Linni Eats Stellenbosch: Moyo

For the perfect marriage of sophisticated tastes and childhood thrills, look no further than a treetop table at Moyo, an African buffet paradise on the Spier Wine Estate in Stellenbosch. Not only do you eat in a glorified tree house, but costumed African women come round to paint your face in between courses!

While these course breaks are self-imposed, they provide much-needed downtime when you’re tackling a 180+ dish spread, spanning the entire continent of Africa from salads to desserts and everything in between. If dancers, singers, and other forms of entertainment weren’t around for distraction, food coma might settle in before you get to the Amarula cream sauce or rum spiced bananas, and that would just be a crying shame.

But I’m getting ahead of myself here—the adventure begins with bread. Sounds normal enough, but this is far from your average bowl of rolls. The plate’s edge is decorated with lumps of brie, coconut, and onion bread with coriander seeds, sweet potato and pumpkin bread with pumpkin seeds, Egyptian rose petal semit bread with sesame seeds, and fried Tunisian flat bread. In the center, tiny dishes of dukkah, harissa, and the most uniquely delicious hummus I’ve ever tasted await plunking. I took delicate bites and tried desperately not to fill up, but for what it’s worth, the Tunisians won the bread battle.

A moment of silent hesitation then came over our table as we shot questioning looks at each other. We had our drinks and now nothing was standing between us and the buffet, save for our climb down from the tree. Time to dive in.

The next hour or so of my life was a whirlwind of flavors. Many metaphors come to mind--a rollercoaster, or perhaps a carnival; it’s actually a wonder no stomachache came from such a multiethnic party in my tummy. I began with balsamic-marinated crunchy spinach leaves tossed with a spicy caramelized nut mix. The cold salad bar also featured a green bean and sun-dried tomato salad, a chickpea mint medley, and beets blended with caraway seeds, honey, and garlic. The meats were served with a saffron mayo and date chutney, and while the matured oryx fillet was satisfying, it was the condiments I couldn’t get enough of.

Over at the fish station, dorado was plated with mango relish and butter fish steaks were skewered and fried while you watched, along with grilled strips of calamari steak, marinated in molasses and peanuts.

There was more sea fare over in the potjiekos, a station overflowing with cast-iron pots filled with stews, potjies, and breyanies. The fish breyani was stunningly spiced but the eggplant potjie stole this show. It had a smokey, mushroomy thickness far more intoxicating than any meat—my entire table got seconds. I inquired about the recipe, but got a convoluted reply in a thick accent. I suppose I can’t blame the guy for not wanting to share the secrets to a dish so breathtaking.

There were also springbok shortribs and a lamb tagine roasting in stew pots, with an orange herb sauce on the side. This finalized my opinion that, despite their impressive efforts in every other category, Moyo’s specialty was sauces. My favorite part of the meal might have been using the leftover bread to soak up the date chutney and orange herb saffron soup collecting in the center of my plate.

The usual South African stars shone at dessert—a thick Amarula cream coated soft-serve ice cream, milktart, and especially syrupy koeksisters. I was a little surprised to see zucchini bread and brownies on an African dessert buffet, but neither disappointed. I’m not usually a fan of meringues, either, but these were the perfect texture complimented by dried apricots, crushed pistachios, and a chocolate drizzle. And the final surprise, pears spiced with thyme and rosemary and poached in a red wine that no doubt came from the nearby vineyard. They were reminiscent of Thanksgiving, not an altogether inappropriate sentiment given the amount of food we ate that day.

Those who prefer to recline after a big meal will find plenty of comfortable options at ground level, where futons are laid down beneath Moroccan-style tents and blankets are draped on the backs of chairs. For the ambulatory folk who get antsy after dinner, the restaurant stretches back into many enclaves, one a thickly forested garden path and another filled with colorful leather chairs, carved iron lanterns, mirror mosaic angels and brightly painted wine barrels. I don’t think we saw the entire space, but enough to decide this would be the perfect location for a wedding.

Unfortunately, due to shifting menus, we missed out on the potato and banana curry, gingered sweet potato lentils, butternut cheesecake, and sherry hazelnut cake, all of which sound like they could have tipped the delicate balance I found between hunger and uncomfortable fullness. How I arrived at that balance with so much food, I’m not too sure. My advice? Take one bite of everything. It may sound modest, but one bite each of 180 courses? You do the math.

But for extreme cases like the eggplant potjie, I’ll concede a bit—if it’s really good, take two bites.