Passion and stories propel La Petite Colombe to stellar heights

When food speaks to you, touches your emotions, it has transcended mere nourishment and entered the realms of art. Chef Peter Duncan’s food did that to this “critic” (a word I’ve never liked) long inured to fine little things on dainty plates.

There were many dishes telling lovely stories throughout this fine meal at La Petite Colombe, but Chef Peter’s personal tale of why he was lifting the humble tin can lid off what lay underneath quite literally brought tears to our eyes. If that isn’t passionate cooking, I’d like to know what is. And everyone here has a story to tell.

What is it like to visit this kind of restaurant? I’m aware that we don’t all get to go there, and it would be beyond my reach if my passion for writing about food had not allowed me entrée. 

In these palaces of posh nosh, those blessed with financial abundance plop exquisite morsels into their mouths, sip the wines of gods and converse in hushed tones about whether the panchino with beluga caviar at Disfrutar in Barcelona is better than the miniature jaune parcel of pork jowl and palm heart at Maido in Lima.

Now and then, a member of the Fourth Estate is at a corner table, grateful to have a window onto this private world, though usually unable to afford most or even any of it. These places are not for the squeamish of pocket.

I’ve learnt this: the more you dine at this level — and we know that everything the LCG does is world class — the more potentially jaded we might become. Here we go again, more theatrics at the table, more vapours seeping out from beneath who-knows-what-that-thing-is at the centre of the plate. More foams and blobs and spheres and too much look-how-clever-we-are. Which can become tiresome.

But there are no such concerns here. There’s a sense of excitement even as you enter La Petite Colombe, and an element of being taken by surprise. The name itself suggests refinement and a certain constraint. It means “the little dove” and if it’s your first visit you might, like me, have expected something less imposing.

But it’s the opposite of what its name suggests. It’s grand, exciting, even electric. Approaching the premises in the Franschhoek valley, there’s a sense of arriving somewhere notable. Like seeing the turrets of a castle through the trees.

The moment took me back to the lunch that launched the Grande Roche hotel in Paarl in the 1990s. That was a turning point in the modern history of the Cape restaurant industry. Bosmans, their restaurant, saw high-flying continental chefs being brought in to create the highest level of continental fine dining at the Cape. Everything that exemplifies the highest level of contemporary Cape cuisine today goes back to that moment. Every restaurant that finds itself replete with trophies, gongs and stars has been influenced by that lunch, that day, because the local industry, at that level, has never looked back.

If there’s a pinnacle, La Petite Colombe surely is it. Even more so than La Colombe itself, without taking anything away from the group’s flagship eatery.

That lunch at Constantia Uitsig when Franck Dangereux cooked the first ever meal in the original La Colombe, also mid-Nineties, was the next stepping stone on this journey. He still cooks food much like the lunch he served that day, at The Foodbarn in Noordhoek, so we still have the essence of what La Colombe was at its birth that day.

Does this make chef Peter Duncan the finest chef at the Cape? I wonder. Somehow he seems less famous than others at that level. Maybe because he is rather shy, despite being a giant of a man, and it could be that he doesn’t push himself to the fore. But it could well be that he ought to be the chef to beat, if we’re looking purely at the food.

The night, which was long, was an opportunity for my daughter and I to have one of our dad-and-daughter date nights. We’ve lived far away for so long, and with the passing of time such moments are sweet. We stayed in a guest cottage at Leeu Estates, an experience that set a very high standard for the evening in this chic boutique hotel surrounded by vineyards and mountain views.

Genteel and good taste are the words for Leeu Estates and it’s easy to see why La Petite Colombe fits into this opulent environment. Out of nothing in just 15 years — if a series of scarcely cultivated farms qualifies as “nothing” — there now stands one of the country’s finest country hotels, boasting one of the world’s great restaurants, right there. Set among vineyards and fynbos, the property features a high-calibre spa, art gallery and sculpture garden and was created when its founder, Indian-born businessman Analjit Singh, visited South Africa for the World Cup in 2010 and fell in love with this valley. He bought several farms and developed them into Leeu Estates. Leeu means Lion, as does his surname. He also famously acquired Le Quartier Francais in the village.

Wine is an important part of the estate’s ethos and structure. Singh persuaded Andrea and Chris Mullineux to join him in the venture and they formed Mullineux & Leeu Family Wines, with the philosophy of producing a small number of exceptional, high-quality wines that express the terroir of the region.

The venerable Emil Joubert, an old colleague of mine who now promotes some very fine properties and producers, indulged Rebecca and I in a tasting of their wines. Both ranges — Leeu Passant, and Mullineux Single Terroir wines — offer exquisite wines that sing of the valley and its terroir, as well as of the Mullineux’s Swartland terrain.

