Jemima's -Touched by an angel

Jemima is rumoured to be a guardian angel of love, good taste and the finest cuisine who can be sensed at sunset by those open to experiencing a little magic. By the time we arrive at Jemia’s restaurant in Oudtshoorn’s Baron van Reede St, the sun had long set, but I can sense the restaurant’s namesake is every detail of the place.

Giant succulents, their spikey leaves topped with silver baubles, usher us towards the reception area. A tree rises idly through the roof of a tented outside area filled with heaters and people enjoying their dinner. It’s only 7pm, but the many inside rooms are also full. People seem to eat early in the Klein Karoo.

I feel like I’m being welcomed into the home of a favourite aunt whose youthful adventures have left a twinkle in her eye and her treasures on the walls. Oversized candelabra perch on polished wooden dressers and black and white portraits of Tannie Sannie and Oom Willem bulge out of oval frames next to colourful oils. My artist husband won’t complain that I’ve dragged him to a foodie heaven that assaults the eyes. He’s purring happily and pouring over the wine list. Dr Don also looks impressed, especially when our waiter deposits a plate of fig and Parma ham canapés compliments of the chef.

We order a bottle of Springfield Special Cuvee Sauvignon Blanc and its figgy, green pepper minerality has us composing short lyric verses to the genius of Springfield winemaking. Our attention turns to the menu as we enjoy the fresh sourdough bread with butter and peppercorn cheese mousse.

Paprika potato skins and Tsitsikamma Mozerella fritters compete with fresh fish, ostrich, venison and beef fillet for our affection. Eventually we order West Coast Mussels in a green curried sauce with julienne vegetables and garlic terracotta pot bread to start. The vegetables are the perfect excuse to ladle up all the sauce left over when bread is finished. This is sauce you don’t want to send back to the kitchen.

Grilled sole in saffron cream sauce follows with potato parmesan gratin. Besides a lack of a few greens, which could be acquired with a side order, the mains are perfect. I sample the lamb shank stew and duck confit in cranberry sauce and the meat drops off the bone in wanton abandonment to my tastebuds.

Having worked my way steadily through my own meal and that of my husband and best friend, I can’t accomodate another morsel. The others press on though, reclaiming the lost portions of their meals by enjoying home made peach and apricot ice-cream and Irish coffee. I find the Irish coffee topped with milk froth a bit disappointing, but the ice cream is everything homemade ice cream should be.

Before we depart, Dr Don and I head to the ladies room, a ritual born as much out of décor curiosity as anything else. We’re impressed. Handmade teddy bears huddle on a wooden bench and antique nick nacks have us loitering admiringly and using way too much Charlotte Rhys hand soap.

Back at the table, chocolate coconut truffles bid us a fond farewell from the angel who has enchanted us with her country hospitality and magical food.