Clarke's Bar & Dining Room

13 February 2019

CLARKE’S BAR & DINING ROOM

133 Bree Street, Cape Town

Great joy, folks! The elder goddaughter bought me lunch at Clarke’s today and it was life affirming, not so much the meal, which was good, but the role reversal.   Now I, too, know how it is not to stress over the bill.

I quite like Clarke’s though I was much disappointed with the huevos rancheros on the last occasion I breakfasted here, with the wife, and it seems that many, many people like the joint. At 12h15 it was cheerily packed with a mixture of hip locals and tourists, who were either covered from head to toe as protection against the UV scourge or wearing as little as possible and still be considered dressed. 

The goddaughter ordered something from the all-day breakfast menu (“I’m sure I can recreate this at home,” she remarked) and I  chose what looks like the  one, single burger option (in standard and “baby’ sizes), and requested that my 100% Oak Valley raised, grass fed (damn, I feel as if I know this cow personally) beef patty be delivered unto me rare, and asked for salad instead of fries.

Imagine how chuffed I was when the thick, handmade patty was indeed as rare as you please. In so many burger joints, they either don’t ask, or overcook the meat even if you stipulate the degree of rareness. The  downside was that the caramelisation on the meat was a tad deficient and it seemed to lack seasoning too. Other than that, it was a tasty, juicy burger on a soft, flaky  bun with a sesame seed tuille on top, a fresh side salad and a zesty, pickled gherkin shavings to cut through the fatty meatiness of  the burger.

All of this was quite closely packed into an oval metal basket, thankfully not a wooden board, such one might once have seen in yer original diners.

I washed down my meal with two strong flat whites that had me buzzing hours afterwards, and finished off with a small, yet well-formed blueberry muffin, size-wise an archaic oddity in these days of steroid enhanced muffins that are a good idea on paper but are often too dry and just too much. 

The goddaughter had what she described as the world’s smallest brownie and she wasn’t exaggerating. It looked like the product of one of my failed forays into baking. 

I have no idea what of the meal cost because I avert my eyes from the prices when I don’t pay the bill, but I guess the sweet things are probably not cost effective.

The biggest surprise for me was when I walked to the rear of Clarke’s, through the courtyard, into a whole other world, a large room with long tables, a kitchen and service counters. According to the goddaughter, who has her fingers or more pulses than a night nurse, this space is also Hail Pizza, of which I’d heard but had never seen, and one can buy fresh produce here. There is a separate entrance through a kind of wide tunnel from Bree Street, next to Clarke’s, if you don’t want to walk through the latter to get there.

Frankly, in future, I’d rather sit in the  less crowded back room than in the main room of a Clarke’s, which is heaven for people watching but a tad loud for a discreet conversation.