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.

Becoming a Member of The Clan

One defining characteristic of the Federal Capital is understatement; yes there are towers, grand structures, expensive cars and playgrounds for multimillionaires and billionaires, government pickpockets and expatriates; however it is never straightforward to tell who these people are. The City doesn’t lend itself to such revelations, apart from the red license plates of the diplomatic corps, the brandishing of Federal or State Government vehicles, the blue and white strip of Julius Berger, most people move about in anonymity.

Many of the more affluent assuming almost Bruce Wayne-esque characteristics; secret bad-guyses. Perhaps it has more to do with Northern culture than anything else- an Hausa man can have great wealth by all modern measures, and still take pride in driving a Japanese car and stepping out in modest attire- but Abuja, unlike its counterpart in Lagos doesn’t necessarily announce its wealthy, to be sure there are indicators but you have to look for them.

So it is only natural that the City has establishments that are strictly by membership and exclusive; places where these secret bad guyses/Bruce Wayne characters can meet over foreign wines and imported cigars and guffaw at their biblical-esque wealth, or perhaps sit across the room and play what I have aptly named “The I wonder how bad of a bad guys the other bad guy sitting across the room from me is?” admittedly I have to work on the name. But make no mistake Abuja people, particularly the men have become championship players, the rules of the game are simple,

1. You walk into a room all aloof and pretend not to notice other patrons or anyone in general, although for expert players at this stage you would have scanned the area for all potential bad guyses, expert players will know never to stare, all this must be done from your periphery. Expert players will also know to scan the room for lesser bad guyses already established from a previous game, so you can pretend not to notice them notice you when you walk in and see how long it takes them to come say hello to you, and if they don’t you have more material to gossip with. It is an intricate game of details, suspicion and counter-suspicion.
2.  Second you sit down, and regally flick your middle and index finger in the air in a circular motion to no-one in particular, the trick is to establish eye contact with a waiter you know, but to everyone else in the room it must look effortless. The need to call on a waiter you know is revealed now, you call him by his name, establishing familiarity and letting all other potential bad guyses in the room know that you are a frequenter there. The conversation may go a little something like this

                                                               i.      Waiter: Ah Welcome Sir/Ma, Long time

                                                             ii.      Bad Guys/Girls: Ehn, Elijah, Bawo, Ku jo meta (How are you, been a while)

                                                            iii.      Waiter: A dupe, se travel? (I am fine, have you been away?)

                                                           iv.      Bad Guys/Girls: Yes, I travelled on business (Killer Bad Guys move!!!!!)

                                                             v.      Waiter: Welcome back

                                                       vi.      Bad Guys/Girls: Thank you, let me have the usual. (Killer Bad Guys combo!!!!!!)

3. After you have established you are a bad guyses by the killer moves mentioned in B, you sit back and let the games begin, all other bad guys would have heard your conversation and have entered the game, or they didn’t pay attention because you they don’t play on the same level with you- they are either too much of a bad guyses or not bad guyses enough, in which case they are not your competition. Happy Games!!!

One such place where these senseless mind games are played is Clan Cafe. Other places where Bad Guys/Girls meet in the Capital like the Hilton Hotel, Beer Barn, Salamander Café are incidental or natural habitat of bad guys. The Clan Cafe isn’t. It knows exactly what it is, it is a deliberate attempt to woo high-class clientele; the Clan restaurant is open to members only. It is a place that serves the palate and the need for privacy. I visited The Clan Cafe in the early days when their doors were open to all and sundry. Hi, I am sundry. I had heard about the place from my friend and business partner, Simi, she is so much of a bad guys, we will simply refer to her as Chairwoman.

The Clan Café is located in the Maitama district of Abuja, a few hundred meters from the The Hilton Abuja, in an obscure building cut diagonally from the Court of Appeals. The building isn’t remarkable and it is easy to drive by a hundred times and never notice it was there, the architecture doesn’t beckon or attempt to draw you in. There are no bold signage’s to announce the building, it is almost like the architect wanted you to ignore it. This suits Clan Café perfect, located on the third floor, like the building that houses it, there is just a door, and no announcement or information. There are no windows for you to peek inside, just the door with a medusa head on it, it gives the feeling of walking into Narnia or joining a secret cult.

