DURBAN CURRY is beloved of all South Africans for its fire, as passionate as the humid, sun-baked city that is home to South Africa’s large and vibrant Indian community.
So yes, with a heavy heart I would hear the truck start up outside and rattle and grind up the hill, its contents shaking and baaing like, well, so many sheep, then turn on the gas and get cooking, because I’m human, I’m South African, and, with few exceptions, we eat meat.
How on earth is 9th Avenue Bistro, which has a nondescript al fresco area overlooking a plain-as-chips parking lot, better than the Tasting Room at le Quartier Francais or Overture with its world-beating view and Margot Janse’s fabulous cuisine? I don’t buy it.
These developments spring up with increasing regularity, and you have to think that one day we will wake up, look around, grab the nearest handrail and yell, ‘Where am I? What have they done with Cape Town?’
I reckon we’re made of tamarind and mustard seed, coconut and aniseed, most of which went into the Indian-inspired dinner I put together last Friday evening.