Cheyne Morrisby lleva su cocina del Pacífico a Riebeek Kasteel

Riebeek Kasteel is a town that moves to its own rhythm. Mornings begin with coffee, lunch lingers, and at sunset, the light settles over the Swartland hills. It might seem an unlikely location for Morrisby's striking Pacific cuisine, but it works. It's there that Saisei, which means "rebirth," opened.

For those who frequented his previous restaurants, Cheyne's, Lucky Bao, Shio, and Hiro, much will feel familiar: the four-course menus, the Japanese technique, the flavorful sauces, and a special talent for balancing spiciness, acidity, sweetness, and umami. More than a reinvention, it's the next iteration of that style.

Ding Dong is a small street food bar with a garden, an original menu, and an alternative vibe. The space is still under development and will continue to evolve. There's a long communal table and a few tables for two, so sharing space with strangers is part of the experience. The atmosphere is relaxed and slightly impromptu, the perfect spot for a meal that calls for napkins and a willingness to participate.

The bao buns, Japanese fried chicken, and Tokyo-style fries were already favorites at Lucky Bao in Hout Bay, so ordering them again was a no-brainer. The crispy, grilled pork belly comes with miso aioli, sriracha, and roasted peanuts, all served in soft, steamed buns. The JFC (Japanese fried chicken) is sticky and crispy, with teriyaki, gochujang, and honey balancing the bold flavors. The Tokyo Dirty Fries are smothered in Kewpie mayonnaise, sriracha, and nori.

A lot is going on, but it never gets confusing. The team, mostly brought in with Cheyne from Cape Town, understands the mechanics of food: crispy ingredients stay crisp, and creamy sauces are balanced with chili, citrus, or some acidic or pickled element, often made in-house. The cocktail menu follows the same principle: the Tokyo Sour, with Japanese Toki whisky, citrus, egg white, and Angostura bitters, has just enough acidity to complement the fried chicken.

At Saisei, the atmosphere shifts. The restaurant is dark and cozy, with a special occasion feel but without rigid formalities. It's Morrisby's more sophisticated and elegant side, without whispers or elaborate rituals. The menu follows a similar format to his previous restaurants: Ichi (Sea), Ni (Land), San (Earth), and Shi (Happy Ending). The idea is to choose one dish from each section, although they aren't strict about it. At R480 per person, the value is exceptional, especially for a table prepared to share.

The prawn tempura arrives with tamarind-infused eel and a garlic and truffle emulsion. The batter is light, the prawns are perfectly cooked, and the sauce has a perfect creaminess. The amberjack ceviche combines nam jim, pickled daikon, tiger's milk, and eel gel: delicate, characterful, and full of flavor. The beef rib gyozas, cooked for 48 hours, are dumplings filled with shredded beef, star anise, and XO chili sauce. The beef tataki arrives on a crispy nori omelet with butter, accompanied by daikon and miso aioli. The food is built in layers, with nuances, balance, and texture, the hallmark of Morrisby.

Opinions were divided on the desserts, so we ordered several. The Fuji apple crumble came with cinnamon ice cream and ginger cream. A 70% dark chocolate fondant was paired with miso ice cream: salty, savory, and sweet, perfectly balanced against the intensity of the chocolate. Pan-Ya is a café on the outskirts of town, with excellent coffee and pastries, and is worth a stop before heading out to explore the area. There you'll also find Akai Ito, or the red thread: you buy a coffee for someone you may never meet, write a short message on a tag, and hang it on the thread. Whoever needs it chooses a note and redeems the drink, a lovely gesture in a small town where travelers and locals constantly cross paths.

Saisei, Ding Dong, and Pan-Ya retain Morrisby's unmistakable style: bold, irreverent, and precise in its essence. They've simply found a new rhythm in Riebeek Kasteel.