Clan Café wants to keep itself secret and the interior designers wants whoever walks through the door to want to keep the place a secret too. Wooden finishing, mahogany tables and matching brown leather sofa will make you want to keep it a secret, you automatically know that it is not a place for a crowd, or for jousting or loud discussions about which Premier League side is the best. It is a place you arrive in, a place where you can say as much as you want or little at all, a place of no expectation, just food and leisure.

I sat down and gestured for the menu, after glancing through a robust menu and wine section, I ordered the Chicken Ravioli and the Shrimp Scampi for starters and the Rigatoni Bella Lusia for my main meal. I glanced around the room once more and took in the elevated centre of the room complete with a small piano and three couches. The entire room had the feel of a lounge. There was a balcony that you could walk onto and view a good portion of the Maitama skyline, so I left the bar where I had settled and walked to a two-seater table and looked out to Maitama. I could make out the Maitama roundabout, and the British Rooftop Café, a ghost of its former self, since abandoned because of security threats. The idea of being in an anonymous location suddenly had its merits.

I had ordered a Chapman and it arrived in a thinner glass than usual, nicely played Clan. As I waited the sounds of Michael Bolton, Leanne Rimes and Lionel Richie would stream from the speakers gently, nothing against those artistes but I expected that with the mood lighting and general feel of the entire room I would be listening to smooth jazz. The crowd in the room was light and there was no one to play my favourite Abuja game of The I wonder how bad of a bad guys the other bad guy sitting across the room from me is?  with. 

My meal(s) arrived, and as sophisticated as Clan wants to be, it fell prey to the general practice of serving the starters and the main course all at once, crowding the table and giving the impression that the patron is greedier than s/he really is.

That aside, I started with the Shrimp Scampi and that was good as Scampi gets, I think I may have had enough of Scampi because it didn’t leave a bad taste in my mouth, but by the same token it wasn’t remarkable, much like the architecture of the building, I knew there was food in my mouth but it could just as well have been air. 

I moved onto the Chicken Ravioli which I was particularly curious about, my experience with Ravioli has been a cream based dish (shout out to Picolo Mondo) in Lagos, but what was on the table had more of a semblance to pepper soup more than anything else. On tasting it I confirmed what I had earlier suspected, it was Ravioli dipped in some variation of the Nigerian delicacy Pepper Soup. I credit the chef with what I want to believe is innovation, but like the Scampi it was occupying but it was easily forgettable.

His Piece de Resistance however was the Rigatoni Bella Lucia, which is basically a Chicken-Pasta dish, held together by white sauce, cheese and cream; and my greatest undoing was ordering the starters because dear lord, one taste of that meal and I felt the cynicism and apathy die in my mouth. It is the kinda food that can cause unemployment, because weeks after having the meal I was still daydreaming about it. I have always said that a good chef is the one that gives you sensory overload, confusing your palate so you don’t know which part of the meal you want to taste again, or which part tastes better if you nibble it alone, and which part of the meal cannot be taken out lest the meal collapse. This Chef was a good one.

He walked out while I was still cursing myself for having ordered the starters as I was already full, he was a giant of a man, towering well over my above average height of 6ft2. He stopped at each table introducing himself to every diner and asking how they enjoyed their meal, my table was last on his route and as he came closer I realised that as tall as he was he was just a tellytubby, he didn’t look threatening, which is all the better for me, as I plan to kidnap him in the not too distant future. He introduced himself as Simon, and I confirmed to him what I am sure he has heard many times before, he was a brilliant chef. As he made his way back into the kitchen, there was a knock in the door, and in walked a group of potential bad guys. I smiled to myself and quickly turned back to my food before they caught me staring, let the games begin!

