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.