The search has been on for a couple of months now; not for the perfect steak, necessarily, but for the perfect slab of red meat, one to replace the default option that was the Hussar Grill's warthog ribs — before they did a culinary Milli Vanilli, and revealed that their wild boar was plain old pig dressed up as venison.

They've lost me as a customer, and deservedly so; since then, I've been ordering steaks across the country, and finally found the one I was happy with. And promptly sent it back after two mouthfuls…

The path to perfection

I'll explain in a moment; first, the path to HQ, where I found an exceptional piece of sirloin.

I tried the steak béarnaise at The Grand and The Kove in Camps Bay — by and large a gourmet wasteland where overpriced food is cheerfully served to sunburnt tourists who can't believe just how cheap everything is once converted from real money.

Both were very good, but cost a small fortune (The Grand's wine list is obscene), and I'll probably try them again; the same won't be said for the murdered piece of ostrich At Monte's winebar served up at Montecasino, a place that brazenly serves Waterford's Cabernet Sauvignon at R160 a glass. No, really.

But I will definitely be heading back to Headquarters, presented by the same crew that gave us the Caveau duo — the city's finest winebars that offer escapism by the highly priced glass, and some rather good food.

HQ retains the breadth of wine list; the menu is as sparse as the wine list is expansive, though, the restaurant offering precisely one dish. One single dish.

A rather bold move

It's a bold move, based on what's apparently a growing trend in France: a sirloin steak, emblazoned with Café de Paris butter, set alongside fries and a salad.

Your only option — other than your wine — is how you want your steak done, which makes for a decidedly specific offering in a city notorious for being picky when it comes to eating out. And yet every time I’ve been past, it's been packed — and with good reason.

Steak is all too easy to do badly: getting the cut, the time on the grill or the sauce wrong, ruins what should be the simplest of pleasures. And when all you offer is steak (and a single cut at that; the vegetarian is not HQ's target market, clearly), getting it wrong simply isn't an option.

Which, gloriously, they don't — the rich grandeur of the Parisien beurre melts atop a glorious piece of steak both soft and firm, strong and delicate, still blessed with enough blood to feel like good red meat should. And I sent it back.

HQ's chief fault is the claustrophobic seating, a foot at most separating tables in what inspires an upmarket canteen feel.

Diagonally across from me (and just in front of Tom Scott, golf legend Gary Player's personal bodyguard who was dining out in Cape Town for the night), was an elderly gentleman vested of the appearance of an aging German porn star. Bald pate, long white sides, and a solid nose — from which he produced a thunderous sneeze.

The results of which coated my steak and fries in a glistening veneer of Bavarian mucus.

I'm not often lost for words; this left me dumbstruck.

A little bit of solace

It did reduce the mate I was having dinner with to tears, and the waiter was similarly entertained; the German villain didn't notice the destructive effect of his sneeze, however, and simply continued his meal, leaving me to nurse through the remainder of my salad (a gentle affair of lettuce, parmesan shavings, and lightly toasted pine nuts, just nudging ahead of macadamias and cashews for my current nut of choice; my mate Mad Chris comes in a close fourth), and watch disconsolately as three quarters of my steak and a large pile of fries disappeared back to the kitchen.

Solace came in the form of HQ's exclusive energy drink, the innuendo-laden Pussy (insert your own puerile joke here) provided by an apologetic owner, and a late night stop off for Belgian beer and spicy chorizo at Union Bar across the way, just below where Marc Delaporte's legendary Saints used to be. It didn't make up for a lost steak, though, the ghost of which still quietly haunts me...

I'll be back, for another one, and another bottle of Haute Cabriére Pinot Noir (a very decent R150), or the slightly more expensive but equally good value Kevin Arnold shiraz (R270); I just won't be sitting next to an elderly German with explosive nostrils, and multiple credits from eTV Saturday night movies.

Sirloin steak, fries and salad, R140. German mucus not charged for. HQ, 92 Bree Street, Heritage Square; call +27 21 424 8154 or visit www.hqrestaurant.co.za.