“Is it a good jol inside?” asks an anxious girl in the queue, as we leave The Village Idiot, on Friday night. “But my friends are all inside!” implores another to the bouncer, who kindly explains that she will see them inside, if she waits at the end of the queue.

It’s only in its third week of existence, but already The Village Idiot’s staff are having to learn to console patrons being turned away. Tables are fully booked on weekend nights and – incredibly – there’s a queue outside the door from around 8pm. This, in Cape Town, at the start of winter. So what is happening here?

The queue outside. Photo by Laura McCullagh.

Part of the explanation perhaps lies in the fact that Reg MacDonald’s other establishment – the club, Aces ‘n Spades – is the unofficial, after-hours hipster HQ. The other part lies in the owner’s recognition of a need for a space like this: a place that you can eat, but also drink in a relaxed bar-style environment, listen to music, or play pool or board games.

The food

Grilled prawns and calamari, with vine tomatoes, lemon and thyme. Photo courtesy of the restaurant.

Food doesn’t really feel like the focus here, so the quality surprises me. The menu is a well-curated selection of braai-style cuisine. The braai board, with a spiral of boerewors, tender steak and a good chakalaka keeps us happy while we await a platter of ‘Tata ma chance’ ribs. I’m happy to see the mention of Joostenberg pork on the menu, which suggests careful sourcing of produce, although the actual ribs are a little lacking in piggy flavour – perhaps they’ve been boiled before basting and grilling?

That Durban Chick – hot spicy peri Peri-style grilled chicken. Photo courtesy of the restaurant.

We also tuck into a cheese board, complete with a gloriously melting camembert and a couple of slivers of magnificent roasted plums.

The chocolate brownie with smoked vanilla bean ice cream is pretty spectacular. Gooey and sort of gratuitously chocolatey, the brownie actually requires the ice cream to tone it down a little. (Which is a triumph, in my book). The milk tart, however, is less good – a little dry, with too much pastry – and gets largely left behind.

In future, Reg promises Sunday braai days with spits and potjies, which will no doubt go down a treat.

Drinks

A good selection of craft beers on tap is joined by a brief wine list (Alphabetical, Eagle’s Nest’s delicious Shiraz and Oak Valley Chardonnay make appearances), with several options available by the glass.

The balcony at The Village Idiot. Photo by Laura McCullagh.

Service

This is a fight-for-your order kind of a place. There are too few waiters, really, to offer table service to all of these people, so if you intend on ordering food, lasso one and follow him or her around, until your platters materialise. Part of our order arrives swiftly, but after asking several times, we – and our waiter – give up on the chicken wings we’ve ordered. He seems vaguely relieved.

One of the pool tables. Photo by Laura McCullagh.

Ambience

The décor is masterfully theatrical. Exposed brick, mounted buck heads above the fireplace, a Persian carpet, an old rocking horse, skis hanging in the rafters, reading lamps and pool tables conjure a wacky old colonial country club. It’s a first-floor space, which means there are wide balconies on two sides, which promise to be lovely in summer.

Inside the restaurant. Photo by Laura McCullagh.

The eponymous Village Idiot – a thoroughly catchy name – is Oskar – a giant, taxidermied ostrich, who stands proudly on the bar and is the star of some stellar mythmaking involving a Durban shebeen, karate-kicking and a ‘long-necked drink-stealing technique’.

Oskar overlooks proceedings. Photo by Laura McCullagh.

As nine o’clock draws near, beautiful twenty-somethings in leather leotards under jeans or plaid shirts and woolly hats fill the gap between the bar area and tables, and the DJ appears, to begin a set.

Being incredibly old – in preferences, if not years – we retreat at this point, to watch a David Attenborough documentary on the couch. It is Friday night, after all.

The verdict

Reg MacDonald knows his market – and if that’s you, you probably already know about The Village Idiot. If you don’t, and you’re after a relaxed bar-club place, where you can also order food and flirt with fellow ad-agency types, this might be the local you’ve been waiting for all your life.

Eat Out critics dine anonymously and pay for their meals in full. Read our editorial policy here.

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