The Bandit continues to use the daily commute to the word farm as an excuse to compile a comprehensive area-wide raid on Kalk Bay.
Later in the week, the Bandit turns to the Princess Discerning, who turned sweet, sweet 16 on Monday, to recommend a target within easy striking range of the Wembley Square word farm. "Manna," she says in her most dulcet, heavenly tones, without a nanosecond's hesitation. "At the top of Kloof Street."
It's an inflection not unfamiliar to the Bandit, who has heard "Manna Epicure" whispered in awe by every Joburger and Capetonian he knows who claims the pleasure of having eaten there.
"Have the smoked salmon - I'm pretty sure it's actually smoked salmon trout from Franschhoek, but it's still good - with scrambled eggs and anything that's served with the coconut bread. It's expensive though," Discerning warns.
Armed with the foresight that comes from having been drenched to the bone by a sudden, violent squall the day before, the Bandit puts in his second call to Marine Taxis since arriving in the "Ma se city".
Thankfully, the Bandit is spared the outrage earlier in the week of being taken for a moegoe by a hard-faced skollie who treated him to an expensive, recklessly night joyride which cost twice the normal fare. That the Bandit immediately drew the driver's attention to the fact that it seemed counter intuitive, if not plain wrong, to turn south when the destination lay in the north, elicited little more than a guilty, garbled-too-fast explanation that "there is a roadblock" - in the centre of the entirely deserted, traffic-free city.
The Bandit is deposited in Kloof Street by an entirely pleasant fellow who, in spite of taking the most direct route to the destination, fails to entirely undo the damage wreaked by his rotten-apple colleague.
The raid on Manna, all cool and white - and empty - gets off to a flyer with a superb, robust, full-bodied double espresso. The pleasant waitress's response to a request for orange juice squeezed to order - Manna offers all manner of other juices extracted a la minute - brings the Bandit firmly back to Cape Town. "Squeezing oranges is too much hard work," she says.
The Bandit settles for carrot juice and smoked salmon served with poached eggs, asparagus, caper creme fraiche and coconut bread.
Serving the breakfast on a plate with its porcelain glaze not worn down to its coarse yellow-grey foundation is apparently also too much hard work.
The breakfast, though, is spot on. The subtly sweet toasted coconut bread is a quite inspired delivery mechanism for the perfectly soft-poached, free-range eggs. And the smoked salmon trout sings in harmony with the caper creme fraiche and al dente asparagus spears.
As the Bandit relishes his breakfast and sips the carrot juice, which could do with a little more ginger, Manna begins to fill up with well-heeled, well-born and well-handbagged City Bowlers accustomed to rising early only to apply layers of base on those areas of their faces not yet, or perhaps even poorly, adjusted by plastic surgery.
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