The Tangram Restaurant, located within Durbanville Hills in Cape Town, immediately gives the impression of a place that understands its own rhythm — confident in its awards, rooted in local sourcing, and visually framed by an extraordinary setting. With the double-volume ceiling lifting the room into bright openness and the full sweep of Table Mountain and Table Bay visible through vast windows, lunch here feels unhurried and expansive. There is something calming about seeing the sunlight move across the space, and something equally reassuring about knowing the food to come reflects both locality and seasonality. The atmosphere is polished without stiffness, warm without informality, and very much in conversation with its surroundings.

We settled in with a sense of anticipation, partly because of Chef Tamzyn Ehlers’ prominence in the Cape culinary scene and partly because the menu showed real intention. Her philosophy of using locally sourced produce isn’t simply a catchphrase — there is evidence of it in the plate compositions, ingredient pairings and the confidence to allow flavour to stand uncluttered by excess. The Tangram’s acclaim comes not from theatrics or fad-driven dishes, but from refinement and precision that lets honesty of taste shine through.

Our lunch began with two starters that demonstrated how deftly the kitchen expresses delicacy and brightness. The ostrich tartar was presented with an elegant interplay of texture and understated richness: the finely chopped meat folded against silky egg yolk, the gentle tang of Dijon dressing, the crunch of garlic herb melba, and the freshness of micro herb salad. Ostrich can be strong if mishandled, but here it was treated with a confident restraint, resulting in flavour that was tender, lean and subtly savoury. It was the sort of dish that doesn’t overwhelm — it builds quietly, bite by bite, into a clear expression of flavour.

The herb-crusted hake arrived as a contrast — light, crisp and softly aromatic. The crumbed Patagonia squid added a pleasant edge of texture, while the rooibos dressing introduced an unexpectedly earthy undertone that felt unmistakably South African. Pineapple salsa lifted the dish with acidity and brightness, balanced by the green notes of rocket and coriander and finished with the whisper of umami from nori oil. This starter felt slightly playful, almost sunny, fitting perfectly with a midday sitting and the brightness outside.

For our mains, we turned to the chalmar beef dishes — two interpretations of the same heritage cut, handled with finesse and sensitivity. The fillet was a showcase of tenderness; each slice melted easily, holding depth without resistance. The truffled pea purée brought a rich green sweetness, while the biltong croquette added both nostalgia and crunch. Charred baby onions introduced smokiness and personality, and the red wine jus grounded everything in slow-cooked intensity. This was a plate that balanced elegance with boldness — not loud, but assured.

The chalmar beef sirloin offered a different, slightly more rustic expression — still polished, but leaning into heartier tones. The peppered corn purée was smooth and comforting, with subtle heat rather than aggression. The leek and potato dumpling provided softness and structure, while the beef tallow and caramelised onion butter anchored the dish with umami depth. This sirloin felt generous and wholesome — familiar flavours elevated through thoughtful execution.

As we ate, it was easy to notice how well the restaurant’s natural setting enhanced the dining experience. Watching passing cloud-shadows on the mountain, the gradual shift of daylight, the openness of the room — it all contributed to the feeling that lunch here is not simply a meal, but a pause, a moment of balance between landscape and hospitality. Service matched this relaxed tone: attentive without hovering, knowledgeable without pretence.

The Tangram also offers a wine-pairing journey — one we didn’t book for, but one that deserves attention for those planning a future visit. The experience involves tasting seven carefully selected wines, each paired with a miniature dish reflecting the Tangram menu’s style. It includes a guided cellar tour, where stories behind these wines — their varietal character, their blending philosophy, their inspiration — are shared by knowledgeable hosts. At the end of the experience, guests take home a bottle of their favourite Collector’s Reserve wine, extending the memory beyond the afternoon. While we didn’t partake this time, it is clearly an offering that deepens the connection between food, landscape and winemaking heritage.

Dessert would have been indulgent, but after two deeply satisfying courses, we chose instead to linger with coffee. This allowed us to savour not just the food itself, but the aftertaste — the lasting impressions that define a place. We found ourselves reflecting on how Chef Tamzyn’s approach manages to be both disciplined and inviting. Nothing felt forced, nothing felt overly conceptual. Instead, the meal revealed itself through clarity of flavour, respect for ingredients and an intuitive understanding of how seasonality can guide the palate.

The Tangram Restaurant is the kind of place where lunch becomes an occasion but still feels easy. It suits travellers who are exploring Cape Town’s food identity, locals who appreciate nuanced cooking, and wine lovers seeking continuity between the glass and the plate. Dining here is not about spectacle; it is about connection — to the land, to regional produce, to culinary craft and to the physical beauty of the city’s most iconic views. Leaving the restaurant, we felt nourished not just by flavour, but by atmosphere, care and a subtle sense of belonging.