Nigerian-British Relations in a Thai Restaurant

There are many places in Abuja that you can spend the entire year driving by without ever noticing what is around you. Abuja is that town; a town that may already have the answers to all your questions but never announce it. Maybe is the stellar condition of the road networks, but people don’t stop to observe till the rare occasion of deadlock traffic; or maybe it is because for some reason architecture in Abuja mimics itself, you can never tell if its residential, commercial or for leisure.

I had driven past Sawadee, which is located off the very popular Aminu Kano axis of Abuja, on several occasions. I hadn’t so much as looked at it in the past, I was always headed somewhere else. I however did come to notice it rather fortuitously; I was forced to slow down at one of those ubiquitous speed bumps in Abuja and it was there I noticed the sprawling building. I made a mental note to visit for a Consummate Experience.

I made attempts to experience Sawadee shortly after I discovered it, but my plans were thwarted at the last minute for various reasons, and once, while actually arriving at the gate I was waylaid by the bold Quit sign that had been plastered on the gate. Apparently the city administration just discovered that, restaurants and other such establishments needed to renew their permits. I found the same sign at the entrance of the dry-cleaners in the same week. I would have assumed that it was some grand conspiracy by Omo and Indomie to take the market, but nah, that's too smart.

Eventually permits were paid for, or someone was bribed or someone was called and told that it was this persons or that person’s wife that owned the business; whatever the back-room dealing, I arrived at Sawadee one night and the gates were welcome to me. I was immediately taken with how much space the area had, at rough estimates you could park 50-60 vehicles within the premises, and if you really wanted too with a little common sense you could fit in a few more. The building which again, looked like a house, sat back within the area and there was another building right next to it. The house looked all the more daunting and ominous because my car was the only one parked.

I walked the short distance to the front door and noticed the little bridge that should typically have had fish swimming underneath it, I looked down and there were no fishes. Sawadee that day seemed particularly lonely, I thought to myself, perhaps the ambience would be more comely. I walked in and was greeted by a waitress by the door who was dressed very smartly, she had a warm smiled and welcomed me in, but that was the only thing that was warm about the restaurant at that time. The décor was oriental enough, but it didn't look like it had been built as a restaurant, it was tellingly a house.

I walked into the dining area affirming to the waitress that there was no company, there was a staircase leading upstairs and a bar area with the visible drink cooler that is now becoming the norm, complete with all the local and foreign brew. I sat down and noticed that I was in company of some British nationals who weren't doing a very good job of keeping their conversations to themselves, or perhaps it was the acoustics of the room.

The menu was brought to me promptly, for this I was grateful. I studied the menu and realised how extensive it was when I got to number 75, I settled for a Poh pia tod (Prawn and Mayonnaise Springroll) Tom Kha Kai (chicken hot spicy coconut with galangal), Kao pad kai (egg fried rice), Nua pad graprao (stir fried beef) with lots of freshly  squeezed orange juice and water. 

 Left to my own devices, I had time to pay the restaurant a little more attention, the dining area could easily take 40-50 covers, the décor was oriental but wasn't bold or bright, it didn't take your attention right away, it played with very light or drab colours. The chairs were covered in a light blue cover, and the table mats were a chequered clay-dust brown colour, without careful inspection, it almost looked like Ankara material. The décor was like that weak handshake you give in the hallways of a busy office when you are in transit, it functioned but clearly showed your mind was somewhere else.

With nothing else to do but fiddle with my phone, my attention was soon drawn to the table of Brits who were loudly exchanging war stories from their time in Nigeria, they were largely trading stories on their families’ horror when they had been sent to Nigeria; but they, the Brits apparently were loving it. The conversation moved to all the things to do and places to go, soon enough as to be expected when there are a group of men, the conversation moved to women. They couldn't believe how easy it was with Nigerian women, if I was more inclined I would have pointed out that the women they so gallantly put on their arms were often un-pretty and often had a price, but I wasn't in the mood. I just imagined what these men would all look like in twenty years; sitting at the same table, balding, with their Nigerians wives waiting at home in the house that they bought for them, wondering how a 2-year post turned into a twenty year marriage with children. The real Africa Magic isn't on Dstv, it is in some obscure village sitting in a pot.

