There’s a restaurant in Pringle Bay, just an hour from Cape Town, called Hook, Line, and Sinker.
When you walk in to this effortlessly cool establishment you are guided to a table hewn from American Poplar that is scrubbed daily with Sunlight liquid and once a week rubbed lovingly with Cobra wax. There are less than ten tables, and the interior is dominated by a kitchen that itself is dominated by an open fire.
A woman approaches and takes your drinks order. The wine list is small and carefully chosen, and a bottle of pinotage that I pay R78 for at my local bottle store is R97.
There are two starters, you’re told; shrimp bisque and mussel soup. There’s a salad.
For mains there’s Kabeljou, Cape Salmon, and Patogonian squid. The woman stands and waits politely for your decision.
The starters are a revelation. No superfluous garnishes, no swirls, just bowls of honest, delicious, more-ish food.
Fish and the squid are cooked in big old pans on the open fire, as you watch. They’re both sensational. Your host is the cook, wielding his skillet as he slugs his red wine and talks you through his restaurant philosophy.
Keep it simple, keep it reasonable, it must be fresh, and the customer must confirm the booking. The place is packed, and in fact there are no reservations available until mid-January.
There’s a JSE listed bank whose tag line is not to do with being bigger better faster today tomorrow together and which doesn’t spend millions on commercials about fish falling out the sky or pretend to be doing us all a favour at the same time as stuffing up World Cup ticketing. It also doesn’t sponsor sport, and is creating jobs rather than laying off 2,000 people.
What it does do is allow its customers to borrow, save and transact in a rather simple and affordable way.
South Africa has an efficient and stable banking system which is the envy of countries like Ireland because it behaved responsibly during the recent global financial crisis and had little exposure to the overseas banks that indulged in activities that were bordering on the criminal. For this we should be thankful.
At the same time though, when I look at our established banks, and then at the upstart I described earlier, I can’t help thinking of a restaurant analogy. Remember Monty Python’s ‘The Meaning of Life’ when that greedy fat bastard Mr. Creosote walked in to the restaurant and an obsequious maitre-d’ played by John Cleese greeted him?
Maître-D’: Ah, good afternoon, sir; and how are we today?
Mr Creosote: Better.
Maître-D’: Better?
Mr Creosote: Better get a bucket, I’m gonna throw up.
Maître-D’: Uh, today we ’ave for appetizers — excuse me. Uh, moules marinières, pâté de foie gras, Beluga caviar, eggs Benedictine, tart de poireau — that’s leek tart — frogs’ legs amandine, or oeufs de caille Richard Shepherd — c’est-à-dire, little quails’ eggs on a bed of puréed mushroom; it’s very delicate, very subtle.
Mr Creosote: I’ll have the lot.
Maître-D’: [Pause] A wise choice, monsieur! And now, ’ow would you like it served? All, uh, mixed up togezher in a bucket?
Mr Creosote: Yeah… with the eggs on top.
I often feel like Mr. Creosote when walking into a Big Four bank. Loads of over-elaborate, rich, damaging to your health items on the menu, presented to me by a financial waiter who clearly regards me with sycophantic disdain.
Hook, Line and sinker is full ‘til January. The menu is small, simple, and delicious, and my dinner for 2 consisting of 2 starters, a salad, 2 main courses, 2 bottles of fine wine and a coffee cost me a ridiculously reasonable R450.
Capitec Bank’s share price has risen from 80 CENTS in March 2002 to nearly R150 today, and it’s the lowest cost bank in the country.
Check please!
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