Four Boere at La Colombe: A Cape Town Top Dining Experience

From Braai to Brass Feathers

Today we swapped out our usual braai and biltong for something a little more refined: lunch at La Colombe in Cape Town, ranked among the top 50 restaurants in the world. Picture it—four Afrikaners sitting down where words like foraging, fermentation, and smoked foam roll off the waiter’s tongue as easily as we’d normally say pass the chakalaka.

Before I dive into the feast itself, I should say this isn’t my first brush with South African hospitality. From exploring the wild beauty of Namaqualand during flower season, to discovering the quirky charms of local food culture and markets , to sharing stories of road trips through small towns where hospitality comes with a smile and a roosterkoek, I’ve learned that food and welcome are woven deep into the South African experience. La Colombe takes that same spirit—but serves it up with theatre, elegance, and a touch of magic.

Privilege and Portion Sizes

We felt privileged to have saved up for such an extravagance—and perhaps even more privileged that this isn’t something we do often. After all, where would the wonder be if fine dining became just another Tuesday? For us, every presentation, every flavor, every little surprise was nothing short of extraordinary. By the end of it, we weren’t entirely sure if we were still in Cape Town… or if La Colombe had quietly transported us to another world altogether.

Boere Budget Hacks

Of course, there are boere ways to make it more affordable. Rule one: go for lunch. Not because dinner is too expensive (wink-wink), but because nobody in their right mind wants to tackle that winding mountain road after dark. Rule two: go at the end of the season and scoop up the winter special. Rule three: skip the full wine pairing and instead order from the top of the list (where the local wines are listed)—because that’s where the smaller numbers live. And when anyone asks why you didn’t splurge on the wines at the bottom of the page, just smile and say you’re “keeping it local.” 😉

Purses Get Chairs Too

For the weary traveler, that little stool they bring to the table isn’t for your tired feet—it’s for your purse. Because of course, handbags deserve seating too. Even Johan got one, though not for a handbag, but for his big, old camera bag. Nothing says “fine dining” like giving your X-T5 its own throne.

Feathers and Horse Pills

That lovely brass feather on the table? Not a brooch, but a landing strip for your silverware as it changed with each course. And that little side plate with the giant white “horse pills”? Just add water, and voilà—steaming cloths to clean your hands. When we braai, we use our fingers to grab that perfectly grilled piece of meat straight from the fire, so we felt right at home when the first course arrived without silverware and had to be eaten by hand. One quick wipe on the “horse pill,” and we were civilized again, ready for the next surprise. (FYI the horse pills transformed into napkins are in the right of the photo below).

Not Your Mama’s Soup and Salad

Except there was no simple salad, no ordinary soup, and definitely no humble tomato tapenade. Nope—this was food presented like art. Even the soup arrived hiding beneath a bouquet of herbs. And the tomato? Transformed into a delicate flower that looked almost too pretty to eat. I now know where “Simba Tomato Sauce chippies” get their tomato spice. My mind was blown. Definitely not your average “soup and salad.” So the “tomato flower” was heralded by Johan…best thing he ever ate.

Wild Boar Snacks, Boere-Style

Course number two arrived with a title worthy of its own movie poster: “Wild Boar Snacks.” The menu card promised smoked bone broth, bacon chawanmushi (spelled more boere than Japanese in my head), and belly. Our imaginations ran wild. Surely not biltong—that’s beef. Maybe crackling on pork belly? But broth as a snack? That had us stumped.

The “snacks” turned out to be three little masterpieces. First, a tiny bowl of smoked bone broth—rich and warming. Second, a cracked “egg” shell filled with the silkiest custard, served with soldiers to dip. Avery and Dany would’ve been in heaven; dipping soldiers into eggs is their favorite thing. Except these weren’t ordinary soldiers—they sprouted blossoms and shards of pork crackling. Lastly, a dainty creation that looked like a taco but tasted like something no taco has ever dreamed of being. If all snacks were made like this, I’d never eat another meal again.

