Sometimes I feel a deep and inky jealousy about Cape Town. I don't care about the mountain or the outdoor activities or that they seem to finish work at 4pm. I'm OK without weekend trips to the winelands. What disappoints me, like sinking into a tepid bath, is the restaurants.
Cape Town's restaurants are on the whole just better. This seems absurd to me. Johannesburg is a city of socialisers, we're famously friendly because, let's face it, all we have is each other. Yet eating here often feels like being held hostage by restaurants that belong in an airport.
But tucked away in Illovo is Farro, a tiny, perfect, twinkling sanctuary. Owners Eloise and Alex Windebank, previously of Kramerville Bakery fame, opened Farro with quiet confidence earlier this year.
I slid onto a bar stool and was met by three charming men: Mlu Ngcamu, Moses Makaya and restaurant manager Lucky Oliphant, who have a real gift for service. I'm served a rhubarb gin sour made from a tincture Eloise has created and which sits, hand-labelled, on the bar. A giant glass jar of kumquat gin percolates like a lava lamp alongside it.The gentlemen chat to me as if I am an old friend. It's arrestingly nice. I'm alone here and I'm completely at ease. I love it and I haven't even had anything to eat yet.
However, you definitely should eat. It takes real nerve to serve food that is this unadorned. In an age of micro greens, foams and flowers, here every grain of salt has a purpose. The plating is done with immense restraint and is as sharp as a glass edge.
I eat a rosy-hued chicken liver parfait with poached quince and brioche toast that is so perfectly judged I think it might be a fluke. It turns out it isn't.
Next, a little puff of pastry filled with gorgonzola floats serenely in a bowl of onion velouté like a bronzed model on a Lilo. Have you heard that you can judge a chef by how he makes a bowl of soup? It's true.By now I'm wondering how I'm going to stop this review sounding like a press release, and so when I'm served a dish of roasted cauliflower, hummus and gnocchi I'm almost relieved. This is a combination I haven't experienced before for a reason. Each element brings out the worst in the other, resulting in a well-cooked cacophony of beige.
On the other hand, the blushing veal chop with salsa verde and green beans comes with a pressed potato so crisp and delicious it should be called sorcery potato.
The desserts are more of the same loveliness. Not overly sweet or large, just reassuringly well-made, avoiding the usual problem of desserts being a begrudged afterthought. Peanut parfait with roasted apple purée and crumble and coconut truffles are both technically flawless, even for a reluctant sweet-eater.
You should go - you won't even miss the mountain...