With all of this, it’s clear to see why Singh wanted there to be a fine restaurant on the property as well, which is where we were the previous evening.

I cannot think of a restaurant that has impressed me more. Consider the context of this: Yes, I have eaten at La Colombe, in its modern form and its original (I was even there on its opening day three decades ago). Yes I have dined at Ryan Cole’s superlative Salsify at the Roundhouse, regarded as the best of them all (and yes, I rate it very highly). And at his COY at the V&A Waterfront, which I love. Luke Dale Roberts’ various superb restaurants too, and others in the LCG stable such as the Waterside and Epice.

I have dined at both The LivingRoom at Summerhill in Durban and at Wolfgat in Paternoster, both of which have astonishing credentials and the most delicate way with locally sourced ingredients.

And yes I have dined at FYN, Peter Tempelhoff’s magnificent Cape Town CBD wonder, and at his Beyond (though there are new things happening there, so I will return soon to check that out). 

For years, Margot Janse was the cuisine queen of Franschhoek. Bertus Basson’s Overture was a favourite for years. Both of David Higgs’ Marble odes to flame are marvels of electric atmosphere and sizzling cuisine. Jess van Dyk’s Post & Pepper in Stellenbosch delighted my palate and my eye (for its decor) only two days before I visited La Petite Colombe.

I’ve dined at London’s The Ledbury, in Notting Hill, a frequent world top-tenner, at one of Heston Blumenthal’s restaurants, at (Pierre) Koffmann’s London’s Berkeley Hotel. Historically, I knew such past award-winning eateries in Cape Town as the Mount Nelson Grill Room, Floris Smit Huijs, Hildebrand in its heyday, Ralph’s (Ralph van Pletzen’s brilliant Stellenbosch restaurant of three decades ago), Graeme Shapiro’s The Restaurant, the old Van Donck Room on the Cape Town foreshore, Joburg’s Three Ships.

Scroll through the years and the doors of many other fabulous restaurants open and shut in my memory after another evening spent under their culinary care. The mind races to gather them all, so many memories over so many years.

What sets La Petite Colombe (LPC) apart?

The food is exquisite, but that applies to many others too. Again and again throughout the meal (we were there for four hours) I found myself arrested, a word I use to describe being caught unawares in the best way. Brought upright by the thrilling flavour of something you’ve tasted. This is food that stops you in your tracks, even when you know that this is going to be exceptionally good.

Bursts of flavour were everywhere, and isn’t that the point? But the best thing about it isn’t only the food. It’s the stories that go with them. Everyone involved has a story. There’s a lot of love in this kitchen, and as much passion. There’s a palpable need for us to understand where they’ve come from, even perhaps how unlikely it is that some of the LPC complement come from backgrounds so humble that the chances of them being in this space at all seem as remote as Dickens’ Oliver Twist having been high-born.

Rebecca wrapped it up succinctly: “Every plate had a story, and every item on the plate had a purpose. The service and stories played a big role in the enjoyment of everything.” 

We loved the “picnic” at the beginning. Cape Malay vetkoek comes to fine dining, along with a delectable fish tartlet. 

She cannot eat shellfish, so while I was served Namibian red crab salad, she was given a tomato dish which resembled my dish in cleverly deceptive ways. Elements included lettuce juice, olive spheres, and olive dust, and Bloody Mary juice for colour and flavour. We were advised not to eat the green stalk on a salad, and to dip the tomato into the lettuce juice for a burst of flavour.

Crayfish was dressed in mild Thai curry spices with dhania. (Kreef and dhania, that’s flavour-pairing perfection.) There was superb yellowfin tuna, sourced from Cape Point, delicate and beautifully spiced. Sea bass, cooked at the table, was served with a “viskop” (fish head) chowder. 

And all over the menu are South African ingredients in fact, some ordinary, others exotic, woven into madly creative dishes alongside oddities from abroad. Amasi makes an appearance, as do amadumbe and Limpopo mopane worm dust. 

Kalamansi? The waiter explained: “Kalamansi is a Filipino citrus, juiced and made into a foam with mezcal and mopane worm dust, a traditional South African ingredient.” This kind of explanation happens in all of the LCG restaurants, where the clientele is predominantly foreign, in the tourist season at least.

A particular treat at the end was the Willy Wonka-style trolley and little sweet bags to take some joy home with you.

The main course offered either coal-roasted lamb loin or Karoo wagyu beef, and it was subtly suggested we order one of each so we could each taste both. 

A smoked Stanford cheese course with pear and mustard was somehow very “Cape” to me, and I like that. 

Wines of head-spinning provenance and class were served throughout, in a giddying evening of indulgence.

If “the Cape” is on a plate, at this level of dining, then visitors in this age are tasting the fruition of what began all those centuries ago when grapes were first planted and vegetables grown. DM