Glenwood Bakery ‘last supper’ highlights the enduring legacy of Adam Robinson

Not everyone can be a truffle. Most of us are potatoes. And a potato is a very good thing to be. ― Massimo Bottura, three Michelin Star Italian chef.

There would be one potato, two potatoes, three potatoes… four at final count at our table for “Adam’s Last Supper at The Glenwood Bakery”.

Because who could resist the invitation to a truffle dinner and wine pairing pop-up?

To eat truffles. To drink wine.

And to ignore the “last supper” part. The story behind this having been in the hearts and on the minds of many of us who believe that beyond the beach, one of the things that makes Durban South Africa’s best city to live in, is The Glenwood Bakery and all that Adam Robinson, chef, baker, restaurateur, flavour guru, largely unsung food hero, has created.

I buy my bread, my eggs, my aioli, my jam and marmalade, my butter, from The Glenwood Bakery. Either branch, whichever I’m near, because if you’re reading this and don’t live in Durban, there are two. The original Glenwood Bakery in Glenwood, where the bread is baked. And Glenwood Bakery Morningside, which is Durban’s coolest eatery-cum-deli-cum-coffee shop-cum-pizzeria-cum-freshly-squeezed juice bar. Where the pop-up was held.

There are other restaurants around and about Durban with talented, creative and passionate chefs who win awards and do all manner of wondrous things with food and ingredients. Fresh and local. Sustainable. They know the farmers, the growers, the producers. In other words, no anonymous food. Their eateries, kind of over the top, high end, exclusive.

Nothing wrong with that. But I can’t name one who comes close to Robinson for what he does, has done, every day, creating beautifully prepared and inspired food, good vibes and special, surprise, astonishing menus, for breakfast and lunch, seven days a week at both places. And dinner, too, five evenings a week in Morningside. And all those other things, down to the pavement-box herbs and traffic island veggies. Just some of what puts him in a league of his own.

Back in 2019 and in my first article for TGIFood, I wrote: “Adam and Carin Robinson (Dr Carin Robinson, a philosophy PhD) opened The Glenwood Bakery six years ago. It is a neighbourhood gem and one of a handful of places in Durban that one feels would flourish, exactly as it is, in any major city that appreciates an artisanal, uncompromising commitment to tradition and flavour – this achieved while making the tastebuds do a happy jig. The former great British chef was legendary a long time before Durban got lucky.

That was written some time before they expanded across to Morningside. First opening a small bagel shop. Then changing space in the same building to create the remarkable Glenwood Bakery Morningside on a corner vacated by a tired, overpriced “Italian” joint that was well beyond its expiry date.

With Ike’s Books upstairs, which is another Durban gem, didn’t we get lucky! Read Philosophical perspectives on bagels, books and culinary Durban for another backgrounder.

Adam Robinson. Flavour genius, a supremely creative creative, restaurateur extraordinaire, and believer in causes. With the best restaurant support staff who don’t chop and change, which says a lot. Remarkable food, creative menus every week so you never have to have the same thing twice. Although sometimes you do. Then the deli part (at both Glenwood and Morningside) with among many other things, the breads and daily bread specials, the delectable pies and pastries, the best ice-cream in Durban – and so much more.

Back to the dinner and that ominous “last supper” reference. I’ve been caught up in the flurry of not-so-underground attempts and motivations, fermenting and bubbling like the bakery sourdough, along with the dismay and denial mentioned earlier.

I know the truffle evening was just that. It is truffle season and Adam Robinson offers pop-up pairings every so often.

But there were parallels. The truffle. The search. The hope. The wait. The obsession.

All of this since the first WhatsApp message popped into the lives of many of us on 30 March 2026.

“Friends. Should you hear rumours that The Glenwood Bakery is for sale, it is true. Both sides. All aspects. As from tomorrow. The staff have been told. Best, Carin and Adam.”

My reply to the WhatsApp back then: “Oh no, that is diabolical news – for those of us who are so grateful, always, that we have Adam and all that he gives both to Durban and to so many of us. I expect good for you both, though, not having any idea of the context.”

Back from Carin Robinson: “Thanks Wanda. Forty years of physical work. His body says no more.”

And later, from Adam in response to my direct message, which includes sentiments such as: “…we are so lucky to have had you doing what you’ve done. Irreplaceable, which is not something that can be said about many people or places…”

His reply: “Thanks Wanda. We’re not leaving Durban. We both like it here and have various commitments. I still love cooking but am so over the daily battles that running a business is.”

Back to the truffle pop-up. The menu for the evening?

• Ciabatta with truffle butter and Col’tempo prosciutto.

• Mushroom soup with shaved truffles.

• Fior di latte focaccia with truffles and rocket.

• Sous vide roast chicken breast demi-deuil. This translating as “chicken in half-mourning”, I learn when I Google. Also, that it is a classic French dish where thin slices of truffle, slipped under the skin of a chicken, show through to resemble the black veil of a mourning woman. The “roast” part of the sous vide is achieved by a quick sear after the slow “water bath”.

• Hot individual apple tart with truffle ice cream.

The truffles? Farmed, sniffed out by dogs and delivered by truffle farmer Max Bastard, coming from his orchards in the Southern Drakensberg to talk about the farming of truffles.

