For the first time in ages the sun was shining when I drowsily opened the curtains of my cottage at dawn on Wednesday.
Eating Out with Dusty Miller
No solid grey skies, no drizzle, no rumbling thunder; the trees had even stopped dripping torrents from the usual overnight heavy precipitation.
Whydahs, wax tails, weaver-birds, sparrows and finches squabbled over the seed in my hanging bird feeder, doves and pigeons enjoyed themselves on the scraps the little birds scattered below the hanging device; five or six guinea-fowl feasted on unshelled ground nuts, now sprouting into life after incessant rains.
The constant rains here have been depressing — especially as there’s little, if anything, planted in the “liberated” agricultural lands to benefit from the excess moisture — but nothing like those in the UK, where tracts of land have now been under water for two months!
(Although I did hear the Willowmead Junction Coffee Shop, near St John’s College was flooded by the rising river a few days ago.) It was a morning for a solid, sun-kissed, trencherman style al fresco breakfast and the first suitable venue which sprung to mind was the Palms Restaurant overlooking the lush, palm-thick gardens at the Bronte Hotel in The Avenues.
Wednesday, early, was a beautiful day in Central Africa: an azure sky contrasting nicely with the odd cotton wool white cloud and full sun beating down already quite strongly. My Dubai-acquired Samsung “smart phone” (pity I’m not smart enough to use it properly!) told me, just after 8am, it was already 24C in the lush, verdant gardens of The Bronte Hotel, with a high of 27C expected, humidity 58% and wind speed of 16kmh. (Twenty-four hours earlier it had forecast full sun on Wednesday, but at an — early — bedtime the previous night, solid rain was shown on the icon, sunshine postponed until Thursday!)
There’s no wind, rarely even a breeze, inside the courtyard gardens at the Bronte. High Dutch-colonial style whitewashed gables surround the area’s lawns, shrubs, flowers, exotic and indigenous trees (including many eponymous palms), and restful water features: fish, lily and swimming pools. The place is alive with birds and birdsong, especially “toppies” (the black-eyed bulbul with its cry of “Wake up, Gregory!”); multi-coloured butterflies flutter by; all five minutes’ walk from the CBD.
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Broken robots Breakfast “out” meant leaving home about 45 minutes earlier than usual and dealing with perhaps three times the volume of rush hour traffic than typically encountered: Delays at non-working robots, dodging cavernous pot-holes, swerving to avoid suicidal street vendors, having grimy pan-handlers begging at intersections, broken down commuter omnibuses and all the other pleasures of so-called “developing world” motoring (Grrr!)
But The Palms’ gardens were, as usual, Zen-peaceful. I overheard a score of different accents from guests breakfasting on the shady stoep, as I grabbed the last outdoor table, which was in almost full sun.
The Palms breakfast is part help yourself buffet, with the hot, usually fried, bit served at your table. I served myself cereal: imported Weetbix and good muesli, a fresh fruit salad mainly comprising cubed and sliced water melon, melon, banana, grapes and strawberries with additional sliced watermelon and halved guavas all anointed in berry-flavoured yoghurt.
There were also four containers of freshly squeezed fruit juice. I chose passion fruit. At a quiz recently, the answer claimed that Our Lord ate it at His crucifixion, hence the name. It always seemed unlikely to me and Dr Google backed me by saying it’s a native of Brazil, Uruguay and Paraguay. How could Jesus have eaten one 1 500 years before they were discovered?
Danish, scones, croissants, Chelsea buns and muffins along with cheese and ham, remained untouched by me as I wanted to do full justice to the main attraction. Which was a “full house” fry-up: Service was snappy and I soon found myself outside a plate of two medium poached eggs: cooked precisely, with lovely, runny, golden yolks; bacon rashers, two good smallish English-style pork bangers, baked beans, grilled ox-liver and onions and half a grilled tomato.
There were no chips or sautéed potatoes, which will put The Palms off my pal Phil Horne (alias Forlorn!), the movie-cameraman’s breakfast list. He reckons fried spuds dipped in egg-yolks are a certain remedy for hangovers!
Two slices of hot, thick, brown, whole-wheat, toast appeared, to join a good thick-cut tangy marmalade and butter. The food was washed down by a couple of refills of the passion fruit (purple granadilla) juice and seemingly gallons of the most acceptable coffee I’ve drunk in ages, which my waiter revealed was grown in Chipinge.
Palms Restaurant at The Bronte opens breakfast, lunch and supper daily with morning coffee and afternoons teas between. Child and reasonably handicapped friendly. Dining indoors or out; no-smoking indoors throughout the hotel. Fully licensed; separate cocktail bar. Safe parking. Residential. Telephone 707522. This is mainly a table d’hôtel eatery. The hotel also boasts Emmanuel’s, a fine dining establishment open for lunch Monday-to-Friday; supper Monday-to-Saturday. [email protected]