My starter arrived and caught me in the middle of that thought, the waiter paused to see what had me so amused, I waved him on. I was caught in my own mind; the soup was served in a very large metal pot that looked very Asian. I served myself and with the thought of the Brits being colonised in Nigeria, I took my first spoonful. It was complete sensory overload. Thai food has always been a bit of a funny one to me, the mix of herbs and plants that have little in common has always given me pause, but good cuisine is nothing if not experimental.

But Thai Food is complete sensory overload especially the soups; you never know which herb you are smelling and which you are tasting at the same time, it is like having a traffic light in your mouth with all lights giving instructions all at once; red, yellow and green all at once. The predominant herbs and ingredients were lemon-grass  coconut, chicken and a kaleidoscope of other herbs and spices that I couldn't possibly place. Lemon-grass is such a potent ingredient with such a strong smell, you don’t understand when you are tasting or when you are smelling it, despite this I kept at it till I had thoroughly tried to guess everything in the soup and failed. In retrospect it was an interesting culinary experiment and I enjoyed it. The main course arrived before I finished the starter.

I swiftly moved onto the main dish and I cannot remember having stir fried beef as well as this, and I have had my fair share of oriental food. The beef was tender and dissolved as soon as it hit the tongue, it was coated in a thick soy-based paste, and there was no experiment about it. The dish was a master-class, I didn't need to understand what went where, or what was in it, I simply understood that it was something that I needed to keep eating. I would put a spoon of rice and beef in my mouth and wait for the moment it would hit me, when it would engage me. It was almost instant, I would smell the food before I would even taste it, like my nose was giving my tongue expo on what to expect. I almost willed myself not to swallow the food, not wanting to let the moment pass.

At the time it did register that the food tasted more Chinese than Thai, but who was to judge and quite frankly who cared. It was labour, it was a matter of putting enough of the food in the space that I was forcing my brain to create in my stomach; it was a fool’s errand.

Sensing my dilemma, my efficient waiter stepped up and asked if I might enjoy taking it away, I must have nodded in the affirmative because he whisked the food away and presented it a short time later. The final bill was settled at N 10,000.00 and I was on my way.

I got to the car and noticed that it had been washed and polished, I smiled and tipped the dutiful security men who had made this happen, I thought about the quit notice still at the entrance of my launderers, I wondered if they would have done my laundry while I ate, but as soon as I cleared the speed bumps I was off into the Abuja Night. Another Consummate Experience complete.

Sawadee Oriental Cuisine is located at No 43/45 Kumasi Crescent ,off Aminu Kano Crescent ,Wuse II Abuja, Nigeria and  can be reached on +234 813 903 1019 or +234 9 291 1286.

The Italian Job

They say when you have a passion for something you will find time for it, and while I find this to be true, I also know that life is a massive cauldron of moving parts; I also know that a man or woman of many passions rarely finds time for them all. This is all by way of saying that I have had a busy couple of months, and this is no lame excuse either. I have spent the past few months getting married; you will recall that I introduced readers to my significant other last year in our first roaming edition. See Here 

For those who care, the wedding ceremonies held in Lagos and Abu Dhabi were wonderful, full of adventure and full of consummate experiences which shall all be addressed at a later date. As food takes a central role in my day-to-day activities, this entry, this consummate experience has always been writing itself and editing itself in my mind. If truth be told, this is the longest period of time between an actual consummate experience and the review- over a year. Maybe when you are done reading you can decide for yourself why that is.

I am partial to cheese based meals, so, many pasta dishes suit me well, matter of fact I love Italian food. Period. For those of who have followed all the experiences, you will realise the first review was of an Italian Inspired restaurant, that experience wasn’t too enjoyable. Since then I have been on the look-out for redemption; Da Maria Italian restaurant in Wuse ll seemed the most natural and obvious choice. There are no pretensions from the on-set; it makes every effort to look like Little Italy or any other Ristorante on the streets of Milan or Napoli. From the quaint stone décor in the narrow stairway complete with fine Italian Reds to the small round tables covered in red and white chequered table cloth, the décor was deliberately rustic and charming. If the intent was to transport you away from your immediate environment, if only for a minute, then it worked.

There were two rooms for the dining area, separated by an archway; it was spacious enough, it could easily take about 30-40 covers with adjustments, n the dining area a small window had been carved into the wall of what I assumed was the kitchen. 

