On what felt like the first real day of Spring, I found myself at arguably one of the prettiest courtyards in Cape Town. You could easily mistake it for a scene from a European summer. There’s something about the way the air moves here. Slower, softer, like it’s been taught manners. Whether it was because we were shielded from the Cape’s wind, or that’s just the vibe of the space, I think it’s probably a bit of both. At Upper Union, you’re invited to sit back, relax, and indulge in a beautifully curated, slow paced meal with friends, family, or both! This experience is all about sharing. Whether you try one of their set menus or choose a few small plates, everything is designed to be shared. It’s the kind of spot that turns a lunch into a memory, and what better way to spend it with loved ones.

We sat in the outside area where there was a perfect balance between garden freshness and city polish. It’s the sort of space that doesn’t beg for attention, it just quietly earns it. I loved the natural textures of the stone and wood, accented by crisp whites against the greenery. The garden was bathed in that perfect kind of light, flattering, forgiving, and a little flirty. Every corner could be a postcard. Actually, it should be. It’s all very Upper Union… Polished, photogenic, and somehow still comforting.

“The paneer was absurdly soft, like it had never known stress a day in its life.”

The afternoon was giving off some serious “rose all day” kind of energy, so of course I had to order a glass. Regrettably, I didn’t order a bottle. I definitely will next time, it is 100% the place for a very long lingering lunch, especially with the shimmer of sun shining through the trees. The crisp sunset coloured wine was poured, and my first sip slowed down time and turned the background chatter into music. I was in my element, and I think I might have experienced some sort of inner peace? It was a very spiritual moment indeed. As I sat back into my chair, our waitress explained the menu to us. We were there for their Restaurant Week special, where you could choose between two set menus, Pasture and Garden (meat and vegetarian). I’m not vegetarian but decided on the garden menu because it just sounded so delicious, and with the warmer weather I thought it would be a good idea to go for the lighter option.

It was time for my favourite part of these lunches, the bread course. The kubaneh (Yemenite Jewish bread) arrived looking like tiny sculptures, bronzed and begging to be pulled apart. They were accompanied by butter that was piped like art. It was less of a bread course, and more of a design moment. As I broke it open, I was met with a yeasty, caramelised perfume, something I would definitely wear. The warm, pillowy brioche had sweet undertones and was slightly nutty from the browned exterior. Every bite felt balanced, indulgent but airy. I am going to be honest, I didn’t use any of the butters.  There was a beautiful selection to try, but the buttery layers were already rich enough for me. You could stop the meal here and still call it an experience, but obviously I would never do that.

This brings us to our starters. I mentioned earlier that this is a sharing styled menu, but only the mains are actually shared. I was thrilled with this as this dish was just too delicious, there was no way anyone was getting a bite. I chose the charred green tartare which arrived looking like something out of a minimalist art exhibition. You know, that type of piece your artsy ex says means this and that, and you nod knowing very well that he’s probably wrong. The green sauce gleamed with an almost matcha (very trendy right now, am I right?) hue, a glossy pond for the paneer to rest upon. The plating was both rustic and couture. The more I looked at it, the more it reminded me of the rocky caves I used to play in as a kid. I would pretend it was my house, sectioning it into different living areas. This formation would be the main bedroom, or maybe the living area? No wonder I’m not an interior designer. Anyway, what I am trying to say is that this dish definitely looked good enough to live in, so let’s tuck into it. The paneer was absurdly soft, like it had never known stress a day in its life. It was buttery, melt in your mouth, and holding onto that velvety spinach sauce like they were in a committed relationship. The palak itself was layered and luxurious, it was totally showing off, and I can’t blame it. Then… Bang! The naartjie atchar hit. It was citrusy, sweet, and well spiced, that kind of Cape Malay flavour. This is honestly one of the best curry dishes I’ve ever had. It was so complex without anything being overpowering. It was indulgent but balanced, the type of dish that feels like it has its own personality. Confident, a bit mysterious, and very well travelled. 

