Words by Grant Nirenstein
Images supplied by Hey Stranger
Among the marijuana stores, bars and other oddities lining Long Street in the Cape Town CBD, you would do well to happen upon Hey Stranger, a veritable coffee treasure trove. Easy to miss on your way past, but so worth seeking out. Step through the door and you are met with something marvellous - warm, inviting faces, and some of the finest coffee you are likely to encounter.
Khutso Menyoko stands behind the counter with a quiet confidence that doesn’t demand attention, but the cup of coffee he serves earns it. There is no unnecessary movement and no showmanship for the sake of it. Just a steady rhythm, a measured sequence of actions, and the sense that each cup actually matters.
He was not really meant to be here, or at least he has not made it here as a talented barista and coffee professional, by design. His first instinct was the kitchen. Cooking offered the same thing coffee eventually would, a space to create with his hands, to translate something internal into something tangible. He found himself in environments that did not quite allow for that, and so, like many worthwhile journeys, his coffee adventure began by accident rather than intention.
It started small with a contract role in an office café, a machine sitting quietly in the background. And then, the people came and chats about coffee ensued. An enthusiast who spoke about coffee as though it was worth exploration. Another who nudged him toward a world he had not yet encountered, specialty coffee, not as an abstract idea, but something to be experienced firsthand.
That experience arrived in the form of Sorcery Coffee Roasters in Pretoria, where for the first time he plunged into the rich world of specialty coffee. He still speaks about it as a turning point, because it showed him what coffee could be. As he describes it, his eyes light up in a way that is unmistakable - like Charlie describing Willy Wonka’s factory. It made him realise that this was not just a drink, but something far more layered and worth taking seriously.
He put himself out there with an email to Alicia Steyn, the owner of Sorcery, a simple note expressing a desire to learn and to be part of something he did not yet fully grasp, but knew he wanted to explore. There was no space for him at the time. But she remembered, and when the opportunity came, she called.
What followed was more than training, it was immersion. Roasting, cupping, experimenting. Learning not only how coffee behaves, but why, and coming to terms with the fact that getting it wrong is often part of getting it right. The bags of freshly roasted coffee discarded during the quest for perfection stood as an expensive reminder of that truth. Excellence, it turns out, is not forgiving.
Khutso is not rigid, and he does not follow rules for the sake of it. His instinct is to push just beyond the expected range and see what happens. Not recklessly, but with intent, trusting his palate enough to test the limits, and to adjust when the coffee demands more. It is not a textbook approach, and it does not need to be.
He has found joy in coffee competitions, and he is quite good at it, achieving a second place at the AeroPress Championships in Cape Town and another second place in a long-format brewing league. Consistent results that say more than enough about both his ability and his temperament.
Winning is not the point for him. It is simply part of the process, a way to test himself, to learn, to sharpen things, not something that defines how he approaches coffee day to day.
His connection to Cape Town and its coffee scene began with a visit to the Cape Town Coffee Expo at Makers Landing. He fell for it quickly, and not long after, made the decision to move to the Mother City. The timing was not ideal. His mother became ill, but shortly before she passed, she gave him her full and enthusiastic blessing to pursue this path. His early months in Cape Town did not ease that weight. He found himself in a role that did not reflect his ambitions or his passion. It was a year, as he puts it, of feeling out of place, and knowing it.
And then, unexpectedly, Hey Stranger.
Khutso had sent an application months earlier, which had seemingly been forgotten. Long after it was expected, Khutso received a response. He walked in, looked around, and knew this is where he wanted to be.
At Hey Stranger, Khutso has found the kind of space that allows him to do what he does best. To focus on the details. To refine his method. To bring a level of care to each cup that is deliberate and consistent. Not in a way that slows things down, but in a way that ensures that what reaches the customer is exactly what it should be. Ask him what separates a good barista from a brilliant one, and he does not start with coffee. He starts with people. “A good barista can operate the machine. A brilliant one reads the person in front of it. Understands that someone might walk in carrying stress, distraction, or just the weight of the day, and that a well-made cup of coffee, served properly, can shift that, even if only slightly.”
At Hey Stranger, that idea feels real. You arrive as a stranger, and you leave as a friend. Not dramatically changed, but indisputably better than when you walked in.
Khutso appreciates that, and it shapes the way he works, engages with regulars, and how he thinks about what he is doing. For him, coffee is not just about flavour, although he is finely attuned to that, it is about what that cup does for someone on the other side of the counter.
He speaks about patience as his defining principle, something he has fought hard to maintain. He had to remain patient through discomfort and uncertainty, through staying the course when it would have been far easier to walk away. Nothing about his path has been quick. Not the move from cooking into coffee, not the shift into specialty, not the relocation to Cape Town, and certainly not finding his way to Hey Stranger. And yet, standing in this beautiful cafe, it is difficult to picture him anywhere else. For now, he is exactly where he is meant to be.
