On The Road: Cosecha.

Let’s start the new year by dwelling on the past. When I was a kid I remember meals mostly by the things left uneaten on my plate. Shameful piles of boiled peas and carrots that I’d have to grudgingly finish on my own before leaving the table. These days it’s more about the last awesome meal, whether a four-course feast, perfectly juicy burger or mindblowing bobotie served by an overly camp waiter in an old fishing village. Food is life and it’s always worth dwelling on.

One of the best meals I had last year was in December at Cosecha restaurant in the winelands. I’d driven past the place loads of times. It’s on that narrow road that connects Klapmuts to the R45 on which you always drive as fast as the N1 but really shouldn’t because it’s bumpy as all hell. Naturally, because you’ve got your steering wheel in a white-nuckle deathgrip, you miss the small sign that says ‘Cosecha’ on your right as you hurtle along. You’re going to kick yourself for missing it: the place is a gem.

Fresh Mexican food, as good as I’ve ever had, in the winelands. Served with sangrita, quality wines from the estate which it’s on (Noble Hill) and a California-meets-Cape setting, it’s hard to beat. There’s also the lawn for a post-lunch nap and a small damn with a sign that suggests you don’t swim but doesn’t say you’re not allowed to. Dive in!

Watch them make guacamole at the table for you in a mortar and pestle, eat the toasted quesadilla, kingklip ceviche, chicken and mango crispy tacos, grilled ostrich skewers and so on and so on. Just keep eating – the amazing thing is the food is so light you’re not going to get that bloated button-popping feeling you get when you eat cheap cheddar-covered Tex-Mex at your local “chili popper” joint.

www.cosecharestaurant.com

On The Road: Die Laaitjie.

Do yourself a favour the next time you’re feeling slightly overworked, stressed, tired, uninspired or just imprisoned by the city, book a cottage at Die Laaitjie. Actually, let me elaborate. If you’re feeling overworked, stressed, tired, uninspired or just imprisoned by the city, or none of the above, book a cottage at Die Laaitjie.

Die Laaitjie is a quiet place. It’s a collection of beautiful cottages in the mountains above Robertson. Nowhereland, really. Which is why it works – there’s really nothing there. Just a few simple white cottages, large green mountains, some orchards and a river with a pond for skinny-dipping. It works because you can be close to the nearest cottage, but clever layout means you don’t need to see them. It works because you feel closer to the stars at night rather than Cape Town, just 2 hours away. It’s the kind of place you’ll want to share with good people only.

To give you an idea of the bliss, this past weekend as example. Friday night: Steak frites, red wine and a couple games of Speed. Saturday: river-running, suntanning, smashing bottles of Everson’s stupidly good pear cider, smörgåsbording on Frankie Fenner’s ‘bloody mary’ chourizo (the best sausage I’ve had since 1723), pork rillette and stinky cheeses, drinking too much Roundstone Blanc de Noir, braaiing bacon-wrapped monkfish skewers and fat prawns, a coal-roasted pork shoulder that was forgotten and turned unexpectedly deliciously crispy and ending with homemade panna cotta. Oh, and Sunday: lazing in bed as long as humanely possible. Of course.

www.dielaaitjie.co.za

On The Road: Bar Bar Black Sheep.

There are more restaurants in Riebeek Kasteel that serve lamb shank than anywhere else in the world. It’s as if nicely fattened sheep stroll into town, knock on each restaurant’s door, let out a final bleat and like cheap prostitutes they collapse, offering their legs to the chefs. Which isn’t a bad thing – lamb shank is delicious. But the town has more to offer, culinary-wise.

Go to Bar Bar Black Sheep. Like we did yesterday. Sit in the courtyard under the pergola. Order as many of the starters as you can consume comfortably without losing enough space to eat a main. The tapas platter with red pepper humus, chourizo in red wine and the mussels is awesome. Baked lemons are great too. That strawberry & Parma ham salad, genius. Rapidly consume bottles of  Santa Cecilia Chenin Blanc 2010 (hopa!) and Sequillo White 2010. Drink them out of the thrift store tumblers. Order mains like the Zamalek-battered fish & chips, huge lamb burger or tractor-tyre sized fishcakes with pineapple salsa. Drink the Lammershoek Roulette Blanc 2009 (bang!) and the best of all, the Mullineux Syrah 2009.

Skip the sub-par espresso. Rather go to the Royal Hotel next door, say, “Fuck you, Louis Gossett Jr.” and drink pink gin & tonics with cucumber. Admire the view over the Swartland while the 35′C heat plays games with your mind. Or is that the gin. Or the effects of blood draining from your head to your stomach to deal with the overindulgences of the earlier lunch you sure won’t forget in a long time, not just for the food or the wine, but for the fact that skipping town and getting on the road into the oven of a countryside with a bunch of mates is always going to be the best thing you do all weekend.

www.bbbs.co.za

On the road: Hemel-en-Aarde.

“Nice kankle bru!” Simon (my business partner) wasn’t too happy with this comment I tossed his way. The good fellow happened to sprain his ankle, which was now nicely swolen, during a run I’d suggested we do. But anyways, enough Steph Weiss and even the most painful of injuries is bearable. Like the third-degree burn I suffered on my neck from a hot potato Simon threw at me that I would’ve dodged like Keanu in The Matrix if it hadn’t been for all that Steph Weiss. Karma isn’t a bitch, it’s a burn.

Last weekend saw over 20 mates head up to High Seasons cottages in the Hemel-en-Aarde Valley for the usual weekend of debauched eating and drinking, this time made even more celebratory since the reason for the gathering was Simon’s birthday. We piled into a Mini Cooper (just four of us, twenty people in a Mini would be a Guinness world record and plain stupid), which despite the small size of the car packs a mean amount of luggage into it. We sped down the N2, cruised over Sir Lowry’s Pass, shot past Elgin, hooked a right at Botriver and a left just before Hermanus to end up on the Hemel-en-Aarde Road, which if you’re into driving, is lots of fun.

The valley (enter your own adjectives of beauty and adoration here, blah blah) is famously home to Hamilton Russell Vineyards, who make expensive but damned good wines, and a bunch of other top Pinot-producing wineries (Creation, Newton Johnson and Bouchard Finlayson probably my favourites).  The cottages overlooked (insert your long line of adoring adjectives again) valley and we made use of these views to distract us while we sat on the lawn for the entirety of the scorching afternoon. Between us, we cracked beers, swam in the “extreme” dam, made “game-changing” margaritas, talked a lot of bullshit, laughed too much, planked on a fence, chased the bull a bit (as you do), drank lots of Bouchard Finlayson Sauvignon Blanc, rolled down hills, did the peacock dance and some rather spring-like worm dance moves.

After it all, Marco the legendary Porra made the world’s tastiest prawns. 12kg of them. They came in waves, a relentless shellfish and garlic attack that showed our stomachs no mercy. There might have been some greens, potatoes and a 5L bottle of wine. There apparently were brownies too. But things got rather fuzzy by then. Thank God the tequila stayed in the fridge, one can only imagine what mayhem would’ve happened if that found it’s way into the wrong hands.

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All pics by Andrew Brauteseth / @guy_with_camera .