Every once in a while a woman who looked to either be of Italian or Lebanese descent would jut a hand or a face through the window to either take or deliver an order.  A short walkway led to a small deli full of anything you would need to make the perfect Italian dish; anything from Feta Cheese to the quintessential Olive oil, Red Wine, Cured Meats and a variety of Pastas. I looked forward to the meal anxiously.

A waiter attended to me promptly, and I scanned the menu and decided to settle on an Italian antipasti dish of cured meats and cheeses for my starter dish, and for some reason I decided against my better angels to select the Cabbage Goulash for the main course. Now, there are certain words that need no direct translation to any language; the enunciation alone leaves nothing to the imagination. Goulash doesn’t sound like something friendly to man or beast, doesn’t sound like something edible or tasty. With due apologies to my brethren in the Baltic Areas but every people have their own words, like Nyanya doesn’t sound like a place you would build Silverbird, there is reason Akpos is the butt of all new jokes, Musibau doesn’t sound like the name of a President, Wilberforce sounds like the name of a Classics Professor and Amala and Gbegiri aren’t served in the Hilton. And cabbage on its best day still smells like bum. However despite my recent protestation and social observation, I ordered the Goulash with a bottle of Traditional Italian Rosso while I mused on the brilliance of Andre Bocelli’s Con Te Partiro. The song is simply brilliant.

Frequent readers of this space will know that restaurants are the best place for people watching in close quarters. I scanned the room for dinners and in all, there was a lady with two men sitting across me and some patrons were sitting in the inner room. Not a lot of potential for people watching so I decided to set my attention on the threesome across me.

The lady sitting across from me had the ubiquitous Brazilian weave stapled to her head, or perhaps it was a lace wig, I apologise cosmetics and beauty treatments are not an area I excel. I couldn’t tell if she was naturally pretty or not because she had a layer of face cement plastered on her mien, it was hard to tell. What was obvious however was that she was enjoying obvious chemistry with one of the men on the table, while the other served as the third wheel. He would guffaw at something meant to be funny or nod his head the appropriate amount of times when an opinion needed to be confirmed. His meal was being paid for.

My antipasti arrived just in time to stop me from judging strangers and feeling superior. It was as antipasti is, full of salted cured meats like Prosciutto, Chorizo, Mushrooms and other Italian Meats. Having a mouth full of salted meats and swirling a rich Italian red is momentary bliss. I quickly realised that the meal had been promised with bread and olive oil, which are complementary to most Italian dishes; it was not on my table.

I quizzed the waiter and he admitted that he had forgotten to place the order, which I found incredulous especially when it was meant to come with the meal, equally as incredible was that the chef would forget a component that was so essential. He hurried to remedy the situation while I continued with my dish. Pavarotti’s Magnum Opus Nessun Dorma was blaring through the speakers; whatever the mix-up with back of house, the music selection was sterling.

The lady across from me broke my reverie when she started making a fuss over eating fish or seafood in general; it appeared that someone had placed a seafood food order for her. I heard her say “Me I don’t eat fish or seafood o”! I looked at her and instantly knew why. That would be cannibalism; she couldn’t very well eat her sisters. Marine Spirit.

I returned to my reverie and cleared the antipasti dish, shortly afterwards the Goulash arrived complete with the bread I had expected earlier. Remember there is a reason they don’t serve Amala and Gbegiri in the Hilton, for that same reason they shouldn’t serve this Goulash meal in Da Maria or any other restaurant. It didn’t look welcoming, it had the look you give when you open the door to see uninvited relatives or Jehovah Witnesses or the Taxman. The food itself looked like it was surprised someone had picked it off the menu; the meal looked like it was still trying to understand why.

The cabbage was strewn without much thought or ceremony across the servings of beef, at the very least if the meal was going to be dour, the chef could have tried to decorate the plate. But that’s all it was, just the servings of beef on the plate with the sliced cabbage strewn over it like badly healed tribal marks or tattoos. There is no going around it, cabbage is the red-haired step-child to lettuce; it just doesn’t taste good. I have often heard that if you do not have anything nice to say, do not say anything at all…………………..

