A Taste of the Familiar
Following Taste, Finding More
My first planned night out in Cape Town, South Africa had been a brisk one capping off a day and trip that had gotten off to a slow and tedious start. The bone-chilling 60 degrees I was all but assured would assault me wasn’t so much a surprise all day as it was a frustrating irritant and salt in an unexpected wound.
As day one’s unkempt hours slid wastefully by in a city largely considered one of the most beautiful in the world, I couldn’t help but feel like a crestfallen outsider.
I had been wanting to visit Cape Town for almost a decade. My research for this off-season trip had me counting down the hours to arrival. My list of must-see, must-do, must-eat, must-drink, must-shop was seductively plentiful.
But once on the ground, I was embarrassed and ashamed at how underwhelmed I was. Everything felt just a little off here. I felt off here. If I’m being honest, I was worried Cape Town and I might not be a good match. Just a few hours in, I was stunned and heartbroken.
I reminded myself I have been in this state of mind before. Refusing to fully succumb to the negative talk track in my head, I persisted. Wait until dinner; it will be a good one… First days take time… Rhythms can be hard to find…
My dinner ahead was at Belly of the Beast, a restaurant with a creative tasting menu that had caught my eye, so much so that I knew it had to be my first reservation in the city. The tasting menu was plated, once an evening, for a sold-out dining room at 6:45pm sharp.
Armed with a South African Negroni, I settled into my booth set for one facing a room full of animated diners. After my first sip, I felt that familiar shoulder drop as every part of my being leaned in. I was hungry to try on this version of Cape Town. Something felt different here. I felt different here.
Why did I ever doubt? Taste always finds a way. The only question that remained was where would it lead me?
It would turn out somewhere deliciously familiar.
The first few plates from the kitchen were really, really good. Oohs and ahhs erupted politely in predictable pockets as servers delivered each course to each table creating a wave of kinship across the dining room.
I found myself remembering all over again, as if experiencing it for the first time, that this, this, was how I connected to place and self – through flavor, craft and collision. I just needed to slow down and sit down in front of it all over again.
Upon first seeing it on the blackboard menu, I remember thinking it was an interesting and obvious twist on a dish I had always loved: seared raw tuna served under a generous blanket of green peppercorn sauce.
Tuna au poivre?! Yes, please.
I realized after that first bite, my belief that travel is a journey not a series of disconnected episodes was plated just so in front of me. The last time I had had au poivre this good, it dressed lion mane mushrooms on Waiheke Island in New Zealand at Te Motu vineyard’s The Shed. Before that I had had it at Le Bon Georges in Paris over a perfectly cooked filet on my 46th birthday. And here it was all over again.
Suddenly, a city that had felt off was welcoming me in an ease and softness that felt just like the napkin laid across my lap. Familiar.
