.

The restaurant has a great ambience, no overtly loud background music to speak of, but not uncomfortably quiet either. You can talk about your erection problems or your recent bout of halitosis without fear of anyone hearing you.

The food was to my rather high standard, the sushi was fresh, tight and compact, and the service by our deaf waiter was quite superb (he hovered around every 5 minutes or so without being overly annoying)

For dessert, The Girlfriend and I shared a chocolate truffle cake, a richly layered truffle cake with a sweet chocolate filling, which is probably why it is called a chocolate truffle cake.

Downstairs afterward, we skipped and pranced over to the bar, for a cognac and cigar. Regrettably there were no cigars, the cigarette vending machines were broken and the bar staff didn't want to hand out entjies (loose cigarettes) to Kurt The Rep, who desperately needed his nicotine fix. So that was the only down side then. No entjies at the bar.

Otherwise, it was all good though. Shaun recommends.

What: Beluga
Where: The Foundry, Prestwich Street, Green Point
How Much: + - R180 per person. (That includes a few stiff Jamesons)


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A Bit Of A Tuesday Ramble

I stumbled across one of Cape Town's best kept secrets the other day. No, it wasn't the cell number of The Gupster (Officially Cape Town's fifth most eligible bachelor).

In fact, I'm just going to go off the topic a bit and put a recent photo of The Gupster up right now.


The Gupster - Cape Town's Fifth Most Eligible Bachelor

Anyhoo, back to the topic at hand, I had a heavy night at Mercury Lounge on Friday, watching the Dirty Skirts (also known as "die Vrot Rokke" by a witty Afrikaans friend of mine). I had previously never had the pleasure of seeing the Dirty Skirts before. I had heard good things from groupie friends of mine who had slept with some of them, and I was also familiar with one of their tracks ("What will I do? Ow, Ow") so I spent the early part of the evening getting suitably soaked on Jamesons whilst excitedly awaiting the band.


Not The Dirty Skirts - Although Their Outfits Seem To Suggest Otherwise

To summarise, the Dirty Skirts were pretty damn good, their music consisting of an eclectic blend of energetic indy rock and - dare I say it - a little bit of pop? Anyhoo, once their set ended we headed off downstairs to shake what our respective mommas gave us, and things escalated from there......

The next morning, I was understandably in a bit of a state, and so trundled out of The HQ looking for food and drink. After walking for what seemed like hours, but was in fact 5 minutes, I eventually stumbled - thanks to a dip in the road - across a lovely little establishment called "Arnolds" in Kloof Street.

There I was given a friendly greeting and a hearty breakfast. The hearty breakfast consisted of eggs, bacon, ostrich sausage, tomatoes, potato wedges, as well as copious amounts of toast, for only R16.

Yes, R16 - basically what you would pay for a stiff Jameson during a night out.

Not being very fond of parting with money, I found this to be very reasonable. So reasonable in fact, that this will now be my regular Saturday morning spot after a punishing Friday night.

Apparently if the rumours are to be believed, they also offer a R7 breakfast, although you would then need to be there at 7am, and I think that's pushing it just a little bit.

So to wrap up an admittedly slightly pointless story - in fact, no, it's not pointless. I'm promoting a great breakfast spot.

If you find yourself in Kloof Street one morning, and you're feeling like Ghandi's flip flops, be sure to check out Arnold's, ironically run by a guy called Arnold.

What are the odds of that?


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Tank Restaurant

I have always had a bit of a love affair with fish. It all started as a baby, when one of my cousins - envious of my ability to read John Grisham novels since birth - threw me into the dark abyss of the Indian ocean at Seaforth beach, Simonstown. Although I could devour a John Grisham novel with relative ease, I hadn't quite grasped the concept of walking. Or swimming.

"Oh dear" I thought, as the previous 8 months of my life began flashing by. "I guess I shall be signing off then."

I was sinking slowly to the bottom of the ocean floor, wondering if my financial affairs would be in order, when I suddenly felt a sharp nudge in the back. I turned around to find a school of Cape snoek who, upon seeing my predicament, got in underneath me as if a magic carpet, and guided me to the shallows - where my jubilant family awaited.

In gratitude, my dad immediately gutted the heroic fish and we had a lovely braai that evening, musing how intelligent and courageous the snoek were as we sunk our teeth into them. Ever since that day, I have loved fish, and so it was fitting then that we recently dined at Tank, a seafood and sushi restaurant at the Cape Quarter, in De Waterkant.

