Around the World in 80 Dinners - Bill Jamison [110]
From the Rustenberg farm, our route to the Kleine Zalze winery takes us through the core of Stellenbosch, a sprawling town with a population of more than one hundred thousand people. In this case our interest is the estate’s restaurant, Terroir, instead of the tasting room. From our table on the outdoor dining terrace, the sunny weather, ochre buildings, lavender in full bloom, and tall cypresses prompt an impression of Provence meets Tuscany. The small blackboard lunch menu ranges more broadly around the world, providing us for starters with cured tuna in ginger-shallot oil and prawn risotto, and for main courses, wood-roasted pork belly with applesauce and springbok venison medallions with cassis sauce and a parsnip-potato puree. The appetizers and the breads—a hearty peasant loaf and black-olive-and-tomato focaccia—make us think we’re heading for another extraordinary meal, but the entrées disappoint us a little. On many occasions the lunch would leave us rapturous, particularly considering the value, but not after yesterday’s feasts.
Still, we’re amply satiated and decide to head back to our room for an afternoon of pool time and reading in the shade of our large covered terrace. The suite, like a small villa in size, cocoons us in the best of country style. The sitting area, with a sofa and chairs, faces a gas fireplace, attractive but less useful today than the ceiling fan and air-conditioning. The comfortable king-size bed and spacious bathroom both look out large windows toward the magnificent view, and everything sits under a wood ceiling that reminds us of Santa Fe, with sturdy beams (vigas in New Mexico) supporting split pieces of wood running perpendicularly (latillas). As the sun sets in a stunning fashion again, Cheryl says, “I really hate to leave here tonight, even for dinner.”
Bill agrees but is resigned to the fact. “Our reservation is at Le Quartier Français Tasting Room, the most touted of the restaurants in Franschhoek. We can’t miss it.”
In the end, our longings work out. Le Quartier Français has accidentally booked us for the next evening, when our plans call for us to eat at Reubens, another well-regarded establishment but a lower priority. The hostess calls Reubens to try to switch dates because she is full, but it happens to be closed tonight for a private party. So we react like kids with a snow day away from school, bouncing across the street to the Pick ’n’ Pay to get some local cheese, pâté, olives, and crackers to enjoy on our terrace with a bottle of the Three Cape Ladies wine purchased at the Warwick Estate. Watching the moon rise over the lights of the village below, we’re as content as the Rustenberg Jerseys, wishing only that one of us had studied the stars in the Southern Hemisphere constellations before our trip. Neither of us can spot anything that resembles a Southern Cross.
Cheryl awakes to a wardrobe crisis the next morning, realizing one of her two pairs of cropped pants has shredded from all our walking and then discovering that a pair of panties has vanished somewhere between China and Africa. She recalls friends who lost all their underwear once in China when an unexpected windstorm blew them off a laundry’s rooftop drying terrace. “Could that have happened at the Olivers? I’d hate to imagine a motor-scooter driver on the street trying to dodge flying red panties.”
After breakfast, the receptionist at the inn promises to cancel our dinner reservation at Reubens, leaving us free for Le Quartier Français Tasting Room. Since it’s a Sunday, wineries shut down, and we’ve scheduled a sightseeing drive on the dramatic Cape Peninsula south of Cape Town. The road into the area takes us over a mountainous spine, which descends on the other side to a different climate zone, misty and a little chilly. Simon’s Town comes up shortly, offering a chance for