Nerd time

We're all aware that, inevitable though it might be, adulthood doesn't actually have all that much to commend it. Yes, it's great to know that no one is going to stuff you into a maroon corduroy pinafore without your permission (sorry, that's my eighties childhood speaking), and it's lovely to  drink G&Ts, but there's also the other stuff. Like having to be a good example to your children, constantly, which makes swearing in the traffic a no-no, ditto airing your true thoughts about man-buns and people who calls sandwiches 'saarmies', lest they be regurgitated by your impressionable five-year-old at a snacktime gathering of hipsters.

And, then, you don't get to learn as much as you used to. My sister pointed this out to me the other day; noting in a fit of rage how unfair it is that past a certain age, much of your day is spent tick-ticking behind a laptop rather than expanding your mind. As a true blue nerd (for kicks, as a kid, I used to read World Book), this is a particularly heartrending reality. I love learning. I love being able to repeat obscure factoids, throwing them around gaily at dinner parties, and even the process of just finding out new stuff thrills me.

That's why I've been dying to go to Science and Cocktails; a monthly science lecture hosted at The Orbit Jazz Club. Yes, it is a bit of a strange combo - science, cocktails and jazz. My husband and I were at first bemused: would the speaker scat her stats, as in "human genomes can be spliced be-bu-do-bu-do-budo'. Would key points in her lecture be punctuated by sultry sax solos?

None of the above, as it turns out. First, we had dinner - and a mighty fine dinner it was, too. I'd had a big lunch, so I settled on a burger - only to have instant order envy when I saw my husband's oxtail. I love oxtail, but it can be a bit hit or miss at restaurants. This was a hit, definitely - really tender and flavoursome. Keeping with the loving local theme, we finished off with malva pudding. Now, I maintain that Woolies' malva is one of the only things that makes winter bearable - but, trust me, it's absolutely no match for what was served at The Orbit. The pudding was drenched in creamy cinnamon spiked custard, and if memory serves it had a sugary crust that added to its complete amazingness.

So, that was the beginning of the evening - off to a great start. Next, we headed upstairs to order a couple of cocktails (I had a spiced tea old-fashioned - a little too sweet and medicinal, even it looked impressive with the science-inspired dry ice smoke billowing out the glass) and listen to the lecture. It was fascinating - just so great to be hearing about something new and totally out of my ordinary every day. We'd already had what we considered one of our greatest Date Nights ever, when one last treat was sprung on us - a jazz band, in the true long-red-nails and roll-back-your-shoulder tradition.

What an awesome, awesome evening. Check out Science and Cocktails homepage if you're keen to attend an event (scienceandcocktails.org/jozi) - the next one (29 August) takes a look at stars - I reckon it's going to be a goodie.

The perfect spot

There's been such a flurry of restaurant activity in Joburg over the past few weeks. If you're a food lover, you could drive yourself mad trying to think of where you'd like to try next. Happily, this morning, I managed to cross one of those new places, That Spot on 4th, off my list.

I'm really glad I did. If a place could be cosy and airy at the same time, That Spot hits the nail on the head. The decor is gorgeous - all light wood and pretty patterns - and it's small and intimate without being squashed and cramped.

If the place is aiming to be 'that spot' where you meet up with the friends before the after school run or for a quick bite just before work starts, the recipe is just right - but, with John Legend playing softly and waiters offering quick and unobtrusive service, it's also perfect if you need a few hours with your laptop.

As for the food... I'll start by saying that the coffee is absolutely perfect. If all days could start with a cappuccino this good, life would be a lot more pleasant. Let me also add that the little biscuit on the side (don't you hate restaurants that leave out the little biscuit?) is a small mouthful of happiness: buttery and crisp, I could well do with an entire plate of those to munch through.

There were a whole lot of enticing breakfast options. I avoided the healthier choices (creamy oats with beetroot and berry sauce, for example) because I am just not that kind of person, and went straight to the breakfast flatbread with chorizo, mozarella, caramelised onion, roasted rosa tomatoes and a fried egg. This is also available as a hangover waffle, and although I am not hungover, I have been trying to catch up on the sixth series of Game of Thrones before Series 7 kicks in, so I am feeling pretty much like a white walker myself. Although there were quite a few different variations on the flatbreads, with toppings ranging from lamb meatballs with minted tzatziki to honeyed roast aubergine with hummus, I was really pleased with my choice. The bread was chewy, soft and hit my carb lovers' heart with a golden arrow; the caramelised onion had just the right amount of sweetness and, really, can there be any complaints when something is covered with melted cheese?