I was first to arrive, and immediately marvelled at the decor - which is very sleek and modern, very minimalist in fact. I ordered a Peroni from the rather perky waiter and waited for The Girlfriend. And waited. And waited. Christmas came and went, I turned 29, peace in the Middle East was finally realised, and still I waited. Eventually The Girlfriend rocked up, and nimbly evaded the fork I hurled at her in anger, expertly rolling, whipping out her pepper spray and then blinding me - in one, smooth motion.

Once I had stopped crying and regained the vision in my left eye, we decided to order. For starters we settled on prawn spring rolls in sweet corn and chilli sauce. This certainly appealed to our tastebuds so we had another. Then another. Eventually, prawn spring rolls in sweet corn and chilli sauce were coming out of my ears, which we then shared and ate as well. I cannot stress enough how good that was.

For our main meal we settled for the Rainbow Roll portions, a tasty and refreshing meal which left my mouth in ecstasy and me slightly aroused. Being a master with the chopsticks, I quickly and efficiently gobbled up mine, then made a dash for The Girlfriend's. A quick warning shot of pepper spray was enough to ward me off however, leaving me to whimper and lick my wounds in the corner.

After a long and satisfying burp, it was time for desert. While The Girlfriend settled on a chocolate mousse, I decided on a New York style cheese cake. The chocolate mousse was simply amazing, whilst the New York style cheese cake - once I found it hiding under a garnishing leaf, was pretty good too.

Besides the excellent cuisine on offer, the staff at Tank are pretty jacked up too. Once I had finished dining, I tried to make a dash for the door, leaving The Girlfriend to settle the bill. In a flash, my rather perky waiter was on hand, barring the entrance with his relatively large frame, and forcing me to return to my table, where The Girlfriend awaited with a vengeful dose of pepper spray again.

Besides that though, we had a good evening. For a good night out, be sure to check out Tank - I liked it, and I'm pretty sure you will like it too. Because I know what you like.

Yes, you over there. I know what you like. Don't pretend you don't know me.


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A Royale With Cheese

It was a cold and wet Winter's Thursday evening, the kind of evening that makes you go "Hey, let's sit down and have a meal at Royale Burger, in Long Street, Cape Town". And so it came to pass that we sat down and had a meal at Royale Burger, in Long Street, Cape Town. Royale is an interesting venue, boasting a 50's Grease-Lightening styled theme, innovative decor and design, and substantially large burgers, the size of a small Cape suburb. Many an evening had been spent gorging on one of their famous Federale Burgers, getting pissed at the bar upstairs (called, interestingly enough, "Upstairs") and then proceeding to physically roll home, using sheer will power and the momentum of a stiff kick from The Girlfriend's steel-tipped boot.

Plans to follow in this proud tradition were going swimmingly - I had just devoured my meal like a hungry lion, whilst drinking copious amounts of beer, and the disgusted look on The Girlfriend's face meant a stiff kick in the solar plexus was imminent.

I had just finished my 27th Windhoek, when my spider sense suddenly kicked in, alerting me of impending danger. Instinctively I did a forward roll into a defensive stance, expecting a karate kick from The Girlfriend, but she was still stretching and warming up, and an attack from her side was still minutes away. Then I saw the source of my danger radar - a rather pretentious looking cockroach had sauntered in, mouthing off to the patrons in a rather derogatory manner. He scurried around from one table to the next, causing great alarm and distress to the easy-going customers, who just wanted to enjoy a good meal and were now being treated to the greatest disrespect from the feisty Parktown prawn. Seemingly inebriated, he clearly had his Beer Coat on, looking for a fight, but he quickly met his match when a rather annoyed patron whipped off her Green Cross sandal and smashed him to pieces in one smooth motion.

Everyone cheered and clapped in mutual appreciation, but our joy was short lived as another roach soon entered the fracas, cursing obscenities from the nearby wall above us in a rather vulgar manner. At this, we then decided to get the bill, and proceeded to leave in a hurry, our ears still burning from the foulmouthed tirade of the wretched pest.

Royale, one roach was bad enough, but two is simply unacceptable. Me thinks it's time to call in the Pest Control, or I may have to have my burgers elsewhere.


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Bukhara Restaurant

After a long day at work, smashing rocks with my bare fists, I like nothing better than to slip into my favourite "sherwani", and enjoy a good night of fine Indian cuisine. So it was very fitting then, that we ended up dining at Bukhara, in Church Street, Cape Town, Western Cape, South Africa for a night of Tikka Pasanda, Dum Aloo, Warki Parantha and Amstel.