Butter, But Make It Theatre

Just when we thought we’d seen it all, along came a butter churner—yes, a real one, the kind Ouma might’ve kept in the pantry back in the day. Only this time, it was part of the show. With a few clever mix-ins, the waiter whipped up the most decadent compounded butter imaginable. Who knew butter could strut onto center stage and steal the spotlight? Normally, past experience has taught us to pace ourselves—never finish all the bread, or you’ll regret it when the meat arrives. But there was no way we were leaving behind that warm, freshly baked mosbolletjie bread with its boozy, sweet aroma. Bread like that doesn’t just accompany butter—it demands it. And we happily obliged.

From Toastie to Top 50

Lunch just wouldn’t be lunch without a can of tuna, right? Normally, that means a tuna-and-mayo toastie for us boere. But here, the “tuna can” came with a chef’s special twist. The moment we opened it, it gave a festive little pop—like a bottle of champagne. That should’ve been our first clue this wasn’t going to be your average pantry special. Inside was the most delicate raw tuna, hidden under a bed of edible flowers, greenery, and little dots of flavor bombs. Tuna toastie? Not today. This was tuna gone to finishing school.

Sugar, Spice, and Something Fishy

Sugar and fish—on paper it sounds like a bad idea. Yet there we were, staring at the most gorgeous plate of seafood, sauce drizzled, told politely to wait. Then out rolled a trolley straight from the science fair, complete with a crank-operated sugar cane press. With the flair of a magician, our waitress cranked out fresh juice and whisked it into an emulsion with garlic, rice wine vinegar, salt, and a few other secrets I’d never guess. We even got a tiny toothpick with a piece of sugar cane to chew—except this was nothing like the dry, fibrous stuff we gnawed as kids. This was sugar cane reinvented, and my taste buds were grinning. The total effect of the fish, the sauces, the drops of magic, and that sugar cane emulsion was, without doubt, the best thing we had ever eaten.

Skeletons on the Table

Our first fish course arrived with what looked like a crab skeleton—plonked right in front of us, complete with a card reading Namibian Red Crab. Now, we’ve all seen skeletons on the Namibian coast, but that little word red gave it away: this was décor, not dinner. Then came the real star of the show—the most adorable plate shaped like a crab’s body, crafted in ceramic and filled with the silkiest crab cannelloni you could imagine, topped off with a crispy red crab bite. Shipwreck skeletons we expected… but a skeleton as your tablemate? That was new.

Branding Iron Meets Sherbet

Next came the palate cleanser. The menu promised agave, which to my boere brain meant tequila with lime. Wrong again. Instead, they started with a frozen slab of Himalayan salt, misted it with tequila, and crowned it with a whipped mystery mound. Before I could dig in, out came a branding iron pulled from liquid nitrogen. With a hiss, the mound was stamped into a disk proudly declaring La Colombe, then placed atop lemon sherbet. The first bite? Pure heaven. Honestly, I’ll never look at a tequila shot the same way again.

Choose Your Weapon

For the main course, the waiter appeared with a box and declared, “Pick your weapon.” Each of us got to choose our own knife. My boere brain immediately imagined a kilogram of steak headed our way. (Not that I had space left for it.) But instead, we received a dainty lamb chop and ribs so tender you didn’t need teeth, let alone a knife. Every bite was delicious, but in my state of indulgence, I called it my “least favorite.” And really, how can lamb ever be a least favorite? That’s just how good the other courses were.

Roses for the Team

And just when I thought the curtain had fallen, out came the finale. You might ask: how does one chef pull this off for thirty diners? Well—he doesn’t. They do. Behind the scenes, twenty chefs labor on a single course while ten front-of-house staff glide about making sure every guest feels special. It reminded me of my dad, who always said, “Give me five men, and then I’ll do it myself.” Pappa, this chef must’ve been trained by you. The final touch: a delicate box of roses delivered with photos of every staff member who made the magic happen. An A+ team if ever there was one.

Conclusion: A Siesta, Please

I could go on and on, but you get the idea. This was the best meal I’ve ever had. Three and a half hours later, I felt less like I was in Cape Town and more like I’d been whisked away to Spain, where long lunches are a national pastime. All that was missing was the siesta—and after this feast, I think I earned one.