Janse and Co.
There’s a new “fine dining” kid on the Kloof block — or rather “casual fine dining”, as Janse and Co. describes itself. That, and the fact that its menu begins with a philosophy and concludes with a glossary, probably should have been a warning sign.
It shouldn’t need pointing out, but “casual fine dining” remains an oxymoron, no matter how many restaurants claim to be part of a whole new genre which generally boils down to a po-mo excuse to charge exorbitant prices for doing whatever they want. Let’s break it down: “fine dining” should be un-ordinary (aka extraordinary; not your everyday comfort hangover burger) food; “casual” should be somewhere where you don’t need a reservation or a tie, and you can eat food with your hands. So is casual fine dining a place to eat excellent fancy food and where they won’t turn you away in slops? That could work, and those places exist, like La Colombe, Overture etc., but that would still be a bullshit appellation because whether you’re wearing slops or not, there’s nothing casual about the food in either of those places. These are restaurants that want to be world-class, and (mostly) succeed because it shows on the plate, in the service, in the whole damn thing being thought through. And that’s why you’d be willing to go drop a grand on a meal there and not feel ripped off.
Chef Arno Janse van Rensburg comes from the pedigree of running the restaurant at none other than furniture guru Chris Weylandt’s Maison Estate in Franschhoek (after previous stints at Terroir, Ginga, and Shoga) since 2011 — now the home of the latest Chefs Warehouse outpost. Expectations were understandably high.
The renovated space (formerly home to the Ocean Basket and then briefly the much anticipated Yuzu, “where rock ‘n roll and ramen collide”, which turned out to be rubbish and therefore closed in a matter of months) is beautiful, with no expense spared. We’re seated in the lovely courtyard, beneath an innovative herb-growing situation fashioned out of irrigation pipes which are said to be friendly to the water crisis in Cape Town — and to necessitate our waitron scrambling to the top to retrieve mint should anyone order mint tea, which immediately made *some* of us excited about ordering that after lunch. It’s a beautiful day, and the mood is good.
Our waitron informs us that this is fine dining “like nothing” we’ve experienced in Cape Town before! The deal is to choose between 3 and 7 courses from the list of items on the menu — presented in no particular order — with the information that every dish is “inspired by the ingredient” (as opposed to an asshole chef telling the ingredient what to do), and that each dish weighs exactly 60g. (Thank god, because I had forgotten my Weight Watchers scale at home!)
The “sweet spot”, we are told, is 5 courses.
After some deliberation, we decide to commit to 3 courses to start — at a not insignificant price tag of R385 — rationalising that we can always add more if it’s amazing. (Spoiler: good call.) Water, wine, and then bread to deploy the wooden knives on our side plates to smear “seaweed sprinkled” butter with. (Can’t wait to be presented with hand-churned butter sprinkled with Aromat. Umami #ftw.)
First course, around the table: “Trout, Plum, Grape, Verjuice”; “Prawn, Mango Atchar, Lime, Cos Lettuce”; “Suckling Pig, Kimchi, Sprouts”; “Linefish, Broccoli, Daikon”.
The Munching Man who got his suckling pig first (the one hiding under the leaves) had also selected an octopus dish, so we naturally enquired as to why the rest of us had received our fishy things first, the response to which was one important element of why this is fine dining like you’ve never experienced it: dishes are served in the order that you announce your choices to the waitron. Meaning that if you say to the waitron, “I’ll have the pig, and the octopus, and the fennel, and the prawn”, from a list of items that has no organisational logic, that’s the order you’ll receive them in. Or, if you say, “I definitely want the chocolate dessert, and the pig, and the prawn, and the fennel and kohlrabi”, then you’ll probably be served your dessert first.
Which is frankly STUPID.
Get Two Ladies Who Lunch’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
Especially as we weren’t informed of this as we ordered, which would have allowed us to be MUCH more anal about our choices, because in addition to just sitting around being fabulous, we’d now also have to do the kitchen’s work of figuring out timing, and what actually works in terms of a sequence of courses for the ultimate pass-to-palate experience.
Also, it was basically then our fault that the linefish was cold by the time it came out. (Lady J. so should have started with the chocolate dessert!)
No one hated their first course, but no one loved it either. The “prawn” (under what must have been a squid ink cracker, because it was black and tasted of the sea) generously consisted of five critters, but the “mango atchar” seemed to be fresh mango with not a hint of spice and the whole thing was therefore too sweet. The suckling pig was hard and dry, despite being served in a generous soupçon of sauce. The fish was pretty, but cold. The trout was both pretty and tasty.
This could get tedious, so let’s skip to the highlights: “Potato, Apricot Spice, Creme Fraiche, Chive” was essentially a tjip-‘n-dip for R130 (not cool). The “Chicken Terrine, Truffle, Sorrel” was overly salted and truffled, and tasted nothing of chicken. The “Octopus, Strawberry, Umeboshi, Mint” was a beautiful thing to behold, but fresh strawberries and cephalopods do not belong on the same plate, because they just don’t taste good together. And so on.
We informed the waitron of the unpleasant saltiness of the terrine, and after assuring us that “our seasoning is always perfect”, nevertheless conveyed the message to the kitchen, and came back to offer a complimentary dish as thanks for the feedback. This was the right thing — or at least a “good” thing — to do on their part, but when you’re two-thirds of the way through a disappointing three-course meal, the offer of another course is a tricky thing to be enthusiastic about.
Nonetheless, on we persevered, and while the third course was no more impressive than the first two, we reminisced about Robin Malan’s excellent Ah Big Yaws? A Guard To Sow Theffricun Innglissh, and had a generally good time speaking in silly Saffer accents.
Dessert came and went without any noteworthy punctuation, and then we asked for the bill forgetting to even order mint tea, espresso, grappa or anything else that one would normally do to linger and savour a lunch well-spent.
Taking our payment, our waitron enquired about our enjoyment of the meal — as he should — and was probably immediately regretful that he had. Don’t get me wrong — we were the model of politeness, offering only constructive criticism about how the chef no doubt has fine intentions but is as yet failing to execute them to that level. But rather than graciously accepting the observations in the good spirit that they were intended, he responded with some automaton mumbling about the philosophy of the kitchen, with the intimation that we didn’t “get it”.
And perhaps we didn’t. But if you’re paying R1500 a couple for a meal that leaves you wondering if you wouldn’t have been better off at Nando’s down the road, then perhaps the chef isn’t getting it either.
It’s a lovely space, and we wish them all the best. But as much as we all hate the “Yelpification” of food criticism, perhaps a good place to start for both chef and diners would be to read reviews of his previous restaurant, where the menu appears to have been pretty much exactly the same concept, as was a strange penchant for hiding the food under leaves and other stuff, as if it’s embarrassed to just be what it is (pics below from the TripAdvisor post about that restaurant).
Go on and surprise us with whacky combos like octopus and strawberries, or prawns and mango, but you better make sure it works before you do, otherwise being asked to pay unjustified prices for a mediocre meal in a pretty place leaves a bit of a bad taste in the mouth.
Originally published at 2ladieswholunchblog.wordpress.com on January 12, 2018.