I'll definitely be back to try those other flatbreads, though - I have a feeling I might become something of a regular.

That Spot on 4th: 17 4th Ave Parktown North
@Thatspoton4th

One size fits all

There's always that Moment: the awkward instant when you and your friend have almost finished your shared slice of cake, and only one mouthful remains. Of course, neither of you wants to appear a glutton, so although you might know everything about each other, from how you really feel about your in-laws to what actually happened between you and Brad from accounts when your company went on conference, all of a sudden it's as if you've been invited to sup at Buckingham Palace.

"You have it," she'll say.

Your cake fork will, reflexively, make a move towards it, but you'll catch yourself just in time. "Oooh no," you'll trill. "I couldn't possibly." (Yes, I could, you are thinking. I could and I want to.")

"Well, I really shouldn't. I've already broken my Banting this week." Now comes the cliffhanger, a moment soaked in suspense: will she, won't she? Things could go either way, but unfortunately it's "Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound."

And then she takes what was rightfully yours.

Thankfully, this was not the problem I had when I had coffee at Zaris Espresso Bar earlier this week, because I went with my sister - and she knows that I do not believe sharing is caring. Anathema, hideous, less for me, heartwrenching, yes but caring - no. For instance, she was once with me when we were mulling over whether to buy a slice of pecan pie to take home - well, she was mulling, I was paying. She finally went with no - then instantly had non-buyer's remorse. She tried to ask for a bite from mine, but I forestalled her by licking the entire slice, twice over. My husband has also seen this side of me. The first time we celebrated his birthday together, I took him to Circle, then one of Greenside's best restaurants. Since we are both dessert addicts, this was the highlight of the meal, and both of us was worried that by deciding on one thing, we'd be missing out - it was a tremendously tempting menu. "I know," he said. "We'll both order different things, eat half and then swap." Which we did. Well, at least he did. I still remember his look of anticipation as he slid his plate over to mine, thinking I would do the same - and how it melted into confusion when I carried on eating both my own and his servings. Perhaps he'd only ever been to restaurants with girls who declared themselves stuffed after one leaf of lettuce, or maybe he's one of those people who thinks they deserve special treatment on their birthday. Either way, he was shocked, but I was happy.

But back to Zaris. My sister and I did indeed share cake - pecan, as it turns out and it was magic. Not cloyingly sweet, as pecan pie can be, yet deliciously crumbly and buttery, with some unexpected macadamias adding extra crunch. Also, there was no fighting over who got the last mouthful because I  knocked her fork out the way and told her she was having a fat day.

The coffee was excellent too, but what I really loved about this place was that everything was R20. Coffee, cake, sandwiches - everything. It was kind of like stepping into a time machine: if Blur had been playing on the sound system, I really would have been convinced that I was back in the 90s, and R20 for a sandwich was the norm instead of something worth blogging about.

It's a great concept, I think, and only one of the things that made me really take a shine to this place. I also loved the decor - all soothing minty green with copper geometric lights - and the quirky touches, like the love locks for sale (so you're on 4th Ave Parkhurst instead of overlooking the Seine - does it really matter?) and the bag of coffee grounds the owner gave each of us to perk up our roses.

Another must for my coffice mornings.

Green eggs and...

A couple of things sprang to mind when I heard that an all day breakfast spot, specialising in egg dishes, was opening in Melville.

The first was that a few years ago, while researching an article I was writing on creme brulee, I learnt that a chef's hat reputedly has 100 folds, representing the one hundred ways there are to prepare an egg (it's knowledge of trivia like this which I believe makes me an outstanding dinner party guest).

The second was my deep regret that, when I was honeymooning in Israel, we never got to try Tel Aviv's famous 24-hour breakfast restaurant, Dr Shakshuka. Actually, this is one of several things I would change about my honeymoon if I could. I would also have stopped gushing to every single customs official that I saw that I had just arrived in my spiritual homeland, because for some reason this identified me as a security threat. When on honeymoon, it is not romantic to be dragged into the special searching office to have your dirty clothes honeycombed by eagle-eyed security personnel who seem impervious to young love. It reached the point where my husband begged me to stop greeting everyone with a Shalom, I'm Jewish too - but I think he was just embarrassed because I was acting like those African-Americans who disembark from their SAA flight and start kissing Cape Town's soil while singing "Halleluja, I've come home".

