This one time on holiday...

It’s a typical Muizenberg restaurant. I couldn’t tell you if it’s typical Cape Town, as I’ve been spending most of my time down here on the beach, catching those sweet beginner waves. The floor of the place is swept stone and the walls are painted beige. The chairs don’t quite match, and the only thing that separates the customers from the kitchen is a red-tiled counter. There is a stack of surf magazines in the corner, several of which have been commandeered by the resident surfer dude, who is sitting in the window seat, complete with dreadlocks and a shortie wetsuit still on. How he wears a shortie in the depths of South African winter I cannot fathom, but he seems happy enough. It’s the standard dress-code here; hoodie on top, wetsuit on the bottom.
The smell is how you know that this is a good restaurant. More than any other country in the world, South Africa is a place where you must trust your nose more than your eyes. And this pizzeria smells like heaven. The bases are freshly-baked before your eyes by a tall, congenial owner with golden skin and heavy-lidded eyes, the daily menu is decided each morning based on what he has at hand, and the waiter is a long-limbed, lolloping surfer who we met down at the beach this very morning. On match days they apparently set up a projector and screen the Premier League up against the wall, and good luck trying to get your pizza while Man U is playing.
The smell of spices, baking and softly melting cheese is an intoxicating one that seems to draw people in from all over, and The Pizzeria, as it is known, is busy even in the winter season. A lot of the custom is local and everyone knows each other, but this produces more of an inclusive atmosphere than an exclusive one. Everyone wants to hear some stories from the newcomers, the just passing throughs. You have to tell them one good story.
It doesn’t matter that it’s cold outside, or that darkness has fallen, because the light in here is warm and golden. Someone casually calls across the room to change the radio station, and the music changes from pop to Gospel. People talk and shout, back and forth across each other, they ask me questions, they tell me stories of their own, and after a little while, a quiet, regal woman walks into the restaurant with two children in tow. They are the owner’s children, and they come in every evening to have dinner with their daddy. It is this atmosphere, this warmth and light, that makes me wish I could stay here forever.