Scouting out interesting new finds for Eat Out always makes me feel like Im a one-person team in The Amazing Race: deciphering maps, finding the required destination and jotting down the salient bits before heading off to the next stop. Often while traversing tricky terrain, I might add.

The upside is that several of my road blocks include restaurants and delis, and instead of having to wolf down thousand-year-old eggs, I get to sample my fair share of scrumptious meals. This year, one of the spots Im exploring is a tiny Overberg village called Greyton. Its a place thats very difficult to describe without resorting to tourist-brochure clichés because, yes, it charms the socks off you, and yes, its straight from a compendium of Grimms fairy tales, complete with cows, horses and donkeys lolling around peoples backyards.

I pull into town shortly after 10am on a Thursday morning and, this being my first time there, cruise up and down Main Street, which is corrugated with the odd speed bump, should anyone dare to exceed the 40km/h speed limit, to track down a breakfast locale. I end up taking a seat on the stoep of the busiest-looking establishment, a deli-bistro called Vias.

I peruse the bountiful breakfast selection over an mighty fine cappuccino –percolated from Fairtrade, organic beans I find out later – and decide on the poached eggs on bacon-and-parsley hotcakes topped with crème fraîche, with a side of lemon chutney. I must look quite suspect, furiously scribbling down notes between mouthfuls, because the next moment proprietress Via Laurie is standing next to my table wearing a polite if slightly quizzical expression.

After assuring her that Im not an industrial spy, we have ourselves a good little chinwag. By now, most of the outside seats are occupied by Greytonites. Well, I assume theyre local, judging by the number of reciprocal how-do-you-dos being uttered and leashless dogs wandering in after their masters.

Via smiles broadly when I remark that her bistro seems to be quite a hotspot. I really take pride in the fact that Vias has become gathering place for Greytons locals, she says. Theyre our bread and butter; the weekend tourists are just the jam.

How does she turn first-time visitors into regulars, I ask. I make it my business to get to know each of my customers and to find out what they like, she answers, subtly lifting her chin to a neighbouring table. For example, when Im harvesting green beans from my vegetable garden, I know that I have to give Alan a call. “As far as the foods concerned, I think people appreciate that we make everything from scratch, she continues. Nothing on the menu comes out of a bottle or a can, and you wont ever find margarine in our kitchen; its butter and olive oil all the way. Our profits arent that large, but thats not what its about for us. I

t’s a good thing that Im not taking part in a timed TV-show challenge, since I chat to Via for about an hour longer than my schedule allows. We talk produce (a lot of it comes from her veggie garden and the rest of it from local farmers), provenance (I know where every item in the deli comes from), and future plans (theres a cooking school in the works). As I leave, she invites me to the Friday lunch buffet, which is apparently a highlight on the weekly social calendar. I dont mind if I do, I say, and rush off.

Making up for lost time, I get acquainted with the lay of the land at breakneck speed, swinging by a series of guest houses and shops, and meeting a host of interesting people along the way. For lunch, I decide on the diminutive Vanilla Café. Inside the pink-walled nook, which is kitted out with retro furniture and quirky bric-a-brac, I find co-owners Marina Redpath and Karen Pretorius having a bite after the lunchtime hubbub has subsided. I order the Greyton onion burger and head outside to one of the comfy day beds under the pergola. The beefy bun does not disappoint. The patty is enormous, juicy and perfectly chargrilled, and the relish is slow-cooked tomatoey perfection. When Karen comes outside to check whether alls in order, I give her my sincere compliments, and ask what her secret is. Like Via, she tells me that shes all about baking and making everything on the premises.

We bake our own bread every day, and theres nothing in that patty apart from meat, herbs and spices, she says. If you use fresh products, your food will end up being tastier and healthier. The great thing about living in a village, she continues, is that people are always bringing us bits and pieces from their gardens. We also get a lot of produce out of our own vegetable patch, but we have quite a problem with donkeys and cows wandering in and raiding it, she adds smiling.

In an attempt to get a much-needed second wind, I go for a stroll around Greytons dusty side streets. Sprawling backyards complete with tyre-swing-adorned trees and resident livestock seem to be the norm, and bicycles are definitely the preferred mode of transport. I pass a parked car with a wide-open window and find myself thinking that I could live there. Hey, I could even learn to live with the odd errant jackass trundling through my flowerbeds.

I end off the day with dinner at Pecadillos in the company of Coenie Visser, publicity consultant and erstwhile owner of the neighbouring Oak and Vigne Café. Coenie knows Greyton inside out and fills me in on all the exciting foodie spots in town between starters of fig, brie and bacon salad and chilled gazpacho soup, and mains of aromatic leek risotto and moreish mash-topped yellowtail pie.

Theres Davida Wind, who has a beautiful lemon orchard in her backyard and sells freshly squeezed lemonade, lemon ice cream and lemon-curd pancakes at the Saturday morning produce market. Marcello Elisabettini, the owner of Dolcezze is South Africas cheese-straw pioneer, and has a factory just around the corner. Chocolatier extraordinaire Richard von Geusau makes a range of to-die-for Belgian couverture choccies.

And then theres Shauna Vaughton from Greyton Traditional Ice Cream, whose homemade salted caramel ice cream is another must try. Ooh, and dont forget to chat to Olivia Mitchell, adds Coenie, She used to be the chef at Le Petit Ferme and is now a garagiste winemaker with her dad Andy. Its getting late, so we share a chocolate-nut brownie (lovely crumbly edges and a soft, gooey centre) and say our goodbyes.

Driving towards my accommodation, my head is reeling with info. Im dog-tired, but quite giddy too. Tomorrow is definitely going to be one jam-packed – not to mention filling – second leg of the race.