TABLE FOR ONE: Galjoen, chokka-block with good things from the sea

Like a Cape rock crab crawling along a lonely beach, wondering why he’s been designed to walk sideways when every other critter goes straight ahead, I took myself off for a solo dinner at a seafood restaurant I’d been hearing about.Some of us are like that, I guess. We find our own way in life, away from the shoal. No schools of collective thought for us; we leave the mammalian mothership behind and drift off in search of adventure.Sometimes we find ourselves at a door, open it, and go inside.Climbing up the stairs from a foyer that suggests nothing at all of what you might encounter up there, we find ourselves (my personal pronouns are “nous” and “moi”) in a space more light industrial than exciting or arresting. Whatever the interior designers’ brief was, it was not to create impact. I’m not saying it’s unattractive. I like the lighting especially. But this interior does add weight to the argument (okay, my argument) that Death To Minimalism ought to be a compulsory subject at interior design school. It’s fine up to a point – that point being the one at which you step back, look around at your handiwork, and think: hmmm, it just needs some colour, some voomah. A striking mural perhaps. An imposing sculpture. Something to arrest you before anything on your plate does.Galjoen’s interior. It looks quite pretty in a picture, but is less inspiring once you’re inside. (Photo: Tony Jackman)And what is on your plate at Galjoen certainly is arresting. Impactful. Yes, colourful too. But flavour and texture are in charge here. So many delectable tastes of so many elements. Just beautiful, beautiful food. And that’s what we’re really paying for when we dine out. No matter how determined designers are to avoid any possibility of excitement in their colour and texture palette, everything can be forgiven – and hereby is – if the core reason we dine out is met with aplomb: to thrill the palate.And there’s a lovely surprise element. No written menu is presented to you, at least at the outset. There’s only a blackboard on which is scrawled: Bread | Coconut fish | Chokka | Braaivis | Just cheese | Koeksisters & perskes | Add-on oysters R50 each | R1,050 pp.R1,050 includes no wine, of course, but for this level of dining it is nowhere near the highest price in town. There are two wine pairing options, regular for R525, or large for R725. I’m not telling you which I had in case my family reads this.You are asked about allergies and the like, as we always are these days, but then you sit back with no idea of what is in store other than that it will be from the sea.The mussel dish (details below) was as perky and fresh as it looks in this picture. (Photo: Tony Jackman)I loved this element especially: little folded cards are placed alongside each course telling you what is on your plate. It’s the menu, delayed. Like this one:SALDANHA BAY MUSSELSWest Coast snoek roll and garlic buchu flatbread.Kashmiri butter with snoek furikake.Steamed Saldanha Bay mussels in a parsley sauce with pickled onions and parsley oil.Puzzled as to what furikake might be? Not from our shores and don’t know where Saldanha is? What kind of bread is it exactly? With some dishes there’s a second card that elaborates:West Coast Snoek Roll | Country loaf made from Lowerland Kalahari white wheat is filled and rolled with a curried snoek pâté before baking.Furikake | A Japanese dried condiment, usually made with dried seaweed, toasted sesame seeds, salt, and dried fish flakes. We make ours using dried dry fried snoek.Saldanha Bay | Icy, nutrient rich waters of the West Coast provide some of the finest growing conditions in the Southern Hemisphere for mussels and oysters.The West Coast snoek roll, middle foreground, was delectable. (Photo: Tony Jackman)Classy, smart. No need to grab the menu, unfold it, and find the dish’s description. And it’s offered in more detail than most menus provide, obviating any need for the waiter to rattle off whatever the chef told her to tell you when she arrived at work two hours ago and then scurried off to the bathroom to run over her lines desperately.That snoek-y bread roll (snoekish? snoekerig?) was so delicious but I knew it was going to be too much too soon, so I ate about half of it before putting it aside. Snoek patee (to use the Afrikaans word) enveloped in bread is a delightful invention. There was a divine oyster nearby, preening pearl-like and luscious in the mouth. The ‘coconut fish’ course at Galjoen. (Photo: Tony Jackman)We moved on to the coconut fish, which was served chilled and I thought that made it special. I enjoy the simplicity of these names; it suggests a distaste for pretension. They serve steamed linefish after it’s been marinated in a lemongrass paste, in a coconut and lemongrass broth enhanced with sesame and a bit of heat in a chilli-hot crunch of fried shallots and garlic. The flavours reminded me somewhat of Thai steamed fish.Then: Chokka! I was so happy to see that word on a Cape Town menu. Chokka, our local species of squid also known as the Cape Hope Squid or, formally, Loligo reynaudii. Chokka, traditionally used as bait. Chokka the afterthought. Chokka, our very own throwaway line.And they braaied it. Served it with crispy tentacles, ajo blanco (the southern Spanish sauce of almonds, bread, garlic, olive oil and sherry vinegar), “exotic tomatoes” and an olive and herb salsa.‘Braaivis’ at Galjoen, (Photo: Tony Jackman)The colour of the sauce on this dish brightened the entire room. Was this the element that would improve the mood of the space if it were to be framed and turned into an art installation?No chance once I’d taken a forkful. This was yellowtail, cooked over the coals, and had a pleasant smokiness and touch of char. The sauce was of spinach, and it had clearly been prepared by somebody who understands colour in food involving vegetables. A dollop of a pleasing potato purée punctuated the sauce and a drizzle of wild garlic olive finished it off elegantly.There were shiitake mushrooms in a side dish of wild rice, normally a grain I avoid as I’ve never liked the texture, but I did enjoy this. Crispy charred onions topped the mound of rice, which contained bits of green bean and said mushrooms.Just cheese, simple as that. Or is it? (Photo: Tony Jackman)You can see why they called this course “Just Cheese”, as it doesn’t look like much. Actually, it refers to a creamery of that name on Springvale Farm near Greytown in KwaZulu-Natal. I thought “Cheddem” was a typographical error at first but it’s their name for a Cheddar-Emmental hybrid, aged for six months. So it’s nutty in a way that you wouldn't expect from Cheddar.Mosbolletjie toast (traditional loaf made with grape must and redolent of aniseed) is topped with the cheese, date butter, and toasted macadamias.Koeksisters & perskes (peaches), a pudding served at Galjoen. (Photo: Tony Jackman)Not a koeksister but a pudding made to taste like one. Sort of. Trientjiewyn-preserved peaches (what a wonderful name — it’s the dessert wine they were preserved in), honeybush yoghurt cream, passionfruit, Ideal Milk, Nuttikrust crumb, and caramel dust. (Nice! A humble crumb made of an ordinary old shop-bought biscuit. Like.)I honestly don’t remember much about that dessert other than that it was delicious, and perhaps because there’d been a tad more wine than I’d bargained for. Gorgeous wines, every one of them, but I’m not one to dissect what’s in a glass, only to savour it, and everything was luscious. Luckily there was an Uber to take me home. In which I didn’t leave my leather jacket, because I’d left it in the restaurant over the back of my chair. But it was returned to me the next day, because these are very nice people. DMTony Jackman paid for his own meal and wine in full.