Currying favour with ‘bank robber’ Tom Cruise

THIS back street of Cape Town was quiet, almost ghostly. It was a rainy Saturday afternoon and my first visit to the Curry Club just across Bree Street in Gardens. One can easily walk past the place. It used to be a house, a notch away from being part of the Bo-Kaap. 

A solitary man wearing a black detective hat was smoking a cigarette under an awning and not making eye contact. He was easily the equal of Humphrey Bogart in the film Casablanca.

I and two others went up a set of rain-splashed stairs and sat down in an anteroom with flowers, pillows and dimmed lights. Outside it was drizzly and cold, the sky barely visible.

The waiters didn't exactly look like they were expecting people. A man who came to serve us told us he had been partying all night, he was worn out. He casually mentioned that the one owner used to be a bank robber in his time, but it wasn't a dead cert, maybe just a rumour.

An existential crisis at 23

Furthermore, he continued, he was currently struggling at (the ripe old age of) 23 with an existential crisis. Yes, he sighed, what is it really all about? Flip, I thought, don't ask me.

But we agreed. Carla at our table had been married three times and had had countless relationships with the most bizarre of men. One had kidnapped his house help's daughter and was still on the run. At least the girl was found unharmed.

Another looked like Barry Manilow and also disappeared in mysterious circumstances. Carla started out as a lawyer, then became a yoga instructor, later went to work in Addis Ababa as a translator, then moved to Portugal, became a vegetarian, started a relationship with an apple farmer and then turned into a Jungian. She was back now looking for answers.

Graham, also at the table, hated Donald Trump, didn't eat crocodile salad (I'd had some before, delicious) and wanted his ashes to be strewn from Vlaeberg one day. He had no answers either.

So this was a table from The Three Stooges, to be honest. “Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right" type affair.

All I really remember about that day was that whatever we ate was unforgettable, the wetness outside, the kaleidoscopic interior and that I definitely wanted to eat there again. Not as easy as I thought.

***

On their website they've written that lunch is between 13:00 and 15:00. I consider that I'd better call first and ask what if I wanted to stay longer.

“Under no circumstances. Food for the evening is prepared and the place must be cleaned. They have to mop," says the man.

“Yes, but there is a back room, I can sit there, a sort of beautiful blue one," I say. “And when we'd been to eat there on a Saturday afternoon, we stayed until 16:30."

“What! If I were there, I would have kicked you out. No ‘yes, but', bye," says he.

I am fired up and don't want to give up. I call again a few days later. He recognises my voice and pretends he can't hear me.

“You're breaking up, swishhhhhhhhhh, swishhhhhhhhhh, you're breaking up, I can't hear you." I press my phone to kill the call.

Later I note that in the evening they are open from 17:00 to 21:30. Nice and early – when I visited my grandmother in the countryside during school holidays, dinner time used to be 16:00 already. By 7pm you were in bed: those were the days before TV.

***

I book for 6pm. When I arrive, the place is already packed, aromas of spices everywhere.

There are lots of flowers, candles burning, the decor is fun, exotic, dark blue colours, a red cloth hangs from the roof, muffled voices of customers. It feels almost like I'm sitting on the set of a Pedro Almodóvar film.

Two men run around; I suspect they are the owners.

They hand us menus and disappear, as in non communicado. You look at them, but they don't make eye contact. You have to jump up and go to them.

It occurs to me that if I ask one of them for his name, I might at least be able to call him. “What's your name?" “Tom Cruise," he replies.

Jack Russell, not a Chihuahua

Probably the so-called bank robber, I think (though I'm sure it's a made-up story). “Are you the man who robbed the bank?" I ask. He dashes off to another table and quite looks like someone who is able to run away quickly.

He has a pleasant demeanour and face, though. More mischievous than dangerous, a Jack Russell, definitely not a Chihuahua. It's obviously the man I spoke to on the phone, I recognise his voice.

The menus are coming. It's the other man who hands it to us – he looks somewhat more sedate, more Labrador than Jack Russell.

He brings us a big box of various mushrooms, nice, firm and tells us everything they prepare is fresh. They start over every day.

I notice at the other tables the portions are large. It is a fascinating, original menu with a wide variety of options; dishes like mountain goat curry, wild mushroom curry (made from the ones shown to us), various vegetarian dishes, lamb, chicken and fish.

***

Lindsay, known for her taste in unpredictable men and her love for the baboons on her tree-rich property, orders Kerala fish curry – a South Indian dish with swordfish in a creamy tomato sauce, flavoured with secret herbs and spices, including black mustard seeds and cinnamon. Also with lime juice.

She doesn't like food that is too hot. You can order curry that's hot like fire, medium chilli strength, or just plain, but flavourful.

Graham also likes plain strength, with a dash of aromatic spice. He asks for half a tandoori chicken and gets a portion that looks like it was made for two people. His chicken is marinated in yoghurt overnight, dipped in masala spices and a dash of roasted garlic. It is served with Bombay potatoes – diced, fried and seasoned with cumin, curry, garlic, garam masala, turmeric, mustard seeds, chilli powder, salt and pepper.

A flaming sea of ​​goodies

I ask for the seafood curry with swordfish and boneless crab claws, with coriander, red chillies and fresh tomato. I request extra strong and it is unquenchably delicious, smouldering and a flaming sea of ​​deliciousness. Basmati rice is served with our main dishes.

Side dishes are bhajee spinach with onions, mustard seeds and curry powder; potato and coriander samosas; sambal with crispy poppadums; and lachha paratha – wholewheat flatbread made from simple unleavened dough.

The wine is Tokara Chardonnay – I'm not going to describe it as a wine with a bouquet of the summer smells of fresh, suburban grass, morning blossoms and overripe guava. It was simply delicious with the curry, without needing the lexicon of wine snobs.

Before we left, I ordered their Curry Club Hot Sauce to go and now put a dollop of it on my plate every night. With another bottle of wine and a litre of mineral water, the bill came to R1 800, tip included.

Not bad, especially since the evening was not only about the puppy, but the collar too. The lusty “Jack Russell", the lovable “Labrador", the flower-blanketed atmosphere and unparallelled food.

• The Curry Club is at 50 New Church Street, Gardens, Cape Town. Tel: 021 300 3971.
• Food is delivered for free in the City Basin and as far as Clifton.
• The Curry Club has a branch in St. Francis Bay.
• This meal was paid for by the guests themselves – there was no preferential treatment.

♦ VWB ♦

BE PART OF THE CONVERSATION: Go to the bottom of this page to share your opinion. We look forward to hearing from you.