The Clan Café is located in Clan Place on Tigris Crescent, Maitama, Abuja. The building after the NYSC Headquarters and diagonal from the Federal Court of Appeals.

Sidenote: I have since returned to Clan Café many more times, I tried the Roast Potatoes and Steak meal, it tasted like it was made for Zeus, I have also re-ordered the Rigatoni meal it is just as good if not better. This is all by way of saying that Simon is still excellent. The Clan Café has now restricted service to members whom I hear pay dues of N500, 000.00 yearly. God Bless Them.


 

Roaming Edition: On Top of the Food Chain

Man undoubtedly has been placed on top of the food chain by nature, by the universe, by God or whatever deity you believe in. We are veritably on top, for those of you that have any doubts walk into a Brazilian restaurant, whatever doubts you walked in with you will leave there on your way out.

As an African man, especially a Nigerian Yoruba man I have always prided myself on being able to consume meats, lots of it. This was till I walked into a Brazilian restaurant in Nairobi, the capital of Kenya. I had visited the country while I was much younger but I can vaguely recall it and I am confident that the visit then was transitory; so visiting the country again felt like coming to it for the first time.

The impression of Kenya that most people have although I can only speak for myself, is that it is a premium tourist destination, filled with wildlife, savannahs, plains and where man can be one with nature. I am sure Kenya is all those places and more but I am yet to discover that Kenya, what I have seen so far is a country is that remarkably similar to the one I left; our socio-cultural and political eerily mirror each other, Kenya possesses like Nigeria rival ethnic groups and tribes all vying for control and power and all screaming marginalisation when they do not get it. More than anything, the sense that the country is not living up to its greatest potential is palpable.

What we do not have in Nigeria however, at least in Abuja is a Brazilian restaurant, and that I quickly found out is a shame. I walked into the restaurant with a vague understanding of what a Brazilian restaurant offers, to be clear most Brazilian restaurants or Churrascaria (steak house) are based on a Rodizio (continuous service) where passadors (meat carvers) pass from table to table slicing grilled meat directly onto your plates.

What the Brazilians have managed to do is remove the traditional wait-to-be-served system and move the back of house directly to the dining area, it is a mobile continuous grill, it is an Alice in Wonderland experience, it is an excellent place to lose discipline or discover you never had it, and it was a humbling experience for a proud Yoruba man.

On the table with me was Consummate Experience veteran Bayo Imam whom you will recall I had the good fortune of meeting during another Consummate Experience (http://restaurantsinabuja.blogspot.com/2011/03/three-guys-girl-and-english-plate.html) and his lovely Fiancée Meena and her sister. Bayo deserves credit because he found the place and introduced me to Brazilian styled gluttony.

Fogo Gaucho, the restaurant looked to be located in what I am told is the City Centre, the interior of the restaurant was detailed in wood from the floor to the roof, nothing exquisite but it rendered itself very African and authentic; I am yet to understand why exactly but it worked. The dining area would take about 50 covers comfortably. The restaurant wasn’t full, there were few other patrons in the restaurant, and this was because we walked in slightly before 3pm which was the end of that shift to begin again at 7pm.  Figures, I imagine in the 4 hour window they go hunting for more meat.

The ladies had arrived there before Bayo and myself and looking at the ever growing pile of animal flesh on their plate, I knew that I should pace myself; so following Bayo’s lead so I began with a Rudolf Salad, hard lettuce and garlic bread all dripped over with Thousand Island Sauce, if you are familiar with this sauce you know It makes everything taste better, except Rudolf Salad which contains pineapple pieces and sans the sauce still tasted like cattle curdle and yeast, it’s probably named Rudolf Salad because that’s what Rudolf the reindeer would eat. It was a miss.

