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Chelsea Malewa in Goodwood. The smell that greeted me upon walking in was that of fish, both fried and raw, and wet garbage or a clogged sink of dirty dishes. Most sane people would have run out, but I didn't want to offend this lovely lady, so I stayed for lunch, which was a colossal mistake. My spinach was cold, my rice lukewarm and my chicken preposterously tough, with everything absolutely flavorless. It was like eating leftover that had been sitting on the counter from two nights ago. For this privilege, possibly the worst meal I've ever had, I paid $3.51.

Again, to not offend this lady, I gave the appearance of eating voraciously, but all I was trying to do was finishing my meal as quickly as possible, so I could get the hell out of there.

Visiting a city, many people try to dine at its best restaurants, but this leads to a rather false impression, for most locals don't go to those places. Ninety nine percent of Philadelphians, for example, have never been inside Le Bec Fin, its most celebrated restaurant, and most have never even eaten at Pat's or Geno's. They get their cheesesteak in their neighborhood, maybe from a Chinese, Korean or Puerto Rican guy even.

Although my experience at Chelsea Malewa was lamentable, it certainly added to my understanding of Cape Town.


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