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.

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.

Rapture On Minister's Hill

I have been scolding myself for not updating this sooner, but  every time I did I noticed that there was a certain calm, I felt like there was still more time- and today I found out why, this year is a leap year, so turns out I had an extra day in February to post a new entry. And here it is!!!! In all its literary mediocrity.

In my last few entries, unwittingly I have established a trend with the last two restaurants I have visited, seems I have touched on two of the holy trinity of Abuja dining according to some, something I only noticed when I happened on today’s consummate experience.

Chopsticks Chinese Restaurant for many is the jewel in the crown of Abuja dining, one of the restaurants that has come to be part of the Abuja social establishment, it was long ago concluded by many that it was the de facto restaurant for Oriental dining in the city.

After a day that included meetings and dilly-dallying on where we should eat, my colleague and I found ourselves in the restaurant under the auspices of one of our more senior associates. I am stickler for free food, especially speciality cuisine; I just wished my colleague had intimated me that we might be dining out and in fine company; I might have paid more attention to the wardrobe.

Chopsticks is located on Ministers Hill, in the Maitaima District of Abuja, from my previous posts you will understand that this area is prime real estate, and is home to past Presidents, serving officials of Government, Foreign dignitaries and their ilk, generally the area hosts the kind of  money that can reinitiate slavery. The Per Capita Income of Maitaima is probably more than some small African Countries. (Coughs: Togo)

I walked into Chopsticks wearing what can only be described as bathroom slippers, bright orange flowery beach shorts, and a grey t-shirt with  turquoise trimmings and a three month old beard, now for you that have begun to snicker, bear in mind that (1) this is a food critique blog, what I wear to these experiences is irrelevant, (2) if you continue to snicker your throat will be inflicted with severe muscle spasm.

A glance around the room and it didn't take advanced maths to realise I stuck out sorely, and with my penchant for slinging my car keys on a lanyard around my neck, I looked like the driver of the group, and as though the money-gods of Maitaima had decided to punish me I was seated with my unfortunate colleagues smack-dab in the middle of the dining area.

My choice of threads continued to be the highlight of the evening as the waiter ‘forgot’ to bring me a menu, as he went to correct his error, I cast a glance around the room to observe. Like most Abuja restaurants, Chopsticks resembled a large house that had been converted to a restaurant, though at this point most upscale restaurants all resemble large houses you have to wonder if the design is deliberate.

The dining area is spaciously used, sitting an estimate of 40 Persons in the main atrium of the dining space, there is a pocket right at the back that holds a bar and intimate dining area carved away from main view, given my attire I was wondering why they hadn’t set us there. There is an open space outside for dining alfresco, with a garden of sorts, if the intention was to have a calming effect for diners who had chosen to dine outside, it worked.

The décor of the restaurants was non-threatening, that is to say understated; there was no blaring Chinese music, drawings or insignia, apart from the name it could be any other restaurant.

The menus arrived in short order, and we placed our orders, Singapore Noodles, Fish Dishes, Chicken and Mushroom Soup, Shredded Beef in Black Bean Sauce, the menu was a combination of Schezuan and Cantonese style cooking, our drinks arrived and as is occurrent around most Nigerian dinner tables, the discussion moved to politics.

I have stated on several occasion that this is not a political page but to be a Nigerian living in Nigeria and in the Capital city; the seat of Power, makes you two things; a political animal and a die-hard capitalist. The conversations drifted from the performance or lack of performance thereof of the Incumbent, to the recent street protests and occupy movements in the country, to the issue of corruption being systemic or individual, which really is Nature vs Nurture by another name, luckily something, happened to break the melee.

The lights began to flicker till they went off completely; I have never actually experienced the Nigerian Green Movement (which is when the Nigerian Environmental Protection Agency (NEPA) decides we have consumed enough electricity and switches off all power to monitor our carbon footprint) in a restaurant so I was surprised. The lights continued till they dimmed and then I heard a loud blaring of what I thought was a trumpet.

The Rapture was happening.

I was certain that residents of the following areas would not make it, Maitaima, Aso Rock & Villa, Asokoro, Wuse ll, Apo Legislative Quarters, and quite possibly Zone 4 and Area 11 Port Harcourt Crescent. I was determined not to keep them company; I quickly reviewed the happenings of my day and tried to make amends before Louie Armstrong in the sky would stop playing, but my immediate past sins against the office of the President were too long for me to apologise for in one breath, and in my state of despair I heard what sounded like Stevie Wonder singing, wait a minute, Stevie is blind not dead, what’s he doing singing celestial homecoming??