I was still trying to understand the disappointment in my mouth, when it began. He appeared by my side with a carving knife, he politely asked me if I would like some, I said yes and he graciously went through it with his carving knife and encouraged me to pick it off with the forceps. I did. I thanked him, and was about to begin when someone else appeared by side smiling and asked me if he too could slice for me, I affirmed and thanked him. I once again prepared myself to begin when someone else appeared smiling, asking if he too could cut through some meat for me, well since he offered and was smiling I once again affirmed and was about to begin when someone else appeared. It was then I realised.

This was a torture house, and they were all smiling because they were all sadists and this is how they got their kicks. Hakuna Matata my ass! There was plenty to be worried about!!! So when the next meat dealer came I asked him before he sliced through another portion of meat, to confirm if they had a first-aid kit because it was obvious they were trying to induce cardiac arrest. After I had my fit, Bayo informed me that there was a card on the table next to me that I needed to flip over to the red side to indicate I wasn’t ready for a stroke.

They eventually stopped coming and I was able to concentrate on the meal(s), I honestly cannot tell you how they all tasted as they kept on coming it wasn’t long before I started confusing lamb for chicken and that for sirloin but I will say this much they covered the entire range and it was good enough to keep flipping the serve-card to green.

The walking buffet included Linguica (Pork sausages seasoned in Garlic), Costela (Tender Ribs), Pincanha (Cap of Rump), Frango Com Pimenta (Marinated Chicken Thighs) amongst others and they kept coming. It wasn’t long before I realised that there were limits to my carnivore status, but those damn waiters and their smile, they kept politely enticing you with foreign sounding names and perfectly glazed grilled meat, and I kept saying yes.

After 30 minutes of dedicated silence and concentration, those of us wearing trousers subtlety began to reach under the table to loosen our belt buckles and those that had already done that began to unbutton the pants altogether. There was a chorus of sighs, heavy breathing as only the brave of us continued to nibble.

If we had any troubles stopping ourselves from eating, when Bayo’s sis-in-law, a doctor moved the conversation to testicular abscesses it became incredibly easy for the food intake to halt abruptly. While we were trying to dissuade the doctor from revealing the most lurid details of her trade, a gentlemen of a much bigger disposition waddled his way into the restaurant, I thought for a moment I saw terror in the managers eyes as he calculated how many cattle would have to be separated from the herd for him, but it was past 3pm and they had to usher him out. I don’t know what was discussed but I imagine he told them that he would be back at 7pm, as he made his way out in his finely cut suit that I am sure was made from what was originally a swimming pool trampoline cover.

Time passed, and the rest of our contingent opted for dessert. I am sorry but I draw the line at grilled pineapple, especially after the experience with the Rudolf Salad. As we all waddled out of Jurassic Park, I made what was the genius observation that they should have stretchers that patrons can pick before they begin eating, and they can rent beds for patrons who are overtaken by The Itis. That is an original idea; I did not steal it from Boondocks. Honestly.

I encourage everyone to go to a Brazilian Steak House, as you are bound to get lost in the many options, go at least for the experience. I also encourage teachers to change their biology curriculum to make visiting a Brazilian Steakhouse the practical lesson to understanding the food chain, it may just make more people vegetarians or vegans, all the better, more for me.

Fogo Gaucho is located at Viking House, Westlands, Nairobi Kenya. They can be contacted on +254 (20) 3544037 or on +254 (0) 729 243202, and you can visit their Facebook page to find out more http://www.facebook.com/FogoGaucho/info

Sidenote: Congratulations to frequent Consummate Experience frequenter, Michael Johnson on the birth of his baby boy. Michael is a friend from my university years; he is a stand-up fellow whom happens to have discovered his latent talent for child rearing. He is now the proud father of three children and I congratulate him and wife Uzoezi on the birth of their son, “May the road always rise to meet him”. Amen.

Honey Glazed Heartbreak in the Capital

Of all the arts, I imagine that writers are the laziest right after painters, an idea can grow in our minds for eons before we commit pen to paper or in this case fingers to keyboard. I have a lot of respect for writers who constantly have to write with deadlines; I simply do not know how one would remain creative in such circumstances. All this is simply to say that I have been meaning to update this space for a while now, and had hoped that I would be able to fit this in before the end of June, as today is the first of July suffice it to conclude I am lazy.

