A local institution serving traditional favourites for decades
There are few things that distinguish good restaurants from great ones. If you’ve read my take on rookie errors restaurants shouldn’t be making, you might appreciate how attention to details makes for an enjoyable dining experience. That being said, it is believed that one cannot think clearly, love fully, or sleep peacefully if they have not dined well. Following a belly-busting lunch at Joe’s Beerhouse, I can assure you they will serve you your portion of the good life.
The story of J’s B is an interesting one. The passionate cook started his restaurant for the love of food but didn’t have much money to decorate the place, so he started collecting junk. Nearly three decades and two locations later, the eatery is an astonishing depot of scrap metal knick knacks, donated trinkets and hidden trifles. “It’s amazing to see guests try steal some of the pieces we’ve collected. It’s kind of like a challenge for them,” Carol-Jean, the new co-owner, explains. With help from her husband, the couple have taken the baton they were handed by Joe, and they continue to serve the popular dishes this local institution is known for.
On my third day in Windhoek, I’ve managed to commandeer a friend’s afternoon by convincing her to have lunch with me. We’ve weaved through what locals consider rush hour, to arrive at this tourist attraction located in Klein Windhoek. I want to explore the eatery’s crevasses, but I fear I might get lost coming up for air, so I follow my date to a table as she is a seasoned patron.
“What’s this about,” I ask my dining companion. Mini bottles of a liqueur I’m not familiar with line the thatch roof of our table.
“Oh, you have to try a Kleiner Keiler, especially since it’s your first time here,” she insists.
Before I indulge in the restaurant’s many traditions, I order a Radler. The refreshing beer has become my favourite drink of choice since arriving.
Joe’s is known for their hefty meaty dishes, and without looking at the menu, my date recommends the Eisbein (pork knuckle) which comes with traditional sauerkraut and mustard. “The crackling is to die for,” she adds, and I can’t bear to curb her excitement by telling her I avoid fat like the plague. If that isn’t your pleasure, there are over 30 fishy, veggie and meaty meals to choose from, including the German-inspired Jἅgerschnitzel.
While I wait for our meal to arrive, my beer and I go for a stroll through the museum of lost and found. Abandoned automobiles, discarded street signs and cast iron statuettes have me craning my neck round the next corner. The eclectic eatery provides enough entertainment for its patrons.
By the time I make it back to our table, a chunk of meat the size of my head rests next to a portion of fries and a pile of sauerkraut. Salivating onto my phone as I take a few photographs, both of us cannot wait to dig in. So we do.
Our steak knives fight the first layer of crackling. Once we’ve breached the perfectly crunchy caramelisation, a decent layer of fat stands between us and the meat. I carve out a slice that has a fair fat to flesh ration and grit my teeth. While stalling, the aroma permeating from the end of my fork is enticing. Without thinking about the calories, I launch the meat into my mouth and enjoy a wunderbar of textures. The crackling is sweet, the pork itself is tender, and I assume this is because the fat has had a chance to work through the flesh during the cooking process. We add a dollop of sauerkraut to our next portion; the acidity of the fermented cabbage cuts through the richness of the fatty skin. With a texture similar to cooked okra, it complements the crunch of the crackling. Our third mouthful is a combination of Eisbein, sauerkraut and mustard.
What a difference the condiment makes. It’s added a spiciness to the meat that completely changes the flavour profile of the dish.
With our desired flavour combination found, we begin to gorge ourselves on the pork, shovelling sauerkraut into our mouths Every so often, we remember neglected fries wait patiently at the corner of our plate.
I begin to sweat. When I can’t decide if it’s the meat or the weather causing it, I realise I am full. With half a pork knuckle looking up at me, I lay my cutlery down in defeat. My companion has raised a napkin to her mouth in surrender too, so we ask for ‘human’ bags - as my mother calls them – and prepare to roll ourselves back to the car.
“Don’t forget your shooter,” my date reminds me.
The challenge is to down a Kleiner Keiler without using your hands, while keeping the bottle cap firmly on the tip of your nose. I won’t tell you how terribly I did, but I will challenge you to do better than me when you visit Joe’s Beerhouse yourself.
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Windhoek is a city full of surprises, it takes new visitors in like a challenge. If you haven't been before, and want to have a experience it like me, you'll want to read my Live Like a Local: Windhoek piece.
If you're passing through, be sure to stop by Krisjans and Stellenbosch Wine Bar for a meal.
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