Da Maria Italian Restaurant & Delicatessen is located on Plot 98 Aminu Kano Crescent, Wuse II, Abuja. Da Maria can be reached on +234 7052555589. The average price of a meal with a starter in Da Maria is N5,500. 

A Good Place to Start in a City that Strolls

To seek a writer’s talent, is to find the writers indiscipline as well. Most writers are really good at their craft, the very special among us are even better at organisation and timeliness, decidedly this writer doesn’t fall into that category. This would have been up sooner, but I spent a lot of time clearing the dust and cobwebs before I could resume writing. It’s funny how when I began to document my experiences in restaurants I vowed that I would always be consistent, and despite coming late to the blogging enterprise I would keep it going and promote my fancy of fine dining. Yeeeeeaahhhhhhh.

Although I am 17 days and 3 months into it, I would like to wish one and all a Happy New Year, may the road always rise to meet you all. In the time that I have been absent, I have had the pleasure of being introduced to new restaurants and re-visit old ones too. In that period it seems the city of Abuja has woken up to the fact that it will not be Lagos when it comes to the social catalogue, it will not be the City that doesn’t sleep, it is now and may always remain the City that strolls in the evening, stays up a bit late to catch re-runs of Fraiser and the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air then goes to bed. Abuja: the City that strolls.

So what has happened is almost everywhere you turn now there is a new restaurant or bar of sorts, or some establishment for leisure and social activity that promises not to try to hard but will keep you interested all the same; and all with charming names like Beer Barn, Tulip Bistro, Heavenly Deliciousness (Sorry that sounds like a Stripper, pretty certain there is an episode of The Boondocks that has that) and the list continues. I suppose the logic is why open a skating rink, or laser-tag or go-cart arenas for a city of poseurs, who want to talk about Nigeria’s sorry state of affairs without actually doing anything about it, or how there is no quality art or music out there. I should know. I am one of them.

No, No, Abuja is not for people who actually want to do anything or get anything done, it is why it is the perfect place to host the Nigerian Government, we like to talk, we like to muse. Sweat, sweat is for humans, there are only celestials in Abuja, sweat and action is what happens in places south of the Benue and Niger, in places like Lagos. No, in Abuja, we like to wear starched shirts, kaftans and even tighter trousers while we sip on our Café Latte and Green Tea in 30 degree Celsius heat. Abuja is the City that strolls and goes to bed at a respectable time, no, no, Abuja isn’t the city that doesn’t sleep; that’s what Lagos does. Vampires.

Tucked away in the Wuse ll district of Abuja in a shopping complex- for our non-resident readers a shopping complex in Nigeria is meant to be a shopping mall without the ambition and where very little shopping takes place- is Nkoyo, a charming Afro-Continental restaurant. Now, this Consummate Experience wasn’t my first experience of Nkoyo, I had been there on two previous occasions but hadn’t been able to eat. The first occasion I had stuffed my gob at nearby Salamader and since I wasn’t being sacrificed to the gods didn’t see the need to continue stuffing my face.

On the second occasion I had just removed a pestersome incisor immediately before arriving there for a meeting, turns out all those horror tales they tell when you were a child about too much sugar are true. So I watched while everyone else ate and seemingly enjoyed themselves, I could only communicate my bitterness and vow for vengeance with my eyes, in retrospect all I may have succeeded in doing was winking at them which would have led to seriously awkward conversations had they noticed me or taken me seriously.

So my consummate experience was a bit of a triumphant return, I had come to eat. Like I said earlier Nkoyo is tucked away in a Shopping Complex, it is also the restaurant at the top. (I am sorry, you know I had to), as it is on the third floor on the north face of the building. It is a bit of a climb as our shopping complexes don’t have elevators. But it may help you work up a healthy appetite.

Nkoyo set a traditional African feel and walking through the door, you notice that while the interior décor may be sparse it boldly endorses African prints, the use of space is commendable as our shopping complexes usually host corporate bodies who haven’t the need, funds or ambition for proper commercial real estate, and in these offices, most of them Architectural, Construction, Surveyor or Legal firms this same space would usually only hold a few desks and office furniture. But Nkoyo could easily do 32-50 covers and still has space for a grill and back of house. The use of space is commendable, and it probably makes more sense that two of these units were merged to create more space. The staff are friendly, courteous and responsive, and also dressed in African Prints.

