My first morning waking in bright, sunshiny St James, my mum took me by the hand down to Knead in Muizenburg. This bakery on the beach is in the old converted cinema, and is perched like the director, middle seat front row in the burgeoning new development of Surfer’s Corner. 
When I was growing up, Muizenburg Beach was the choice for families and friends in the southern suburbs of Cape Town. We’d lug our towels, cooler juice boxes, umbrellas and beach bats, and head down for a day of over excitement and eating gritty sandwiches. Oh, how I loved those big, warm, wet waves. But the changes in the beach zoning laws inherited from Apartheid precipitated the masses. Shortly, we felt curious eyes on us from all around. It became clear we were the odd ones out, and this was no longer our beach. Soon, quite frankly, walking on the shortbread white sand of Muizenburg Beach was considered unsafe and unwise.
Driving around the circle of Surfer’s Corner looking for parking was eye-opening, as I negotiated mums toting tots in wet wetsuits over to their BMW X5’s, and aging bachelors with bald spots propping up surfboards onto the roofs of their landies. The place was buzzing and sandy, wet people with wallets were everywhere. But more than all this, it was the rehabilitation of the buildings that made me most happy. The decay of the past decade is on the mend, as edges are being smoothed, broken windows replaced, and fresh paint is in the air. What was once nothing but a sad reminder of days of carefree beach fun is on the mend.
Evan Faull, co-owner of Knead Bakery, made the time to sit with me, in typical laid-back South African fashion, a good hour after we’d first arrived. This suited me just fine as I let my macchiato work its magic on my jetlag and sipped in the beauty of the azure sea against a bleached sky reflected in the mirrored tiles of the columns. This place is a story waiting to be written, I finally told him, marveling at the chandeliers, and black and white tiled marble floors – their nod to historic art deco roots. 
The adjoining women’s surf shop is owned by Roxy Towel, and it brings the hordes of lunching ladies their flinging pink towels on the surfbeach to dry, while clearing the display cases of croissants and custard slices. The men don’t seem to mind. Unlike their Cavendish Square counterparts, these au natural clientele shake wet tendrils off their sun burnt faces, and smack misbehaving small, sandy bottoms without pausing from excited chatter about the swell. The pastries are divine, and made daily.
Evan and his family have been inspired by the intensive and soulful artisanal craft of breadmaking, and you can taste it in the fresh rolls. Organic is not a staple here like it is the States so of course, this is not an ingredient. In fact, while they buy local wherever possible, he admitted that in an effort to provide a truly European product, they do import their flour from France. I love the fact that it’s so local in feel though, and everyone knows everyone. The barristers are trained to know your order, which is refreshing after dealing with a Starbucks on the corner of Union and Laguna who still don’t know me.
