Old-school style and a lonely grand piano at Level Four

I had thought that this restaurant, Level Four, was in the same hotel that I was staying in – the Southern Sun in Rosebank’s Sturdee Avenue. But my shuttle driver from the airport frowned and asked, “Which one?”

I said, well, I’m staying at the Southern Sun Hotel at 54 on Bath. No no, he said, those are two different hotels. It turns out they’re about a block apart – a long block – which in this part of Joburg means that your hotel receptionists are going to tell you to take an Uber if you don’t want to use the hotel shuttle. (Read more about that here.)

But luckily the shuttle was readily available when I needed it so it deposited me outside 54 on Bath just in time to meet some of my favourite colleagues whom I hadn’t seen in an age. That’s a part of the life of us Maverii — we seldom see one another outside of a computer screen.

We had wine (for me, whisky for them) in the gorgeous bar on the fourth floor which is currently named after a fancy gin brand. Apparently it changes sponsors every now and then and is totally refurbished to match the new brand. People with money to burn, eish.

Even as I walked into the hotel I thought, damn, this is a few cuts above the one I’m staying in. So stylish, more of a boutique inn. Much less Sol Kerzner. Then my friends arrived and in a flash we were four storeys up and ordering a drink at the start of an hilarious hour of catching up, gossip, and general gratitude to be alive. This in the context of my recent heart surgery you understand. It gives a shine to everything.

Then off they went, our colleagues’ ears stopped burning, and I slid past a white grand piano to find my solo table for dinner at Level Four, backed by red and gold filigree-leaf wallpaper, gilt-framed artworks, and strolling across black-and-white checkerboard marble-like floors to photograph points of interest. Like that white grand piano which lacked only a pianist to bring it to life…

The place is a bit loungy, and this isn’t a criticism. A tad clubby perhaps. I liked the fact that there was no evident attempt to make it trendy or of our time, other than a pair of geometric-patterned pillars whose role seemed to be to meld the wallpaper and artworks with the plush grey upholstery of the smart chairs. A grey dado rail played its part in this too.

Tables were decked in starched white damask, properly old school, and that’s not a bad thing if you want to see your food.

I’d see this decor as a fair start. I think they should go further, add more art, vintage lamps and ornaments, make it a little busier. Without adding more, it has a feeling of being put together by an interior designer; but zero in on more detail and it will come into its own as an arresting space of note.

Service was excellent throughout. I was brought an amuse bouche of a Salmon Cornetto: a mini cone filled with salmon and cream cheese. Simple and unpretentious – these chef’s favours sometimes try too hard to impress. Maybe the ideal ground is somewhere between.

Sourdough arrived with plain butter and burnt butter. Then my chosen starter of wild mushroom dumplings. The presentation was pretty as a picture, the al dente dumplings hovering in a miso broth with soy, gochujang, spring onion and crispy tofu. And slivers of shiitake. The tofu morsels were deliciously crunchy.

I had allocated myself a relatively modest budget, but the main course menu was not playing along with this. From the grill (all meat aged for 21-35 days) you’re paying from R400 (250g Karan fillet) to R500 (300g Kalahari Black Angus picanha). There’s a poached lobster tail for R650 and even if I could have afforded it, in today’s world the size of a kreef tail is always going to disappoint.

Atlantic salmon R440, linefish R420 (what!), and Karoo lamb for R400. Like I’m going to leave my beloved Karoo to pay four hundred smackers for it in a Joburg hotel. And it sounded overworked: loin, confit belly, braised leg, smoked rump. Oy. It’s Karoo lamb – keep it simple.

Sous vide pork belly (hasn’t sous vide outlived itself by now?); tom kha gai (because there must be a Thai dish on every menu, apparently it’s the law); sundry vegan options, something gluten free.

I was still ogling the main course possibilities when a palate cleanser arrived. A cheerful burst of raspberry and passion fruit sorbet on an elaborate frozen swirl of ice. Pretty and, again, uncomplicated. (Food doesn’t have to be complicated.)

My irritability assuaged by the sweet miniature repast, I decided on what had been my very first thought: the dry aged duck, comprising “coffee parsnip, confit duck leg, pulled duck wonton, rainbow carrots, Cointreau jus”. I was to end up asking for a little jug of more of that jus. But not yet.

I asked for it to be served medium – because I asked for it to be done the way the chef likes it, and that was how – and if on presentation of it I was a touch apprehensive, my concern quickly dissipated on eating it.

I wrote in my notes: “Love the pulled duck wontons. Crunchy. Depth of flavour.”

The slivers of young parsnips were disappointing: plain and overly crunchy, and why coffee? But I loved the perfect salting of the duck breast with its fulsome flavour, even if it was just a teeny bit chewy.

A perfect confit duck leg was married with that deeply satisfying jus and, yes, I asked for more. This is only my way of sending a subtle compliment to the chef, and has nothing to do with greed. It arrived in a little copper pot. Very French.

There were a couple of slivers of deeply delicious duck-something and I asked what they were. The waiter returned to say that chef said they were his “duck ham or prosciutto”. Salty, but not too salty. They were not listed on the menu, strangely.

Did I have dessert? I did not. This was post my heart surgery, and while in hospital my type 2 diabetes problems were given detailed attention. The result is that for the first time in more than two decades my diabetes is 100% under control and I have no intention of going back.

I’d asked if there was anything sweet suitable for a diabetic diet, anything at all sugar free, and the answer was no, nada, nothing. Perhaps restaurants might want to have a look at that. Just buy a tub of sugar-free ice cream and shove it in the freezer in case someone like me happens along? Or develop a sugar-free (but sweet) recipe that’s quick to throw together?

Having said that, for between R120 and R150 at Level Four you can get pastry chef Yvette Kirsten’s signature 54 on Bath cake (dark chocolate fudge, milk chocolate mousse, white chocolate ganache); burnt Basque cheesecake (wouldn’t it be a fun challenge to create the world’s best melktert instead?), mango mousse, crème brûlée, dark chocolate fondant, or a selection of local cheeses. Not a single South African dessert option, and we have such wonderful puddings and tarts.

I could have wolfed down any of those, but it’s my indaba. I played a little game: Which would I have chosen if I could have? Easy: the mango mousse. I can dream, can’t I? On balance, this was a very good meal, and Level Four is an asset to the neighbourhood, though those prices did floor me a little. DM

I paid in full for my meal.