The menu for Nkoyo continues the trend; it is a simple choice of Afr0-Nigerian dishes and more recognisable continental dishes and special selection from their grill. So you are likely to see Nigerian staple dishes there like Ofada Rice & Stew, Moi & Moi –what our European Friends have called Bean Pudding, people tend to forget that sometimes what makes a meal good is the name by which it goes, bean pudding can never taste like Moi Moi, the same way Pizza cannot taste like Omi Obe ati breadi (translation Tomato paste and bread). You are just as likely to see Lamb Shoulder with Rice, or Grilled Pork Ribs.

I ordered rapidly, a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, the baked plantain cakes as a starter, Lamb Shoulder with Rice, and under my breath I ordered the Pork Bratwurst Sausage with mashed potatoes as take away; if my experience were to be cut-short unexpectedly or disrupted, I would at least make sure that it continued at home. It is called insurance. Around the table there were calls for the seafood platter and fruit salads from friends of the Consummate Experience, who need no introduction.

I understand that the ownership of Nkoyo is the same as that of Wakkis, an Indian Restaurant that I have reviewed here. That explains the open grill and the restaurant furniture; they seem to a penchant for wood.

 Shortly afterwards our waiter comes back to inform me that they do not have the usual beer mug with which they serve their orange juice, and I would have to make do with a rather slim glass. I informed the gentleman that in that case, I would simply drink two glasses as one, he laughed and he thought I was joking till it was time to settle the bill.

He came back to ask if I would like to wash my Heinz, I thought that a side of Heinz baked beans might do till my Nigerian translator kicked in and I understood it to mean wash my hands, I smiled and agreed to the hot towels. He brought the hot towels and the starters for those who had ordered starters, at once the table was littered with a platter of spring rolls and chicken wings and my order of baked plantain cakes; It never ceases to amaze me how conversation comes to an end when there is food on the table, without warning the conversation just halts. The real talent is continuing the conversation while eating without making it obvious, I was with some talented individuals on the day and we didn’t break stride. The plantain cakes broke softly when you chewed into them, but I was expecting something a little more memorable and while it was a refreshing idea, the only thing I can remember about the meal was the pepper with which it came. I remember spending more time wishing I had ordered something else.

The food came in short order, and we had to tell the waiter to hold the food while we finished the first course. Eventually the food arrived and the waiter asked if I would like that with rice, typically I would have gone into some smart-assed sarcastic tirade about how the name of the meal is called Lamb Shoulder with Rice, but ever since I had dental surgery and while I was under I saw the spirits of my ancestors, I have found a new appreciation for…….nah I am yanking ya, I was too hungry to care. I hurried him along and dug into my meal.

The lamb came off the bone with little difficulty, and it has been hard to forget the meal since, it stuck to the fork like it was meant to be there. You know you are having a good meal when you spend some time contemplating whether you should take the next bite because it will be gone. Good meals also shut you up; no matter how talented you think you are, or how many restaurants you have been to good food will shut you up. Your mouth cannot behold wonder and speak rubbish at the same time. Eventually the table fell quiet; silence of the lamb.

As much as I enjoyed the meal, I quickly found that the meat tore a bit too easily and in the end all I was left with was the bone, much the same as the rush you get when you drink a slushy and realise that the sugar rush is for a moment and all you will be left with is tasteless ice. I wish the meal would have lingered a bit longer, but it was gone as soon as it arrived. But I took heart in the knowledge that somewhere in the back my pork bratwurst was waiting to be united with me.

The bill came and for everything on the table; a tidy sum of N15,000.00, the gentleman waiter who had thought I was joking about having two glasses of juice as one soon found out I am not that funny. Gen, gen, Start Saving or Die Trying coming to a cinema near you!!!

Nkoyo is located on 1 Bathurst Street, off Aminu Kano Crescent, Wuse ll, Abuja and can be reached on +234 70 98 209204 or on +234 70 988 13704

Sidenote: In the time that we have been gone, Chef Simon of Clan Fame and who was featured on our last entry Becoming a Member of the Clan passed away from complications in surgery. He was a brilliant chef and an even better human being and Clan Café will simple not be the same without his towering presence. Spare a moment to say a word of prayer for him and his family should you believe in that sort of thing. May the only Oga at the top keep us all safe.