Dusk in central Cape Town is special. Dappled light shadows Table Mountain; there’s a pavement cafe buzz; cool saxophone strains and a poum-tchak electro beat sync with the calmer evening temperatures.
The vibe is coming from Bree Street’s newest venue, Maru. Inside, the glittering gold decor is accentuated by dim lighting and the clean lines of sleek wooden panelling.
“Maru” means “mountain peak” in Korean. The country’s dining and entertainment scene is stereotyped around K-pop and karaoke, fast-food-style fried chicken, and beer from the bottle. Like all stereotypes, this is only half true.
Maru shows a more refined and eclectic side to Korea’s cuisine. Sure, we note fried chicken being served in buckets, with four squeeze-bottle sauces lined up alongside. But sceptical raised eyebrows are unwarranted: later, at our own giant bucket cramming the table, we revel in the realisation that this is connoisseur chicken. The sauces are innovative too, especially the pepper-Parmesan and the verde, which is less a play on salsa and more a thick, creamy, garlic and chive or spring onion whip.
There are smiles all around the restaurant; like a deluxe picnic, this is convivial. Addictive, too — everywhere, I see fingers flicking, the ornate chopsticks abandoned by all but the most image-conscious influencers.
Drink offerings include ten flavours of soju, a clear, sweetish Korean spirit. “It goes down easily, but the fire follows,” explains a neighbouring patron.
I decide on a cocktail as a safer option. Maru’s list, playfully headlined “Made With Seoul”, needs ten minutes to ponder, with zany East-meets-West concoctions which nod to K-pop, like the Boombayah — rye bourbon, Hon Yuzu citrus, Eureka lemon, apple and matcha — and a Honmoon margarita which marries tequila with cherry blossom, Persian lime and harissa. Slightly less experimental is a kind of Asian Negroni which incorporates ruby grapefruit and jasmine syrup — a twist which, having ordered more than a few as the evening progressed, I can wholeheartedly vouch for.
Maru’s menu, while not outright perplexing, is tricky to navigate. Go with the flow: ask the waitron for suggestions, and be prepared to experiment. Among the small plates as sharing starters are so-called golden nuggets, with a choice of 18- or 24-karat, explained by the toppings of red ocean trout roe or black imperial caviar. The tiny red and black polka dots create a visual feast and add a vague but pleasingly unusual initial fishiness, but the concept specifically celebrates the contrasting textures of crunchy batter and tender, velvety free-range bird.
Staying with the theme, we taste chicken consommé. Served simply in a small mug, it’s smooth, salty and slightly sweet, with an earthy warmth from the addition of Korean red ginseng.
The music is warming up, too. I realise the saxophonist is doing his own syncopating thing, which matters not a jot given that the electro-pulse beat backdrops almost anything. Next is Maru’s signature Wagyu flat-iron barbecue meat feast, paired very deliberately with a range of appropriate accompaniments collectively called banchan, comprising a rainbow of pickled vegetables — beetroot, daikon, mustard greens and scallion salad. The idea is to squeeze something of everything into a crisp, rolled-up lettuce leaf, then, in one bite, to allow the flavours to mingle on the taste buds. Chicken or beef be damned — this, too, is delectable finger food.
As a different, complementary side, we try tteokbokki, a street-food rice cake dipped into a spicy, smoky gochugaru sauce made from chilli flakes. It’s initially bland, but a tingling mouth-burn strikes a few seconds later, settling into a mellow garlicky warmth.
A Korean meal is packed with punch and pungency, and something soothingly sweet makes sense to balance it out. The dessert menu is headlined by a red bean paste version of the traditional shaved ice with sweet, fruity toppings called bingsu. But more enticing is the black cherry and white chocolate mousse, served with cinnamon, ginger and cherry gels, with cookie crumble made from a speciality Korean honey-and-ginger confectionery called yakgwa. Or, settle for simplicity: served in a paper cup with a miniature wooden paddle-scoop, the soy-caramel soft serve says that Maru’s food may be indulgent, but it’s cool and fun too.
I haven’t travelled to South Korea, so I am unsure how authentic Maru really is. Truffle mayonnaise in the amuse-bouche? Moët & Chandon with the main course? Frangipane, nougat and ganache in desserts? Does it matter — isn’t it fantastic that Maru opens a Cape Town window into a different, vibrant foreign food culture?
Subsequent research reveals that modern, Gen-Z-inspired Korean cooking is indeed embracing Western dishes, including highbrow ingredients. Nonetheless, it’s surprising that kimchi is barely mentioned on Maru’s menu, the side dishes described more generally as pickled vegetables.
But this is a quibble; what’s in a name, after all, when the traditional cabbage-based version and another featuring fennel are actually served — and described reverently, almost lovingly — by the waitron.
A few days later, at my local Asian grocer, I ask the friendly owner if she makes her own kimchi. “Oh yes,” she replies, “because kimchi is dee-rigger with every Korean meal.” I smile politely, only later catching on to her charming pronunciation of “de rigueur” – a linguistic confirmation of new waves of global fusion.
Maru rides them boldly and excitingly.
