By Zee:
So, picture this: it’s Sunday. I had fully planned to spend the afternoon in my bonnet, wrapped in a blanket, judging people from my couch. But then, the invite arrived. The Maslow, Sandton. Sunday Seven Colours Lunch. The kind of event that doesn’t just slide into your inbox – it summons you. And with a plus one, no less. I knew I had to show up, show out, and keep my ears wide open. The rich would be there. And The Maslow? They know how to host them.
Walking into The Maslow is like being wrapped in a velvet robe of excellence. The air is scented with calm wealth. The floors? Immaculate. The lighting? Soft and intentional. Every corner is designed with intention – elegance without effort. From the moment I arrived, I was met with warmth, grace and precision. The welcome staff were smoother than the jazz band. A crisp glass of champagne met my hand before I could even think about asking. One sip and I forgot my WiFi bill existed. That, darling, is five-star hospitality.
The Maslow doesn’t just do service – they curate an experience. Attentive without hovering, friendly without faking it. The staff moved like whispers = present, polished, and perfectly timed. Every detail felt considered. Every smile was sincere. And as we were guided to our table in the lush, sun-drenched setting of the restaurant, I knew I was in for something special.
We began with a warm, luxurious selection of artisanal breads. This was no simple starter. Fresh from the oven, soft inside, with crusts that crackled delicately, they were served alongside whipped herb butters and infused oils that tasted like they’d been created in an exclusive kitchen garden in Provence. While I reached for a seeded roll, someone whispered that the sharply dressed man at the back was very rich and very single. I buttered my bread and leaned in. Naturally.
Then, the main event. And babes – The Maslow did not come to play. They came to impress. We were served not one, not two, but three exquisitely prepared mains: tender, slow-roasted lamb that practically fell apart in surrender; succulent grilled chicken that still held its smoky kiss from the flame; and a flaky, delicate fish fillet cooked to buttery perfection. Each one more flavourful than the last. And they weren’t alone – the full celebration of seven colours danced across the plate: sweet cinnamon butternut, golden roast potatoes, soft and umngqusho. It was a plateful of culture, reimagined with quiet opulence. Heritage in haute couture. All this was curated by sous chef Tholozani Shongwe.
The energy in the room was magnetic = a beautiful tangle of locals, international guests, and those who live at the intersection of old money and new-world influence. One guest in oversized sunglasses never took them off (even indoors – we love commitment). Another scrolled through her phone with the focus of someone either expecting a million rand. All the while, the live band, Tang, serenaded us with jazzy renditions that turned the air into silk.
And just when I thought we’d peaked, dessert arrived. A warm, decadent Malva pudding, bathed in golden custard that clung like it had emotional attachment issues. Next to it, a rich slice of chocolate cake – dark, dramatic, and unapologetically sinful. It was giving velvet. Giving “don’t ask me for a bite.” We washed it all down with chilled sparkling water, because yes – even the water sparkles at The Maslow.
As I lingered over the last bite, I scanned the room. Two tables down sat a woman who looked suspiciously familiar – rumour was she used to be married to a politician and now only dates creative entrepreneurs with followers in six figures. Honestly? Goals.
By 16h30, I was full = of flavour, finesse, and fabulous stories.
Because here’s the truth: this wasn’t just lunch. This was a carefully choreographed performance of food, service, music and luxury = and The Maslow was the star of the show. They didn’t just feed me. They hosted me, spoiled me, and celebrated me. Every bite, every detail, every interaction felt deliberate and delightful.
I didn’t just taste seven colours. I tasted legacy. Soft life. And a splash of mystery with my custard. I walked in curiously. I walked out changed.
I felt rich = full in my belly, flushed in my cheeks, and completely adored by the experience.
And honestly? That’s exactly how Sundays should feel at The Maslow.– @NewsSA_Online
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