But I digress...Obviously, checking out Pablo Eggs Go Bar was the remedy to my Israeli oversight. I have been soooo egg-cited to try it (sorry - couldn't resist) - and yesterday was finally my day.

First of all, I loved the decor. For a while, I have had a major art deco crush, so the whole look of the place had massive appeal for me - how I wished I was swishing in with a fox stole draped from my shoulders, a cigarette holder dangling from my gloved fingers and Cole Porter jaunting jazzily in the background.

On the plus side, being a product of the twenty-first century meant that I could attack my green shakshuka with a gusto and lack of elegance no self-respecting woman of the '30s would have displayed. Which is good, because I literally could not help making one of those embarrassing foodgasm sounds - you know, mmmmmmmyuuuummm mmmm- when I took my first bite. That mouthful burst with a pop of flavour that meant I couldn't get the second forkful in fast enough. The dish was a play on regular shakshuka (think comfortingly rich tomato stew fragrant with smoky paprika, a cayenne bite and cumin for warmth): green shakshuka has a spinach base and is served on a satisfyingly chewy cushion of lavash bread, with hummus and Israeli salad on the side. The lavash was toothsomely carby: if you would rather undergo a week's worth of colonic irrigations than turn Banting, this is undoubtedly your dream food. The eggs were perfectly done, and what I loved most was that every mouthful tasted a little different: one was chili-sharp, the next was garlicky, the next was bitter-fresh with parsely.

Also nice is the great workstation setup for people who want to coffice. And, of course, the fact that you can have breakfast for dinner.

The only drawback is that, at R100 for my dish, I think it's a little pricey - but well worth the splurge.

Let me eat cake

I was always more of a summer person - until I spent this January, which I spent schivtzing under a 37 degree sun, with a hungry newborn pressed to me around the clock. With sweat seeping into my skin folds in prickly trickles, I fantasised about those winter mornings that are so cold your nose hurts when you breathe in; about the special smell of a Highveld night in June; about sheets that send a chilly jolt down your legs when you dare move out of your warm spot in bed...

Happily, autumn is more than living up to my expectations. I really love this time of year - there's something incredibly wonderful about a change of season. I suppose because, most of the time, we soldier on in a world that's focused more on cell phones than sunsets, but when the world shifts into a new season, nature asserts herself in a way that can't be ignored. Maybe it's the crispness of the air or the brightness of the sky, maybe it's the coppery boldness of the leaves, but there's something about autumn that makes it feel as if you're standing on the brink, about to take a step into something wonderful.

And, it is also a marvelous season to eat cake. Cold afternoons call for cozy comfort, and there's nowhere better to answer this need than in a cafe. So, earlier this week, Leya (my three-year-old) and I traipsed off to Oregano, a tiny spot in Linden I've been wanting to try for ages.

Oregano isn't actually a restaurant or cafe; it's home to a catering company, but it does have one or two tables inside and - most importantly - a table laden with exquisite pattiserie. It's a place made for lingering over cappuccino while you pick off the last crumbs from your plate with your finger.

Choosing our treats of the day wasn't easy: it was a tug of war between milk tart (my favourite), brownies (also my favourite), caramel cheesecake (baked on a brownie base, drizzled with caramel and sprinkled with caramel popcorn) and cinnamon buns.

Eventually, I went for a cinnamon bun, and I certainly wasn't disappointed: crackly with sugar on top with loads of sticky goo in between the whorls of buttery dough, I was licking my fingers with each bite. Leya chose a gingerbread man, which was a bit of a disappointment to me - I was really hoping she'd go with a brownie and we could 'share' (ie I would pass her the odd bite). But, as she said, we can go back "every day" to try something new (proving that a) even at such a young age, she totally shares my food philosophies - I couldn't be more proud if she had started reciting the table of elements in French, backwards, and b) all the cake I ate while pregnant with her has probably turned her into a ganache fiend).

Although Oregano doesn't do breakfasts or lunches, there were some great-looking savoury pies on offer, as well as truly beautiful breads.

