On clear days, guests dine outside on the covered ‘stoep’ (veranda), with a marvelous view over the ocean. A few steps down the slope can be found the original Wolfgat, a cavern believed to have been in use by local peoples thousands of years ago. (‘Wolfgat’ is translated as ‘wolf hole’ or ‘cave.’) At night and on colder days, Kobus and his small team move the tables inside. They light a fire in the fireplace and diners get to see the kitchen in action. It is not the kind of action normally associated with award-winning kitchens. The atmosphere is not frenetic, but calm and focused; the pace is unhurried. It feels right for a restaurant so radically aligned to time and the seasons, and to the way nature operates. Meat (local venison and lamb) is on the menu only when in season— autumn and winter. In summer, the focus shifts to sustainably sourced seafood. Even the local edible greens on the menu have a season, for which Kobus is happy to wait. He waxes lyrical about a plant called dune celery “which is not sprouting at the moment, but when it is I love to use it for its green and earthy taste.”
Enough, for now. Having plucked enough klipkombers to supply week, Kobus is satisfied with his harvest. He subscribes to the forager’s code—he will take no more than he needs. his kitchen for the next
On clear days, guests take their place at the simple but stylish mix of wooden and steel furniture on the verandah. A traditional rietdak (canopy of reeds) shields them from the sun; in the background, the picturesque village of Paternoster.
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