An interview with Chef Neil Swart, co-founder of the Belly of the Beast
Words: Mia McCarthy
“I hate the term ‘fine dining’. It’s been bastardised.” says Chef Neil Swart, co-founder of the award-winning Belly of the Beast restaurant.
At first, Chef Swart’s take on fine dining seems to contradict the highly orchestrated machinations of his restaurant. The terms and conditions are clear: all twenty-six tables are served simultaneously. There are no menu options, save for select dietary requirements that must be communicated in advance. There is no set number of courses.
Nevertheless, when I walked into the softly-lit and immaculately clean restaurant for dinner service, these conditions didn’t feel like restrictions — they felt like respect. For Chef Swart, limiting your offerings to the dishes you excel at is good service.
In a culinary era where decision fatigue is (literally) being driven by the hyper-availability of takeout and grocery delivery services, I think Chef Swart and his partner Chef Anouchka Horn are onto something. At Belly of the Beast, patrons are relieved of the burden of choice. And, if you select the wine pairing, you’ll have even less to consider. “You don’t have to make any decisions here,” says Chef Swart. “The food is thought out for you, the wine is thought out for you. Just sit down, enjoy it, and chat with your friends.”
This philosophy is clearly reflected in the style of service, too. Waiters glided gracefully between the kitchen and their tables with remarkable attention to detail, never leaving a drinking glass empty or letting a dinner fork go unreplaced. I didn’t miss a beat of the conversation I was having with my dining partner when she dropped her rolling papers, because they had scarcely hit the floor before they were wordlessly retrieved and replaced by a passing waiter.
That’s the kind of restaurant that Belly of the Beast is. They won’t tarry with people who request the dish without mushrooms, but they’ll ensure you won’t have to lift a finger for the entire duration of service. Again, it comes back to respect — for the patrons, but also for the ingredients and the kitchen staff.
From the dining area, the staff can be seen working efficiently and industriously in a small kitchen — the true belly of the beast. Anyone who has worked in the frontlines of the service industry will understand how apt the name of the restaurant is, but even fans of contemporary shows and films like FX’s The Bear and Mark Mylod’s The Menu will appreciate how savagely the industry can eat people up and spit them out. The express conditions laid out by the restaurant may appear peculiar to some patrons but, for me, they constituted a contract of engagement that only served to elevate my dining experience.
Chef Swart might baulk at the term “fine dining” because of its airs and graces, but that doesn’t mean that Belly of the Beast doesn’t deliver a unique eating experience. There is artistry to the dishes, but don’t expect anything as insubstantial as gels, foams, or sprays.
Every dish was exceptionally prepared — the smoked snoek starter, served with dill oil, dill pickles, and paper-thin sweet potato crisps was especially memorable — but it was the unanticipated elements of the menu that ended up being the most delightful for us. The beef tongue braai oepsie wrapped in Korean bacon and served with jalapeño mayonnaise, sriracha, pickled cucumbers, and dombolo dumplings was the most playful fusion dish I’d sampled in a long time. However, the breakout stars were the two breath mint-sized discs that were served alongside the meal. When bathed in warm water poured from a Japanese teapot, the discs bloomed into lemon-scented handtowels that we used to freshen up before the next course.
The next enchanting surprise was the palate cleanser, a burnt orange sorbet fizzing gently in marula-flavoured tonic water, rooibos sauce, and Tajin seasoning. This little flavour grenade was expertly composed, but the element of surprise certainly contributed to our sense of rapture.
After dessert, we were presented with strawberry, cornflake, and white chocolate cookies with strawberry foam. Although I was physically seated at the top of Harrington Street with a glass of cinsault beside me, one bite into the cookie suddenly and powerfully transported me to my parents’ kitchen in Highlands North, where my brothers and I would squabble over sips of strawberry Nesquik.
Local patrons are bound to encounter familiar ingredients at Belly of the Beast, but that doesn’t mean that South Africans can’t expect a novel dining experience. For us, it was the items that weren’t advertised on the menu that created the strongest feelings of wonder, delight, and nostalgia. If you go to Belly of the Beast, you should go with an empty stomach and an open mind. Surrender to the experience and indulge in the luxury of a menu that has been painstakingly sourced, prepared, and refreshed once a month for your enjoyment.
If you’ve already dined in the Belly of the Beast, then you may wish to expand your culinary horizons further at its sister restaurant, Galjoen. Galjoen is about to share its mezzanine with the soon-to-be-opened Seebamboes, promising even more culinary pearls from the sea.
BELLY OF THE BEAST
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