Around the World in 80 Dinners - Bill Jamison [111]
She’s avidly focused on our next stop, Boulders Beach, home to a colony of African penguins popularly called “jackass penguins” because of their noisy braying. The tuxedoed birds moved to this site, now a part of Table Mountain National Park, only twenty years ago, to the chagrin of their affluent human neighbors, who have to put up with hordes of visitors trampling past their houses. “They wouldn’t tolerate this in Malibu,” Bill says.
Some four dozen of the penguins waddle, flop, and swim around today, awkward on the land but masterful in the water, where their two-tone coloring makes them practically invisible to birds above and sea predators below. Despite the protection, their numbers are dwindling, at least in part due to oil spills. In memory of the visit, Cheryl picks up some handcrafted wire-and-bead penguin key chains and goofy penguin socks for friends and family.
On the opposite coast of the peninsula, Chapman’s Peak Drive provides thrills of a different sort on its wicked switchbacks, used in hundreds of car commercials and filmed chase scenes. The narrow highway, an engineering feat during its construction between 1915 and 1922, nestles between sheer walls of rock and a perilous drop-off high above the thundering sea. Since South Africans drive on the left side of the road and we’re heading north with Bill at the wheel, Cheryl says in mock terror, “I’m hanging off this freakin’ precipice.” She clutches the dashboard and leans to the right as though she is trying to make a turn on skis, perhaps helping us to descend safely to the town of Hout Bay.
It’s past noon at this point, time for a simple lunch that won’t spoil our big dinner ahead. Bill spies a prospective eatery right off, a spot called Ice Dream that advertises “Real Italian Ice Cream.” “If we get two or more scoops of different flavors,” he advises, “it becomes a well-balanced meal.” Unfortunately, there’s no parking available anywhere within a mile. “Just like in Italy,” he bitches.
Farther along, Cheryl notices a roadside fish-and-chips stand named Fresh. “Fried food is a fine substitute for ice cream,” she says, “and it includes a healthy white vegetable.” The proprietor cooks the hake and potato wedges fresh to order and both taste yummy.
Chef Margo Janse and her fine kitchen staff go leagues deeper in complexity and flavor at Le Quartier Français. The tasting-menu dinner ranks among our finest meals ever at any price, but costs only U.S.$150 for both of us, including a superb 2003 Akkerdal Wild Boar blend of Malbec, Mourvèdre, and Merlot. Among the all-star lineup of dishes, our favorite is the wild mushroom spaetzle, a forestful of mushroom varieties sautéed in butter with the tiny knobby dumplings, a poached egg, toasted almond slices for texture, and truffle foam. Two other courses reach similar heights, a terrine of salt-cured foie gras layered with tender shredded ham hock and quail and served with port-glazed figs, and a smoked zebra carpaccio (which tastes a bit like venison to us, though some compare it to horsemeat) with a warm composed salad of crispy sweetbreads, ox tongue, fresh lychees, individual leaves of tiny tatsoi, and a vinaigrette made of vegetable marrow and pureed butternut squash. Only a scattering of restaurants in the whole of the United States have the talent to match this trio of delights, and even fewer sport the gumption to put such adventuresome fare on a commercial menu.
Other dishes are merely outstanding. The sugar-cured impala venison loin comes with truffled honey jus and a foie-gras-enriched risotto colored a glorious shade of magenta by beets and a 1983 Shiraz. A small round of chilled rabbit porcetta has a splash of tarragon cream, a few pickled vegetables, and a bacon-and-apple vinaigrette. A foam of tangy nasturtiums and pineapple dresses the roasted warthog, which