When you arrive at Belly of the Beast, it’s not like walking into a typical restaurant — No. This is something else entirely.
You’re greeted by the staff like you’ve just come home. The open-plan kitchen hums warmly, chefs smiling and waving when you catch their eye. Stanley, our waiter for the evening, took great care in making us feel at ease — checking if the heater was the right distance, asking about allergies and preferences, and guiding us expertly through their selection of wines and cocktails.
I started with their espresso martini — perfectly balanced, rich with good coffee and none of the harsh alcoholic burn. I was excited, a great start to what ended being my best dining experience to date.
What Belly of the Beast does — along with its sister restaurants — is offer a menu without really telling you what the dishes are. You’re handed a card with single-line entries: Kabous, Local Fish, Pampoenvark, Caldhame Duck, Belnori and Familiemeel, Almond Cake. Mysterious. Suggestive. Teasing. What fish? How is it served? With what? Each course was a quiet mystery, and that mystery thrilled me.
But then — surprise — the first course wasn’t even on the menu.
Stanley presented us with what was simply called “snacks.” Freshly shucked Saldanha Bay oysters, topped with an olive and lemon preserve tapenade and a kick of green Tabasco. Beside them, plump West Coast mussels sat in a bed of stracciatella, salted cucumber, and tarragon oil — served alongside crisp, house-made potato chips.
The oysters were beyond delicious — sweet, briny, creamy, acidic — while the mussels were smoky and moreish, lifted by that fresh, herbaceous tarragon oil. At one point, a bit of my topping fell off onto the table. I didn’t hesitate. I picked it up, licked my plate. And it felt okay. The mood at Belly of the Beast is calm, relaxed, familial — like you’re part of the crew.
Then came our first listed course: Kabous — a bread course rooted in tradition. Their dough is continuous, like a sourdough starter, rolling over daily for seven years. It’s baked into slightly warm roosterbrood and a fresh country style loaf, served with a duo of accompaniments: a silky chicken liver parfait with fig compote and toasted hazelnuts, and kudu tataki with charred onion mayo, roasted grapes, and — my favourite — braai dressing. The dressing, smoked with burning charcoal, tasted like someone had captured my childhood memories of backyard braais and distilled them into an oil.
Of course, both accompaniments are meat-based, and since I tend to travel with a pescatarian, she was served a chickpea instead of chicken for the parfait, and a zucchini carpaccio in place of the kudu. For the first time ever, I found myself thinking — I’d be totally okay with the vegetarian option. It was that good. The roosterbrood and country loaf? Flawless.
The next course was “Local Fish” — a fun, nostalgic one: seared yellowfin tuna with homemade tartare sauce, brown vinegar pickles, a pea salad, and beer-battered crisps. Sound familiar? It clicked — this was fish and chips, reinvented. Nostalgia again. But even more thrilling was being served by one of the chefs herself — Odette — who chatted with us about the dish and checked in. I don’t think I’ve ever had a head chef leave the pass to serve and banter at the table. She was warm and funny and real. It wouldn’t be the last time we spoke with her that evening.
Then came Pampoenvark — Afrikaans for pumpkin-pig. Turns out, the pork hails from Lowerland Farm in Prieska, where pigs are raised on pumpkins. The dish? Dumplings with crispy wagyu bacon, pickled radish, dashi velouté, celeriac — and a small jar of homemade chilli oil. This chilli oil was rich, hot, salty, umami perfection. It lifted the dish to another level. My pescatarian companion had the same dish, only filled with potato and cabbage. Just as good.
I refreshed with one of their signature G&Ts, this one made with marula tonic — far too easy to drink.
Then — another off-menu delight — a palate cleanser: pomegranate sorbet with vermouth jelly, a pour of marula tonic, and fresh mint. Something so small, done so thoughtfully. The bitterness of botanicals from the vermouth, the burst of sweet pomegranate seeds, the brightness of mint — exceptional. Worth licking the bowl for, again.
The Caldhame Duck dish followed. We learned that Caldhame is the name of the farm where these free-range ducks live their lives in KwaZulu-Natal. It arrived in the form of a duck biryani that, as Chef Odette told us, was inspired by a recent trip some of the team took to the Middle East. The yellow rice, she explained, was a two-day-long endeavour — dyed that wonderful sunset colour with turmeric. It was served with a basmati foam that was unlike anything I’ve tasted before — delicate, fragrant, and so clever.
Odette told us that a member of the kitchen team helped put the spice mix together, drawing from their own family experiences cooking similar dishes like this at home. It was such a touching detail, and really showed how much the entire team is woven into what’s plated at Belly of the Beast. Alongside the biryani was a homemade date chutney and crispy onions. The duck leg itself was confit’d to perfection. My companion received a meaty chunk of hake instead — pan-fried and lightly spiced — and honestly, it was just as delicious. Once again, they proved that every dish is treated with the same care, no matter what’s substituted.
I won’t lie — when I saw the word Belnori on the menu, I had no idea what it was. But I was delighted to learn it’s an award-winning cheesery near Bapsfontein, just outside Pretoria. We were served their chevin — a smooth goat’s cheese — and their Kilimanjaro — a hard goat’s cheese similar to pecorino. Both came resting on top of a homemade tomato jam, made from Owner & Chef Anouchka’s grandmother’s recipe. Of all the special things we’d eaten that night, nowhere on the menu could we feel the love more than in that spoonful of jam. It was all served with crisp wholewheat croutes, and I had to make a point of mentioning the jam to Chef Anouchka herself. Much to my happy surprise, I was given the honour of taking two jars home. It’s been just over a week since we ate there, and I’m not even ashamed to admit that both jars are long since empty.
Chef Odette returned once again to tell us about the final course listed on the menu — an almond cake made with familiemeel, a yellow maize from the same farm that raises the pampoenvark. She told us a story about that same trip to the Middle East, and how on a cold morning in Dubai, she and the team were served steaming cups of karak tea — strong black tea made with evaporated milk and warming spices. That memory became the inspiration for the dessert. Our almond cake was served with a karak tea syrup and a ginger granita, and we were even given a little pot of extra syrup to pour on to our hearts’ content. Next to the cake was a melon seed crumb, and right on top — a delicious rum and raisin ice cream.
Being at Belly of the Beast really challenged our previous ideas of what professional kitchens are like. You often imagine them as intense, high-pressure spaces — austere, stiff, and strict. But the team here were smiling, laughing, supporting each other, and clearly loving what they do. It made us almost envious.
Just when we thought the evening had ended, we were brought one last little farewell treat — a white chocolate rice crispy cookie served with a strawberry Nesquik foam. I know I’ve used the word nostalgia a few times already, but this genuinely transported me back to my childhood. And I think anyone who grew up in South Africa would feel the same. There was something so charming about seeing the actual tub of Nesquik sitting next to the foam canister — the real deal.
I get to visit a fair few restaurants that wow me — and I’m lucky because of that — but only a handful have left me feeling like I could do the whole meal again the very next day — Belly of the Beast is one of them.
I’m already eyeing my calendar and planning to book a table for their next menu change, a few weeks from now. I suggest you do the same.
Where: 110 Harrington Street, Cape Town
Bookings via Dineplan