I have a confession. When typing at my computer becomes a bit tedious, I sneak a visit to my friend and former editor of www.eatout.co.za Kobus van der Merwe’s blog to see what he's getting up to at his new restaurant, Oep ve Koep.

Okay, I'll admit Sardines on Toast is more a voyeuristic fix than casual click-through. It's not without a small pang of jealousy that I follow his culinary adventures – from making his own boerewors and stocking up on West Coast fleur de sel at the Khoisan Trading salt factory, to placating the “Hilux Brigade”, who were outraged at the lack of toasted cheese on the menu. And, on top of having the time of his life, he's making quite a name for himself, having sparked the interest of international publications such as Genieten and Monocle.

Kobus has done what few of us nine-to-fivers have the chutzpah to: he's traded in the security of an office job to pursue his passion for being a chef. So that is why, on behalf of all wishful thinkers out there, I make the trek to the coastal idyll of Paternoster to see what happens when fantasy turns into reality.

When I arrive at around morning teatime, Kobus and his assistant Ilke are taking a breather from lunchtime preparations. The last drops of whey are draining from a muslin cloth holding a mound of homemade buttermilk ricotta and there's a batch of Kobus's plaasbrood in the oven. Right on cue, a friendly local pops his head into the kitchen, says hello, and compliments Kobus on the bread before leaving. Later Kobus tells me that the loaves have garnered quite a following, while hefting out the piping-hot trays from the oven.

"On weekends, I'll make about 16 farm loaves and 15 ciabattas a day, and they'll be sold out before noon."

Feeling slightly wobbly after only having had half a frozen waffle before leaving home, I'm thrilled when Kobus tells me that the bread and ricotta are going to form part of my pre-lunch snack, the third ingredient being preserved figs made by Tannie Sophie, an octogenarian from Dwarskersbos.

As I tuck into the delicious spread in the shady tea garden, Kobus is already filling me in on what's for lunch. The Cape Malay curry is inspired by a recipe he saw Cass Abrahams demonstrate while he was still at chef's school; the bobotie's beef was ground in his newly acquired industrial mincer; and the accompanying hanepoot confit is made from the fruits of a 180-year-old Muscat d'Alexandri vine that his dad salvaged at their Stellenbosch home.

Leaving Kobus to it, I set off for a spot of sightseeing. Playing tourist, I snap away at the ubiquitous fishermen's boats on the beach and the lingerie dangling from the roof of The Paternoster Hotel's Panty Bar, and enjoy a beer at the Voorstrandt Restaurant.

On my way back, I discover that I've left the lens cap on the camera during the whole excursion. Fortunately for me – and the reader – Kobus has photographed most of Paternoster, and features much better versions of my would-be images on his blog.

By now the West Coast sun is out in full force. I look on warily as Kobus adds a significant number of dried chillies to my open ravioli starter, which consists of homemade pasta sheets, lemon-and-olive-oil marinated bokkoms and a sprinkling of pangritata. Surprisingly, the result works wonders in combating the sweltering heat, as does the fiery Malay tomato blatjang served alongside the aromatic curry. I finish off with a helping of Kobus's signature rooibos ice cream topped with a drizzle of moskonfyt, and some refreshing sorbet made with rosemary that grows in Kobus’s verdant boat garden.

I know I should be heading back, but instead I postpone my inevitable departure over coffee, chatting to Kobus. Are there any drawbacks to living the dream, I finally ask him. "Sometimes it feels a little bit remote out here," he answers, "but luckily there's rarely a weekend that goes by without friends dropping by."

We finally say our goodbyes, making plans to pick mussels and bake ciabattas when I'm next in Paternoster. A few kilometres shy of Vredenburg, I contentedly eye the Oep ve Koep plaasbrood, pickled beetroot and snoeksout on my passenger seat – and notice the absence of my notebook. I make a U-turn and head back into town. It seems I'll be paying Kobus a return visit sooner than I thought.

By Annette Klinger