Babylonstoren (Part II) | Cape Town, South Africa
So I go, arms open, into the next chapter.
We arrive at Babylonstoren at 10AM.
We are greeted by clucking chickens and the estate’s two donkeys, Tjokkie and Faf.
The weather is perfect.
We stop first at the farm shop. Within minutes, I’m loading my wicker basket with blue tins of rooibos tea and cookbooks far too heavy to reasonably transport the 9,000 miles back to New York. I buy them anyway.
I am giddy with excitement.
Tucked away behind oak trees in the rear of the garden is the Greenhouse Restaurant where we eat breakfast. We toast to Babylonstoren with Bitterlekker, an aperitif crafted at Babylonstoren and topped with the estate’s sparkling wine and enjoy fresh eggs from the farm’s chicken, vegetables from the garden, and scones from the bakery. This place doesn’t feel real.
Custom-built in France for the estate, the Greenhouse is one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen.
I step inside.
On antique shelves sit blue-and-white china cups and saucers — and like almost every detail at Babylonstoren, they tell a story. This particular story tells the history of the farm and land itself. The teacups pay homage to the unearthed shards of blue crockery found regularly by the property’s gardeners. The shards date back to the 17th century when the Cape of Good Hope served as a convenient midway point between East and West. There are at least three distinct types of porcelain found on the property: the authentic porcelain commissioned by the Dutch East India Company from China, the tin-glazed “Delftware” crafted by the Dutch as imitations of the Chinese porcelain (known as “poor man’s porcelain”), and finally, British earthenware which arrived to South Africa with the later British occupation.
I suspect stories like this exist behind many of the estate’s small details and touches. It’s the kind of place where no choice is by accident.
After breakfast, we weave our way through all fifteen sections of the garden, marveling at its beauty: an orchard with olive and lemon trees; another with apple, quince, and pear trees; a section for ducks and chickens, another with a prickly pear maze. Modeled after the mythological hanging gardens of sixth-century Babylon, there are perhaps few places as beautiful as these gardens.
There is something heavenly about this place.
In an immaculate underground wine cellar, we taste the property’s ten wines, each accompanied by a bite from the farm. My personal favorite: Candide, a crispy, refreshing blend of primarily Chenin blanc and Chardonnay.
We wander through olive tree orchards and taste the season’s fresh olive oil in the estate’s newly renovated tasting room. We each are given a mini tin of olive oil to take home with us. Again, it’s the small touches that leave an impression.
For dinner, we eat at Babel, set within a beautifully converted cow shed. A sketch of a cow printed on tiles nods to the building’s past. Throughout our meal, we are presented with extra offerings from the garden. The first is a plate of lightly salted persimmons. A young woman brings a basket of pears to our table for us to take home with us.
***
When I arrive back in the U.S., I do some digging.
I quickly learn that the two South African owners own another estate. This one is in Somerset, England, and it is called The Newt. I take a peek at a few pictures. It’s as beautiful as Babylonstoren.
Suddenly, I’m learning everything I can about it.
***
The pieces fall into place.
In just a few months, I’ll be moving to the U.K. to work at The Newt for a 12-month rotational program. I hope to call England and the Newt home even after the program is finished.
I have to pinch myself.
I think back to the seven-year-old running Kitchen B and making her way gleefully through the restaurant supply store in downtown Seattle. The eleven-year-old eating at Renee Erickson’s Whale Wins, taking in every last detail of this beautiful world she had created through food and design. I think about more recently, walking fifty miles around London and texting my parents assertively that I’d be moving to England sometime soon, I just didn’t know when. And finally, I think of myself just a few months ago marveling at the heavenly Babylonstoren hoping one day I’d be part of a place like this.
Looking back, the through-line of food, restaurants, and hospitality seems drawn in permanent marker — as obvious as anything. But for so long, I couldn’t quite make it out, I couldn’t quite see how the pieces fit together. I didn’t automatically associate my interests in hospitality and food with a possible career path, but thought of them as mere passions — something I liked and could appreciate.
When I did finally begin to make out that line and started working at Gramercy Tavern a few days after graduating college, I still wasn’t quite sure I’d be able to pull off the long-term vision I had for myself. In the end, working at GT couldn’t have been a better first step into the hospitality world. I don’t think there’s a better training ground in all of New York City. Working there, I knew for sure I was in the right industry, but I still had my sights set on moving to England and working in the boutique hotel space.
Naturally, this new move comes with its own anxieties — learning to drive (on the wrong side of the road, might I add) amongst them. But above all, I’m deeply excited to begin working and contributing to a place like The Newt.
So I go, arms open, into my next chapter.
Cheers!