Oh, that impish Murphy. Its according to his law that during the last – and most interesting – restaurant encounter I have while visiting Barrydale, I fail to take notes, which means that Ill have to rely on my memory to tell that part of the story.

After a day of announcing myself to every eatery I enter, chatting to restaurateurs and scribbling away, Ive run out of steam, and go into Mike Clarkes establishment Clarke of the Karoo, dead set on an anonymous, conversation-free lunch with nary a pen in sight.

Of course, luck would have it that Mike is a gracious host, and a curious one at that. Before long, Ive told him where Im from, what Im doing there and even why my accent is so funny. (Its not really that funny, but I suppose to a Brit – no matter how long theyve been living in South Africa – the idiosyncrasies of the Afrikaans-English accent will always remain a mystery.) 

But, Im getting slightly ahead of myself, so lets go back to the beginning – the documented part – and Ill deal with the blank spots when I get there.

I hadn’t been to Barrydale before, so I popped into the tourism office to get to grips with town. It’s pretty simple if youre looking for a place to eat: just continue straight along the R62, which doubles as this dusty Karoo towns main road.

My first stop is Simply Food, a cheery coffee shop/delicatessen headed up by Kirsten Fugard-Wentworth. The menu is simple but sumptuous, featuring a heavenly breakfast selection, including croissants filled with creamy French-style scrambled eggs, and lunches of baked-from-scratch quiches and wraps with fillings such as prawn and sweet chilli cream cheese.

Moseying further up along the main stretch, a blackboard menu advertising German cakes grabs my attention. Well, that and the life-sized, spatula-wielding mannequin dressed in chefs whites and Crocs at the gate. While Im enjoying a sizeable slice of sachertorte, Khasha Mongo’s co-owner, Martina Stücker, explains that many a passer-by has been fooled into asking the immobile Stanley for directions. In addition to their amusing “stand-in chef”, Martina tells me that another secret weapon in the restaurants artillery is its selection of Roosjes van de Karoo gourmet pies, so called because of their delicately arranged filo-petal pie crusts. 

Speaking of crusts, the neighbouring Jam Tarts Restaurant is hailed by locals for its array of crispy-based oven-fired pizzas. As the name alludes, the restaurant doubles as a jam factory, producing a medley of preserves ranging from irresistibly sweet fig to temptingly tart apricot. They also bake their own breads, and theres really no excuse not to sample them. After a visit to a serenely isolated guest cottage, Die Appelhuis on Doornkraal farm, I leave with three trays of cling peaches and a tip-off to swing by Hannette Cookes The Blue Cow at the Barrydale Waterfront. 

The “waterfront” is a humorous misnomer for the tiny Tradouwshoek farm dam, where the blue-roofed shed is situated. Over a coffee milkshake made with fresh farm milk, Hannette tells me that theres always a loaf of bread kept under the counter for visitors who want to feed the carp and ducks. The eaterys wooden deck offers a spectacular vantage point from which to take in the rural cow-studded surrounds, and is almost always abuzz with locals over lunch hour. The menu is correspondingly countrified, offering farmers and farmers wife breakfasts, and light lunches including farm-bread sarmies packed with organic goodies, roosterkoek and soups. 

Heading towards Montagu, Joubert-Tradauw Wine Estates R62 Deli is run by renowned wine-maker Meyer Jouberts equally talented wife, Beate. To say that the menu offers light meals would be doing a complete disservice to its decadent culinary creations. For example, the seemingly straightforward-sounding cheese ciabatta sandwich is topped with three different types of cheese and fresh herbs, and served with home-made tapenade, hummus, onion relish, peach preserve and fresh fruit. It’s a real treat washed down with a glass of Meyers lightly oaked chardonnay. 

Back in town, I swing by the newly opened Mez, owned and run by Michelle Berry, sister of Simply Foods Kirsten. The little blue-and-white nook looks like its been teleported from a Greek island, and continues the theme with its Mediterranean menu, which tempts with the likes of meze platters, spannakopita and lemon, herb and garlic braised lamb. Following Michelles recommendation, I try the deliciously velvety Turkish delight ice cream sprinkled with Moroccan spiced nuts, finished off with a drizzle of rosewater syrup. 

This brings me back to Clarke of the Karoo. Somewhere between telling me about small town life and how exactly he ended up running his successful roadside establishment, I order a home-made ginger beer (made with the real McCoy, not the dried, powdered kind) bottled by one of Clarkes pals. Its quite potent stuff, for as soon as the waitress unscrews the cap to pour me a tot, half of the bottles contents fizzes over the table. “I told you it was really fresh,” says Clarke as he opens an older “vintage”, the contents of which remains thankfully intact.

“Do you know what gravadlax is?” he asks me while Im perusing the numerous chalkboard menus. I vaguely commit to knowing that it has something to do with either salmon or trout (for some reason I always muddle up the two), and before you know it, hes brought me a little taste of perfectly pink, sugar-and-salt-cured salmon, the taste of which is not wholly unlike the smoked variety, but definitely fresher and more delicate.

Since Ive pretty much been eating non-stop, Im not quite up to indulging in Clarkes legendary Karoo lamb curry, so I go for the lighter option of deep-fried white bait. Clarke seems positively tickled upon hearing what Id ordered (and the fact that Id never tried it before), saying: “Thats quite adventurous for an Afrikaans person!”

Not sure whether to feel slighted or proud, I tuck into the crispy, sardine-sized fish. Drizzled with caramelised lemon and dunked in Clarkes homemade sweet-chilli mayonnaise and tartare sauce, it’s positively divine. As a parting gift, Clarke gives me the rest of the bottle of ginger beer – top screwed on tightly and bagged for extra measure – with strict instructions not to open it in the car heading home.

Cautiously avoiding any bumps in the road, I backtrack my way along the R62, saying mental goodbyes to all the friendly folk Ive met. Fortunately, the vessel survives the journey back to Cape Town and for the next few days Im able to revisit the beautiful Klein-Karoo town with the twist of a bottle top.

By Annette Klinger