Strandloper
Published: 01 Jan 06
Category: Contemporary Classic
I suspect he and his carnivorous mates wouldn't feel too out of place in the seafood bomas that are so much part of the West Coast culinary scene. Not that there's m
uch red meat on offer, apart from scraps of lamb in the mandatory waterblommetjie
bredie, but there's lots of fish and potato and bread, and very little in the
way of greens.
Strandloper in Langebaan isn't quite as venerable as the coelacanth, but it is a long-established player in this field, and, as a recent Sunday lunch visit proved, still a very popular one. It's 140km from my front gate to the parking lot - a drive that took an hour and three-quarters and sharpened the appetite for the trencherman experience that lay ahead. The welcome was warm and the restaurant, set amongst the rocks at seaside, is charming in a higgledy-piggledy maritime way.
Don't go expecting your creature comforts - the seats are wooden benches, the glasses are tumblers, the plates are paper, and the eating utensil is half a mussel shell. If you want anything more fancy, take it along. There is a fully licensed bar, but most patrons take along their own cool-bags, packed with the hooch of their choice.
The lunchtime feast starts at about half past noon, and the evening one at half after six. First out of the many wood-burning ovens and fireplaces of various shapes and sizes that litter the cooking area is piping hot bread, and fresh loaves keep making an appearance throughout the three hours that a meal at Strandloper normally takes. Then it's stand in line in front of two huge three-legged pots, one with mussels in the shell and steamed with wine, the other containing garlic-cooked mussels out of the shell.
Next up is grilled harder, followed by paella, with some pieces of green pepper flying a solo flag for the vegetable kingdom. Then it's the turn of braaied snoek, served with potato, sweet potato and roosterkoek (dough balls cooked on an open fire). A brief detour out of the sea for the waterblommetjie bredie, and then back into the water for smoked angelfish and braaied stumpnose before the big photo-opportunity of the afternoon - dozens of digital cameras clicking at the sight of 80 crayfish laid out on a giant grid over hot coals. Finally, a couple of cups of spoon-standing-up-strong moerkoffie get you alert enough for the drive home.
The inner man is more than satisfied and it seems churlish to question the quality of some of the food. After all, the experience is about the sand running through your toes, and the view, and the excited chattering of the group of Taiwanese tourists, and the local guitar-players with their sly, saucy West Coast ditties as much as it's about the food. Everything is just-caught fresh, and served as soon as it's ready, and that's praiseworthy. And it all tastes good, but I wish the paella had been less mushy, and the braaied fish had been taken off the fire five minutes earlier, and there'd been less potato and more lamb in the bredie.
The most satisfying taste of the day was a crust of the bread, so hot it melted the butter, and lathered with homemade apricot jam. Nou, dis mos kos!
Adults pay R140, children under 12 pay according to height, and children under five and pets eat free.
I suspect he and his carnivorous mates wouldn't feel too out of place in the seafood bomas that are so much part of the West Coast culinary scene. Not that there's m
Strandloper in Langebaan isn't quite as venerable as the coelacanth, but it is a long-established player in this field, and, as a recent Sunday lunch visit proved, still a very popular one. It's 140km from my front gate to the parking lot - a drive that took an hour and three-quarters and sharpened the appetite for the trencherman experience that lay ahead. The welcome was warm and the restaurant, set amongst the rocks at seaside, is charming in a higgledy-piggledy maritime way.
Don't go expecting your creature comforts - the seats are wooden benches, the glasses are tumblers, the plates are paper, and the eating utensil is half a mussel shell. If you want anything more fancy, take it along. There is a fully licensed bar, but most patrons take along their own cool-bags, packed with the hooch of their choice.
The lunchtime feast starts at about half past noon, and the evening one at half after six. First out of the many wood-burning ovens and fireplaces of various shapes and sizes that litter the cooking area is piping hot bread, and fresh loaves keep making an appearance throughout the three hours that a meal at Strandloper normally takes. Then it's stand in line in front of two huge three-legged pots, one with mussels in the shell and steamed with wine, the other containing garlic-cooked mussels out of the shell.
Next up is grilled harder, followed by paella, with some pieces of green pepper flying a solo flag for the vegetable kingdom. Then it's the turn of braaied snoek, served with potato, sweet potato and roosterkoek (dough balls cooked on an open fire). A brief detour out of the sea for the waterblommetjie bredie, and then back into the water for smoked angelfish and braaied stumpnose before the big photo-opportunity of the afternoon - dozens of digital cameras clicking at the sight of 80 crayfish laid out on a giant grid over hot coals. Finally, a couple of cups of spoon-standing-up-strong moerkoffie get you alert enough for the drive home.
The inner man is more than satisfied and it seems churlish to question the quality of some of the food. After all, the experience is about the sand running through your toes, and the view, and the excited chattering of the group of Taiwanese tourists, and the local guitar-players with their sly, saucy West Coast ditties as much as it's about the food. Everything is just-caught fresh, and served as soon as it's ready, and that's praiseworthy. And it all tastes good, but I wish the paella had been less mushy, and the braaied fish had been taken off the fire five minutes earlier, and there'd been less potato and more lamb in the bredie.
The most satisfying taste of the day was a crust of the bread, so hot it melted the butter, and lathered with homemade apricot jam. Nou, dis mos kos!
Adults pay R140, children under 12 pay according to height, and children under five and pets eat free.
By John Maytham
Address: On the beach at Langebaan. Tel 022 772 2490. Open for lunch and dinner when there are enough bookings. Booking essential.
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Wine list
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