Wine pairings by Matt Draper. The wines, listed here, are in order, selected for each menu item: Villiera Monro Cap Classique, Jordan Library Selection Chardonnay 2020, Morgenster Caruso, Louis Latour Côtes de Beaune Villages, local sherry, medium cream from A.A. Badenhorst.

The rosé, at the pop-up, is swopped out for a red, Draper tells us on the evening. And why.

But confession time. I am too involved knocking back, appreciating, relishing, enjoying, his alternative choice to pay attention or make a note. Not least because two of the spuds at my table had insisted they pick me up in their Uber, so caution along with prudence were tossed to the wind.

We would also, the pop-up announcement said, be invited to choose a book from the late Marco Nico’s cookbook collection. Both lucky for us and a cool tribute to another legendary Durban chef: larger than life, generous, passionate about food, cooking, flavour, fresh and local.

And no, I’m not going to reveal who picked up seven cookbooks and spirited them off to his car so nobody would see. (I saw. He owned up.)

And the coup de truffe? Each table would get a raffle ticket to win a truffle. Oh my. What on (or under the) earth would I cook with it? And for whom?

“What is it that so captures the imagination about truffles?” Max Bastard is funny, charming, poetic, creative. The knowledgable part goes without saying. And he regales us with stories of the myths and magic of truffles, revered through the ages.

“There’s something magical about the word truffle. It flutters off the tongue like the rustle of autumn leaves, captivating and exotic.

“And it doesn’t matter how familiar you become with them, they seem to remain elusive. They are not an obvious ingredient, like garlic or lemon. They are far more nuanced.”

Having searched for a metaphor, he says, “I see the truffle as the hugely talented introvert of the ingredient world. They grow underground and a truffle can only be found when it wants to be. I go to the orchard with the dogs and they can walk right over where, maybe the next day, a truffle will disclose itself.

“Only when it is ripe and ready will the dogs pick up the scent.”

And then, only when coaxed properly and allowed to self-express will it truly reveal itself.

“Often, I am working with a truffle in the kitchen and I’ll be disappointed by the aroma so I’ll go off and do something else. Then suddenly, from the far side of the house, that distinctive smell will waft through.

“If you try and get too much from a truffle, it recedes. You leave it alone, it comes to find you.”

Every truffle is harvested by hand.

“And there’s a surprising and wide range of aromas, especially intense when they come out the ground. You get marzipan, coffee, chocolate, mushrooms, damp soil, aged cheese – an array…”

When cooking with truffles, he says: “The truffle chooses very carefully who it wants to be associated with.

“It’s a delicate ingredient. Definitely not comfortable with showy and brash flavours. And it doesn’t like to compete.

“It really likes dairy, which like a glass of wine with the introvert, brings out the character.”

The truffle warms to humble ingredients, he says.

“Ones that elevate it in such a way that it becomes the main ingredient. Eggs. Mashed potato. Pasta. Ice cream. Cheese cake.”

It warmed with intensity to the mushroom soup on our menu. And to the Fior di latte. And to the ice cream.

And indeed, it thrilled to the sous vide “chicken in half-mourning” so passionately, I suddenly woke up to the fact that I had eaten about a third of the widow’s weeds before I thought to take a photo. The reason you’ll see my “deconstructed chicken” sharing space within a scenic Glenwood Bakery truffle evening backdrop.

“Often people preparing a truffle try to treat it like other ingredients. Garlic, for example. And it doesn’t work.

“But once you have all the ingredients right and it decides to open up, it gives you those fleeting glimpses, reveals just enough character to intrigue you so that you begin to understand what it is about the truffle that has fascinated people for thousands of years.”

Do yourself a favour. Read Max Bastard’s poetic and informative TGIFood article on truffles here. And read this writer’s Napa Truffle Festival story here.

So Adam Robinson’s “last supper”. Not literally, we hope. Back to the bakery and the announcement it was for sale. The conversations and consternation since. Stories heard through the grapevine.

A meeting I attended was organised by a physics professor who said he had moved to Glenwood for the bakery. It was at his Rotary club and arranged when it became known that the bakery’s head baker, Michael Rorich, wanted to keep on baking. There and elsewhere, you heard people talk about forming a co-operative. Except that co-operatives tend to evolve; are not suddenly manufactured. And this is Durban. Were there any blueprints?

It was heartening to hear, from Robinson himself, that he would be happy to keep on cooking, maybe three nights a week, after the right kind of handover.

Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble. Rumours. Dismay. Hope.

A glimmer of this has come. The word is, there is a woman. Not a chef. But a fan, like many of us. Who is likely to invest. To keep both Glenwood Bakery branches going, with integrity to the current vision.

One can but hope. While reflecting on some of the Earth’s more sublime gifts: wine, truffles, alchemist chefs. Not to forget the good potatoes we have in our lives. DM

Wanda Hennig paid for her meal in full.

See The Glenwood Bakery on their website, on Instagram and on Facebook.

Visit the Willowdale Truffles website and on Instagram.

Follow Matt Draper on Instagram. See Wanda Hennig and follow her on Instagram.