I am a big fan of Indian food and a regular patron of the Spur in Canal Walk. Our waiter eyed me suspiciously however, when I asked for a Double Rib Burger with cheddarmelt sauce, but the Chicken Tikka in Butter Curry he brought out more than made up for the restaurants apparent menu faux pas. A novelty of Bukhara's is the see-through window to the kitchen, allowing patrons to watch the food being made. We spent several minutes watching in wonder as the child labourers employed there expertly butchered and carved up a rather feisty cow*.

The meat, as one would thus expect, was incredibly soft and tender, literally melting in my mouth as soon as tongue hit flesh - allowing me to slurp up my food in a most dignified manner.

To cater for the white people, the dishes are not too spicy, although we were quite fortunate to witness one unfortunate chap literally bursting into flames as he tried some of the chilli sauce on his garlic Nan bread.

Everyone was enthralled by the spectacular show and our dinner party decided there and then to try some of what he was having, which we loved.

Afterwards, back at The HQ, I settled down on the couch for a viewing of Little Britain (Season 3) while having my varicose veins and abnormally large feet massaged by The Girlfriend, to cap off a most enjoyable night.

*That was a blatant lie for dramatic storytelling purposes

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Saigon Restaurant

"Saigon" was the name of an old movie which had a "2-21" age restriction on it, so you knew it had to be good. As a young spritely lad of 8 or 9, I remember spiking my parents drinks with copious amounts of Grandpa, sneaking into their bedroom and watching the R-rated flick, which had some sort of military story if memory serves, although the strongest memory I have is obviously the gratuitous nudity, and the severe beating my mom gave me when she woke up 3 days later.

So it was with this feel-good nostalgia, that we dined at Saigon in Kloof Street. The venue is large and spacious, letting you chat among your dinner party without the risk of any pesky eavesdroppers - something I value as I am often guilty of blurting out government secrets and blatant slanderous lies after an ale or two.

I'm not sure whether the food is Thai, Vietnamese, Japanese or Chinese - I can't remember and I'm too tired to look it up now. Let's just go with the safe route and say that it's Asian. Not Indian or Pakistan Asian though.

Okay, so the food is Asian, reflected by the decor, and the waitrons are all dressed in traditional Asian garb, (Think "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon") looking as they they could easily rip your heart out with the Eagle's Claw technique if you're unhappy with their service. We were certainly mindful of not annoying our waitress, who probably leaned on the side of over-helpfulness, at one stage even explaining to The Girlfriend how to eat a spring roll.

The complicated concept of eating has often baffled me though and so I watched and listened intently, finally realising what I'd been forgetting all these years (ie: chewing) and so settled down to sushi, which is raw fish which the Japanese eat because they are too lazy to fry.

Our waitress spoke in an incredibly high-pitched tone, sounding the way I did before my voice broke 18 months ago. Her pitch seemed to get higher and higher as the evening progressed, shattering my spectacles during the starters, and causing my brain to begin hemorrhaging during the main course. Eventually her voice couldn't be heard by a human ear, and so I had to get my favourite canine friend Mr Biggles on the line to translate for us, which he duly did even though he was chilling with his mates at a nearby kennel.

Everyone agreed that the food was really good and all in all it was a very enjoyable dining experience. Getting into the whole sushi thing, the next day I tried wrapping raw snoek in a lettuce leaf, but it didn't quite have the same taste, so it's something I'm going to have to work on.


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Belthazar Restaurant and Wine Bar

Wednesday was Valentine's day, and so The Girlfriend and I went to Belthazar Wine Bar in the Waterfront, partly because neither of us can cook, but mainly because eating is a big hobby of mine (I do it on most days)

Essentially a steakhouse, the place is also a wine bar (as the name clearly suggests) and so we were greeted by a wine guy called Darius who took us through a variety of semi-sweets, chardonnays and merlots. Naturally I leaned toward the cheapest wine available, which is normally stored in room temperature cardboard box, but Darius was quite a forceful character and after putting me in a unrelenting choke-hold, I eventually conceded and went for one of his recommendations, a dry red which now may have left my teeth permanently stained.

Their steaks as you would expect, was of an exceptionally high quality, and once I found mine, which had been hiding under the lettuce leaves - I wolfed it down like a hungry... wolf. The bill was also reasonable, which The Girlfriend settled after I had absent mindedly left my wallet in my other handbag.

So... ja (yeah), that's my story. I guess this was one of those "had-to-be-there" kind of stories. Gosh, I thought I had more to say actually, this is a little embarrassing. I must be really tired.


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