While I contemplate my apparent lethargy in the month of June, there are many families that aren’t so fortunate to have cosmetic problems, by now it is common knowledge that a commercial airline bound for Lagos from our very own Abuja crashed minutes away from landing in Lagos, leaving the two major cities of the country in mourning and for many catatonia. The plane took with it a considerable number of passengers ultimately spinning a web of collective heartbreak and despond across many households in Abuja. By remote chance mine was one of them.

There have been many analyses of the aviation sector and the ailing of the Nigerian Nation as my people, Nigerians are wont to do. The internet is aflush with theories and rebuttals; this page will not be one to contribute to any of the above. What I know is food, and that’s what I will stick to despite my strong political leanings. However mention of the tragedy sets the backdrop for today’s consummate experience. 

Vanilla Restaurant has long been part of the Abuja social establishment, having shared the same space with the Soho club in Maitaima for many years it was conveniently located and was easily one of the more recognisable restaurants in the city. However as the popularity and appeal of Soho waned, it seemed the management of the restaurant felt it was better to relocate, perhaps in a bid to create an independent identity for the restaurant. Abuja, it must be understood is a city of whims and moods, more than any other city in Nigeria; with fewer options on the social catalogue than Lagos, it seems the residents of the capital are forever on the lookout for the next attraction, for the next thing, even if it’s the same thing repackaged. To be a successful social entrepreneur is to understand that fundamental truth.

Vanilla restaurant after leaving the sinking ship that is Soho has reopened its doors at No. 28 Pope John Paul 11 Crescent, Maitaima; for those who have spent some time on the social circuit you will recognise this address as the same for Quorum, a nightspot famed for its live band performance headlined by Afro-Soul crooner Dare, that establishment has long since gone the way of the many before it. It was at vanilla that a close friend and my business associate requested we have a working lunch; she had lost a sister on the plane and while I was sure I didn’t have an appetite for food or much else, I didn’t want to leave her alone.

Walking in, you are welcomed in the lobby/slash reception area by an eager waiter or manager who seems genuinely pleased to welcome you; the lobby divides Vanilla into lounge/bar and dining area. Perhaps there –in the lobby- you are meant to battle with yourself over whether to step into the bar or dining area, the manager and the waiter both representing either good or evil, given how many people were in both areas, I’d say that battle is usually evenly decided.

There is a strong resonance of orange in Vanilla and more especially the lounge where the bar stools and the seats are covered in orange leather. The dining is more a blend of the orient and continental with strong woodwork and I estimate it will take just under 40 covers, with conventional two-seater, four-seater  and the bigger twelve-seater tables . We sat down and we were offered the menu, they have an interesting range of drinks and cocktails that include names like “Pimp Juice”, I settled for the less sinful “Mudslide” that was some combination of Vanilla Ice-cream and Crushed Oreos. I also ordered Salt and Pepper Calamari, but they didn’t have any left, in the end I settled for Prawn Spring Rolls and Sticky Glazed Lambchops that was advertised as succulent grilled lamb chops with a honey and mint glaze served with balsamic salad.

Try as we may the conversation kept returning to the events of the week, the loss, the finality of death, it was all sombre stuff and in the interim we would find ourselves focusing on the music as distraction. The soft melodies of Boyz ll Men were pouring over the speakers, and perhaps because we were deliberately looking for a distraction it was spellbinding stuff, more importantly as a lifelong Boys ll Men fan I hadn’t heard this album, I quickly concluded it must have been released on the Asian markets or something. Known or not, their rendition of Bonnie Raitt’s “I can’t make you love me” was heartbreaking, and though a ballad,  it wasn't helping the already funereal dampness in the room. (Disclaimer: If you listen and like the molesting and abuse of Justin Bieber, Pitbull, Florida and David Guetta, don’t bother with the song.) 

