Ode to Café Ganesh. By Herman van Wyk.

Late nineties…

Down the street and round the corner in the bowels of a century-old building off the courtyard the haunting smell of melanzane parmigiana wafts along the crisp autumn evening breeze ravishing my senses as I walk into the colourful cafe with it’s crazily tiled floors and open plan kitchen occupied by a purveyor of fine brinjals along with his very busy but friendly kitchen staff heads bent low in amiable concentration over cutting vegetables or mixing lemon meringue along with serving customers drinks and keeping an eye on the steaming coffee pots on the stove all the while preparing scrumptious food orders which accumulate quite rapidly on the spike on a night like this where good food and a glass of wine or two puts you in exactly the right mood for the amiable conversation which inevitably develops amongst souls well fed and fortified against the cold mist coming off the ocean which heralds the coming winter when you can burn pine cones in the fireplace and have champagne with your lover huddled naked close next to you on the carpet with the fire blazing in your face and the passion rising in your blood from her soft hand gently stroking your glowing body untill you gently part her legs with your tongue and later fall into that blissfull half-dream state after you made love lying hot and moist against each other breathing and dreaming with senses heightened to a fine pitch by the intensity of the orgasm you both just had drifting into blue pools of light with elegant dolphins cajoling about the frivolous angels playing glass harps and violins making exquisite music to which the universe dance and as they get famished they make their way down to Cafe Ganesh where the haunting smell of melanzane parmigiana wafts across the courtyard of a century old building round the corner and down the street…