Review of the week
Brenda Atkinson
I used to do my laundry on 4th Avenue in Parkhurst, at a laundromat that boasted original Seventies signage and an enormous ginger cat that would warm itself on the tumble dryers. At the time, 4th Avenue featured in my mental suburban inventory as an antique shop strip for WASP families whose Saturday morning pleasures were found in 4x4s, pricey colonial bric-a-brac and Earl Grey tea at the Lemon Tree caf.
But that was then. Now, rather than read the Sunday papers doubled over a violently heaving washing machine, I indulge in whichever Parkhurst pleasure comes to mind, having explored a bit further up the street.
Fact is, despite its odd mix of bourgeois baroque, super-camp interior shops and street-side grime, 4th Avenue has become hip and happening for anyone on a Saturday morning saunter, Sunday chill-out, or pre-jol dinner (Johannesburg restaurateurs still seem to think that if their kitchens stay open after 10pm the sky would fall on their heads. Or they’d become Katz Pyjamas, which is perhaps a more legitimate fear).
The leader of Parkhurst’s culinary pack is George’s on 4th, which is actually run by someone called George, who is very nice indeed. The kitchen is headed by Tony Barnett, former chef of Cape Town’s Chez Simone, and renowned magic-spinner at Martha’s Vineyard.
Since I discovered Tony’s Malay mussels, pasta pesto, lambshank and so on, he’s become my new best friend, but this man’s genius unquestionably resides in his strawberry nougat. Listen up, everybody, and don’t say I didn’t warn you: the strawberry nougat at George’s should not be eaten in the company of anyone with whom you do not intend to have sex. That’s all.
The atmosphere at George’s is very, well, New York: it’s elegantly minimal but comfortable; Caf del Mar is the CD of choice, and the waitstaff (mostly tall dark and handsome men) are unfailingly polite and change your ashtray practically every time you ash (when they forget to do this they offer you their palms).
Cunningly, George’s does not allow bookings, which ensures that the restaurant always has yearning faces pressed against the glass. Get there before 7.30 if you want a hope in hell of smirking at the Outsiders. The kitchen stays open seven nights a week, until 11pm.
Another hot food spot is the more continental Espresso, which somehow pulls off pavement eating with cosy flair.
It’s a good brunch or late afternoon venue, where you can eat yourself sat on fried Haloumi sticks and skinny chips while counting how many Z-3s drive past in an hour. Service here is a bit on the sloppy side, but it’s more likely the fries that will give you the heart attack.
On the material objects of desire front, it’s unlikely that you’ll find more antique shops per square kilometre than on 4th: whether your taste runs to Deco, Nouveau, turn of the century or 17th century: if you’ve got the cash, Parkhurst has the status symbols.
If you don’t have that much of the former, but would rather like some of the latter, then cruise towards the avenue’s end and into Soul Trading, owned by Style magazine’s former Man in West Africa, Adam Levin.
Adam and partner Jason Lurie know a thing or two about style, and both have travelled extensively in Africa and elsewhere to bring you the best indigenous sort. This is the only place in Johannesburg where you can buy a tin of enormous olives, a funky oriental print T-shirt, and sip on sweet peppermint tea as you browse. The wares are unusual, gorgeous and reasonably tagged.
Watch this space for news of the new deli across the road.