So far, so good. Like, so good. We are now at the sharing part of the meal, and honestly I think I am one of the best people to share with. Why? I am hella OCD and I absolutely love precision. Best believe there will be no “one slice is bigger” nonsense here. It will be perfect, and it will be equal. If you were hoping for a larger portion than me, you have definitely come to the wrong place. I am kind, but not that kind, and I love eating way too much too. We were served a main and three side dishes and the whole spread looked like a farmers’ market that got a Michelin star. Everything was so colourful! Each plate had its own identity but together they formed a little art installation. I’ll start with the main dish, the legume terrine. It was dense in the best way, and sat in a glossy jus that was unapologetically rich looking. The earthy base from the legumes was met with that soft, natural sweetness from the squash. The jus was that kind of sauce that could be sold by the bottle, I think that says it all. The apricot pickle completely shifted the bite, it added a bright, cheeky tang that kept things interesting. Every forkful felt balanced, it was warm, savoury, and slightly nostalgic. 

My first thought when I saw the carrots was that they know they’re hot. Glazed, caramelised, and arranged with that effortless confidence. They were twice cooked, and twice the payoff, creating golden edges with buttery interiors. My favourite bite was smearing these carrots into the amalou, a Moroccan almond and argan oil paste that tastes like peanut butter. It added a sweet, nutty depth that was incredibly moreish. It’s that kind of dish that quietly says: “So… do we still think vegetables are boring?”. Definitely not.

The sogan dolma felt ancestral and soulful, like something passed down, but plated in 2025. The onions were tender, golden, almost melting. They were filled with warmly spiced, deeply savoury rice that soaked up all the sweetness from the caramelised casing. If that wasn’t comforting enough, the dolmas were served on a bed of skordalia (tastes like mashed potato) that was creamy, garlicky, and utterly indulgent. It was honestly better than a hug. If you’re ever feeling down, I can highly recommend confiding in this dish.

The last savoury plate of the afternoon was the Asian cabbage. It looked simple, but was quietly dramatic. Lightly charred leaves that were tender yet smoky, and draped in an induja dressing that was sweet, tangy, and borderline addictive. It was clean, bright, and acted as a bit of a palate cleanser before moving on to the sweeter courses. 

For dessert we were back to our own plates (yay!). There was absolutely no way I was sharing this. It’s probably one of the best desserts I’ve ever had. Once it landed in front of me, it immediately had me sitting up straight. It was one of those “don’t mess this up with your phone shadow” moments. The pressure was on. Visually, it was a minimalist dream. Soft curves, golden tones, and light catching on every edge like the dish had its own PR agent. Rightfully so, it was stunning, and somehow it tasted even better than it looked. The rooibos came through first, not just the flavour, but that wholesome feeling you get when drinking a cup of tea. The poached pear was fresh, fragrant, with that delicate sweetness that doesn’t need sugar to prove a point. The puff pastry was crisp and caramelised, and had layers of the silky cremeaux between it. The Clemengold brought about a sun kissed citrus brightness lifting all the richer flavours. My absolute favourite element of this dish has to be the burnt honey semifreddo. Oh my word, wow. Cold, smoky sweet, and unapologetically smooth. Like creme brulee that spent time studying abroad in Tuscany. Every element felt intentional, nothing showy, everything balanced. It’s the end of the meal you actually want to remember.

Just when I thought the curtains had closed, Upper Union sent out one last encore. Two beautifully crafted chocolate bars that looked almost too perfect to eat (almost). The white chocolate citrus was pure flirtation. A silky shell that had a syrupy marmalade centre. It was bright, sticky, and super zesty. It was that rare dance where sweetness and bitterness actually get along. 

Lastly, the milk chocolate brown butter quinoa crunch. It had a gorgeous texture, a soft snap, gentle crunch, and just the right amount of chewy caramel. Surprisingly, it wasn’t too rich, or too sweet, just gently indulgent. Both tasted of quality, the sort of small detail that tells you a kitchen really cares about endings.

There’s something about Upper Union that feels quietly sure about itself. It doesn’t scream for attention, it earns it. Every detail, every flavour, every pause between courses felt intentional. It is the kind of place that reminds you good food doesn’t have to be loud, it just has to be honest. You leave feeling grounded, inspired, and like you’ve eaten something that actually mattered. 

Thank you Upper Union! Till next time!