Le Maquis, Knysna

24 September 2019

LE MAQUIS

14B Gray Street, Knysna

It’s about 01h30. I’m wide awake, sitting upright in bed, belly painfully full and in distress, at least three Rennies to the good, burping gently and swearing a quiet, desperate oath of “never again”, deeply regretting the foolhardiness of the cappuccino that unexpectedly pushed me over the edge from happily sated to calamitously stuffed, yet also fondly recalling one of the most glorious, life-enhancing and intensely satisfying dinners of my life.

If I tell you that the best meal we’d had in Knysna on previous breakaways were at the now defunct Col’cacchio on Thesen Island, you’ll understand our mistrust of the culinary scene in the Southern Cape in general and specifically in Knysna. Don’t bother going to the so-called Waterfront if you want to eat halfway decently.

However, on this 7-day stint we ate well all the time and tonight’s dinner at Le Maquis was the exceptional highlight of a good week’s food.

We were in Knysna for two nights and even before we got there the wife did her expert googling to find Le Maquis, apparently established for about five years, though this was the first we knew about it and only because it was mentioned on this Group. When the wife phoned to book, Cathy, the part owner, with husband Rémy, the chef patron, misunderstood her and wanted to record the booking for Christmas Eve, which was not quite what we’d had in mind, but the slight confusion was soon cleared up.

The restaurant is in the street that runs directly to the entrance of the Waterfront but a couple of blocks closer to the main street and situated in what seems to be a converted shop. The decor style is modern, simplistic bistro with straight lines, dark grey walls and unadorned wooden tables, a sizable bar counter at the rear and a metal, spiral staircase to the loos on the next floor, and not in the basement as would be the case of a restaurant in France.

The menus are on two blackboards against the street wall, but Cathy also comes around to explain the items and each one sounds more enticing than the last. Rémy cooks French style bistro food, not fine dining, to give you a hearty, visceral experience rather than the more “intellectual” approach of Michelin star refinement where the appreciation for technique sometimes outweighs the simple enjoyment of flavours and textures.

When we discussed it, it struck the wife and I, despite a couple of visits to France, that we’ve not eaten French cooking in that country. We’ve eaten Oriental food, faux-Spurs food, Turkish food, Italian food, and the like, but not authentic French fare. Not even in Cape Town, where all manner of cuisine from around the world is currently available.

The bread course consisted of four squares of a rather stodgy bread that had the texture of almost raw dough (one presumes that this is what  the chef intended) with small amounts of eggplant, olive tapenade and another tasty little bowl of something I can’t recall.

The amuse bouche was a marvellous mouthful of reduced pumpkin soup, goat’s cheese and smoky paprika. First there was the sweetness of the pumpkin, then the dryness and unique taste of goat’s milk and finally the tingly smokiness of the paprika that kinda lingered. Loved this.

My starter was the pork terrine, served with a bread roll of the same odd, stodgy texture and gherkins. The wife ordered the baked Camembert with pears, in a phyllo pastry basket.

Both starters were substantial though the Camembert dish was actually probably best suited for sharing. Both were excellent. The terrine was unctuous, slightly chunky and heavenly and the texture of the bread worked quite well with it. The Camembert combined with pear and phyllo was not only filling, and like no baked Camembert dish we’d ever seen or tasted, but was top drawer scrumptious and the wife’s smile was from ear to ear whilst tucking in.

The wife’s main was the slow cooked (7 hours, allegedly) lamb shank and I went for the pork fillet, seeing as how pork is usually my default non-pescatarian protein. What’s wrong with pork on pork?

The shank literally fell off the bone when the wife lifted said bone and was tender, moist and flavourful. She had the same vegetables as me, on a side plate where mine crowded the plate with the fillet.

The fillet was accompanied by a potato gratin, what I would call a carrot gratin, half a fried tomato and green beans, and the dish was brought together by a reduced, deeply rich sauce of white wine reduction and shallots, but the absolute star of the dish was the grilled pork fillet with spot on caramelisation on the outside but tender and succulent inside, like a perfectly cooked rare steak. If, like the wife, I could experience an emotion when I chow down on the deliciousness, I would’ve cried at each mouthful when I ate my pork. I ate as slowly as I could because I wanted the moment to last for eternity. Nosh nirvana much?

This pork fillet was possibly the best pork dish I’ve ever eaten in a restaurant, and here I count some remarkable pork bellies. After this triumph, I can never have pork fillet ever again.

Oh, I almost forgot, there was also a piece of puffed, brittle crackling, also the best crackling I’ve had in a long while; most recently they’ve tended to be chewy and hard, hence inedible, at the same time.

Well, I should have stopped right there and gone home. Foolishly, drunk on the delights of fillet, I ordered the panna cotta, which was quite good too though, after the fillet, not quite earthshattering.

Even more stupidly, I drank a cappuccino and as the last sip slid down the gullet, I realised I’d officially overstepped the mark and had irrevocably consumed too much, so much so, when the petit fours were brought to the table with a shot of cognac each (“for the digestion”), that I had to force the bon-bons down. I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have had the coffee. Wise after the fact.

I don’t know whether the cognac had any effect on my digestive system. I had to neck a couple of anti-acid tablets for a semblance of relief.

Rémy came to chat to us at the end of service. He shared a bit of the story of how he and Cathy came to Knysna and I bored him with my theories on food and cooking, and then we went back to our hotel where I sat upright in bed for most of the night.

It doesn’t seem as if Le Maquis is languishing in obscurity, judging from the number of patrons on the night. Nonetheless, if you’re ever in Knysna, feeling peckish and in need of some soul and gut nourishing food, try Le Maquis. I can’t guarantee that your experience will be as glorious as ours but I know my truth, and I’m willing to testify. And I have a witness.