My spring rolls arrived and they were as spring rolls are; greasy dough wrapped around a prawn or two drowned in mayonnaise.

 A recent report stated that Nigerian men have a life expectancy of 47 years. No contest. 

The spring rolls were gone as fast as they came; restaurants, especially restaurants in Nigeria should stop calling the entrées “Starters”- how can you start something that is finished even before you realised it was there- and find a more accurate term for it like decoration. I began to people watch as I have found that some of the more interesting scenarios happen in restaurants. There was a sizeable Chinese contingent in the room, and they had been there for a while. I later found out that they were the reason I couldn’t have “Salt and Pepper Calamari”. To be a world power sha……..

 A comely lady most likely in her late forties to fifties had glided into the room furiously tapping away on her Blackberry oblivious to the rest of the world, I am convinced that when the devil will announce world takeover it will be through a BB broadcast. Soon after her a gentleman in his late forties walked in  a pin-stripe Suit  wearing a pin-stripe Shirt- now gentleman I don’t care what GQ or Mode Men says, there are certain laws of dressing that should remain, there is no reason In the world why you should look like a Zebra crossing or a barcode.

That would have been the end of my people watching, had the barcode not try to leave the room for whatever reason and be stopped by the cougar who insisted that she knew him. At this time she had been joined by another lady, to whom she insisted she knew barcode.

 Barcode feeling ever so important with himself asked what line of work she was in, as he did a lot of consulting for companies. Barcode ever so pleased with himself at being “spotted” kept one hand in his pocket and one on his chest, as cougar began to scan him for point of origin; in his euphoria barcode had forgotten that he had been joined by a date who was young enough to be his daughter. I could tell they were not in any kind of serious relationship, because he didn’t cast a wary eye to his table to see if madam had noticed this unsolicited female attention as committed men are bound to do, and for her part the child-date was tapping away at her devil control instrument (BB) probably explaining to her real boyfriend that she would be late because “Uncle” wanted her to run some errands. Sigh, The Secret lives of Nigerians- someone should write the book.

Anyway barcode and cougar settled that he was a friend of her brother’s and promised to call each other (Wink Wink) as barcode continued his journey out of the room. By the way, if you are wondering how I heard all this, well the answer is quite simple really….I be amebo.

My food arrived shortly after that, and I will say this much the presentation was very pristine and more so it distracted further from the abiding presence of the grim reaper. I will pick roasted potatoes over sautéed any day, and the chef reminded me why. The potatoes weren’t as quick to sting the tongue as they would be if they were roasted, and this lamb must have been very stubborn and very athletic, because the meat was tough and sparing, and the honey was generously glazed to serve as compensation. I was more expectant of the meal; however a restaurant sometimes is more than the food, it’s the experience, the service and the ambience, it is the conversations it makes you have and the people it makes you notice or remember.

And I remember that in my early teenage years on the eve of a class field trip, everybody was naming allergies and  t seemed I was the only one without, there was a chocolate covered honey bar on my table (Crunch: A Cadbury product if I remember correctly) so I boldly declared I was allergic to honey; it seemed to impress the girl with the nut allergies I was trying to impress, apparently even Superman has to have Kryptonite.

For the most part, during the time my friend and I spent there,  it was easy to remember death and heartbreak but it was just as easy to forget it, even if momentarily. If Vanilla could do that when we were sad, then I very much look forward to seeing what happens when I have reason to celebrate.

Vanilla Restaurant can be contacted on Phone 1: +234 (0)705 735 1719, Phone 2: +234 (0)810 454 5070 and BB PIN: 283C77B7. Please visit their impressive website at http://www.vanilla-abuja.com/ or their Facebook page http://www.facebook.com/pages/Vanilla-RestaurantCocktail-Lounge-Abuja/190226271052413. Al Fresco Dining is available with a Grill area nicely done under a thatch roof.

Sidenote: For those of you interested The Boyz ll Men songs were off an Album called “Love” released in 2009.