Definitely a place I'll be returning to.

www.oreganocatering.co.za

Five reasons why Motherland is my favourite coffice

When I was single and new to freelancing, I had a specific vision of what my work day would entail. I would rise - note: not wake, rise, as in greeting the brand new day with a Sealy Posturpedic style stretch, looking grateful and excited for the day - then indulge in some yogic-style stretches before heading to my sunlit courtyard for an exquisitely brewed coffee which would naturally infuse my body and mind with inspiration, with every sip. Then it would be time for a few hours of work, before I shut down the laptop and prepared a small feast.

The reality is somewhat different. I wake in an ammonia-scented pool (night-time toilet training is not progressing so well, which wouldn't be a problem if my three-year old acknowleged that she had her own bedroom), with the six-month old's foot in my mouth (it's as if she felt left out, being the only family member not in the bed). The wee-smell does battle with the stench of the dog's blanket issuing from their basket, which works better than smelling salts for a fainting Victorian heroine. It's not a gentle awakening, but it does serve to boot me out of bed - anything to get some fresh air. Then it's a series of Groundhog Day arguments with the toddler ('no, you can't watch a movie now. No, you can't have chocolate now. No, you can't wear a snowsuit today. Because it's 30 degrees outside and not snowing. I don't know - we live in Johannesburg and it never snows. Also you don't own a snowsuit....Because if you don't brush your teeth they will fall out...') and struggles with the baby to get her fed, clothed and nappied. I was surprised to learn that a six-month-old can have the strength of a rottweiler on Red Bull. Note there is no time for Zen-type inspiration in this scenario...and, if I were to open a laptop, it would be swiftly appropriated by the toddler who would insist that she had her own, pressing deadline to attend to (which would, in all probability, involve spilling milk on my keyboard and then pulling faces at herself on YouCam).

Hence my search for the perfect coffice, which I believe I have found in Motherland. Here's what I love about it:

1. The coffee. The coffee, the coffee. Obviously. A coffee shop is only as good as it's brew, and I really really love the full-flavoured blend here.

2. It being Jo'burg, and Jo'burg being small, you can always find someone you know to have a chin wag with. This alleviates that guilty feeling you get when you are supposed to be working but aren't - because, after all, you are actually here to work, and this is just a small diversion to clear your mind and make room for extra creativity. It's necessary. Think of it as a mental palate cleanser.

3. Almost everyone else here is for a meeting or to work on a freelance project, which creates a 'we're all in this together' vibe,

4. The background chatter, which makes a refreshing break from the isolated silence of a freelancer's life.

5. Free wi-fi! (After all, freelancing can be a tough gig.)

6. Fournos is just a quick stroll away. Which means that Jo'burg's best spanakopita and croissants are
within easy reach.

Egte regte

The first time I ever tried melkkos was at Veldskool. The camp itself holds no great memories - unsurprising, since we spent a week waking at 4.30am to the sound of a heavily accented oom, like an Afrikaans Sean Connery, braying "Good morrrrrning sleeping beauuuuties" over the intercom, before heading to the bathroom for an icy shower in a cubicle without a door. Nights, for some reason, were spent in a chilly hall singing 'Right Here Waiting' over and over and over and over - to this day, I cannot hear Richard Marx's crooning without having a little shiver.

I did like the melkkos, though - so when people started talking about the Bergbron Plaaskombuis, with its hearty boerekos, I was superkeen to try it out.

We headed there yesterday and, yup, it ticked all boxes. The restaurant looks like a house that's wandered down from Prince Albert, complete with steel windmills, old stove and wraparound stoep - a very inviting set up for a kuier. 

The menu is traditional all the way: you can't have toasted sandwiches, but jaffels are no problem. And although you might want a roll to dunk in your butternut soup, you'll get a roosterbrood instead, We had decided to get a bowl of melkkos for the table, while I opted for a tongue-stingingly hot boerewors, red pepper and tomato stew, and my husband - buoyed by memories of his grandmother's cooking - went for tomato bredie. My daughter ordered platkoekies, and was rewarded with a thick stack of crumpets soaking up pools of golden syrup like sponges.

This isn't fancy food at all; it's more like what your mom would serve on a chilly night (or, one imagines, what Oom Schalk's wife would hand out to the men after nagmaal. But it is robustly tasty, and a refreshing change when you're looking for something other than your usual bistro with its three versions of Eggs Benedict.

There are loads of little touches that made it really special - like the way you get a welcome mug of homemade ginger beer as soon as you sit down, and the open kitchen where you can watch your food being made. It's also got a kid's playground (godsend) and the staff are fantastic.