I’ve spent the better part of my young adult years wondering where the hell my last name came from. German, Irish, Swiss, French, Welsh—none of my heritage seems to suggest the bizarre word that is “Kral.” I’ve always felt a little alienated by its lack of meaning.
Slowly, though, the name has come up in bizarre places. In Amsterdam, I came across a Kral Photography, and my guidebook to South Africa mentioned that those colorful huts on the beaches are referred to as “kraals.” These Dutch hints finally lead me to Nyoni’s Kraal, a traditional South African restaurant on Long Street in the Cape Town city bowl.
Though the word itself is Dutch, the restaurant’s décor is very…safari. Elegant safari. The kind where you’d sport matching scarves, earrings, and pumps with your khaki fatigues. The staff is laidback and offered to put the African Cup of Nations game on for us, though it seemed very anti-whatever vibe this place was going for. The wealthy Afrikaner diners may have been put off, but we certainly pleased the kitchen crew, who peeked out to check the score every five minutes.
They brought out some steam bread for us with an assortment of garlic, chili, and herb butters. I should mention that steam bread may just be the perfect way to start a meal—the lightest, most airy slices I’ve seen, subtly sweet, encased in a thin crispy crust that is somehow as light as the rest of the loaf while still being crunchy. The menu was divided into many categories, including braai, South African, and Cape Townian. The Kraal purse was a starter of striped crunchy filo surrounding the spinach and feta mix that everyone in this city seems to go crazy for.
The local lasagna was a heavy endeavor, comprised of cream sauce-soaked vegetables in a bowl beneath a flat pasta sheet coated in melted cheese. (Other restaurants in the area have proven that that is how they do lasagna in Cape Town.) I tried a classic South African dish, the breyani, a hump of minced beef and rice with sweet Indian spices, topped with diced tomatoes and a cucumber-yogurt sauce and flanked by little fried bread balls that were hush-puppy-esque, though a little tougher and therefore not as good.
The meal was topped off with the epitomous Cape Town dessert item, malva pudding. This liquor-drenched spongecake was like gingerbread doused in brandy, served with vanilla cream sauce and ice cream. I’d been warned about this staple, as if it would be scary or difficult to sample, but it was definitely an enjoyable experience.
I was sad to see the safari come to an end, but delighted to know that if all else fails, I can identify with Dutch South African colonizers! They may have a history of oppression, but they sure know how to cook.
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