Then it all became clear, a cake with sparkling candles appeared, and Stevie was actually singing his famous Happy Birthday Song, I looked and saw the little truant who had caused me to doubt my rapture status (Of course I am going to Heaven) jumping up and down in anticipation of his cake. I calmed down and wished that for his fear-mongering he would lose a tooth! What! They are supposed to come out anyway at that age. And what restaurant still dims the lights for a cake!!! And it happened twice, another girl had the audacity to be born on the same day, but at the time I was tucked into my food.

The food arrived and I am always surprised at how quickly a table steeped in heated debate can be muted by food, never underestimate human baser instincts. The soup was pleasant but not memorable, again this may be the fact that I am well accustomed to Chinese cuisine or it could just be that the soup was not memorable.

I moved onto my main course which was the shredded beef in black bean sauce, something else happened on the night that made me seriously question whether the end of the world was indeed upon us. My fellow diners began to reach across the table to my side and dip in my bowl of shredded brown meat and carry on like all was well, now I am no expert but I am sure there is something in the Geneva convention about human rights, I would have protested but then I had just the right amount of manners to remember I was there under the good graces of someone else, and if I established that precedent I would have succeeded in disabling myself from paying them in kind, and I really wanted that.

The shredded beef meal wasn’t a revelation, it was safe but it didn’t push any frontiers or make me bite my tongue, I suppose for that I would need gourmet, so it was still a very good meal. Rapture did happen that night though, when I heaped a forkful of Singapore Noodles into my face, I saw trees of trees of green, red roses too, I saw them bloom for me and you, and I thought to myself what a wonderful world….undoubtedly Chopsticks serve the best Singapore Noodles in Abuja. They made me want to confess my sins, to put it simply Goodluck Jonathan will make an inspired President when you are eating the noodles, Beyonce will make a fine actress, Ice Prince will be a competent musician and Bankole Wellington will learn to sing in more than one range or key, in retrospect I honestly think the Noodles might have been laced with something, but outside of proof of that, they were phenomenal.

We finished our meals and the bill was settled, I had a pleasant dining experience despite my wrong-footed attire and the earlier celestial scare. For many Chopsticks remains the premier Chinese restaurant in  Abuja, I am personally more disposed to Woks & Koi in Silverbird which has been reviewed here already. But Chopsticks has its charms, walking out I noticed that there was another restaurant, Caesars in the same compound with Chopsticks, it looked just as grand and a place where EFCC-bait came to relax, it piqued my interests. But not on a day that I had come so close to questioning my salvation.

As we walked to our cars, I decided that the Christian thing would be to forgive that little truant for his scare and wish his tooth stay in place………so I did

Chopsticks Restaurant is located at No.66 Mississippi Street Maitama, Ministers Hill, Abuja

Sidenote: For the record, Beyonce can turn it around and become a good actress though at 30 I don’t see it for her, Ice Prince might actually become a very good lyricist and MC but that actually takes talent, and Bankole Wellington I believe can actually sing in more than one range once he wins the battle with gravity and balances the weight of his head, however there are no noodles, narcotic, brain-washing, indoctrination that can make Goodluck Jonathan an inspired leader and President.

Disclaimer: This is all good-natured ribbing, while I do still stand by some of my criticisms the artistes above are all successful and I respect their hustle, (in short dem hold pass me so make I comport). I said artistes and not President, I do not withdraw my statements in his regard.

God bless you, eat an apple and give to the less privileged, Louie Armstrong in the sky or not, every day is another opportunity to show kindness.

Sea Creatures and Not so Foreign Places

Seeing as we are still in the early weeks of the New Year, here’s to wishing all my CE regulars and enthusiasts good tidings in the year ahead. I imagine there are better ways to start 2012 than the malevolence of Pontius Pilate (read: President Jonathan) or the incessant threats of the ever efficient Boko Haram, this however is not a political page and while I have very strong opinions on the state of the nation, these trying times help to re-emphasis the simple things, one of which to me is the wonders of food. Yes, food. For those of you new to this page, I do believe good food can end wars, can stop global warming and heal all manners of ills. Boko Haram really needs to eat well.

For many the New Year will represent new beginnings, some will choose to take on new commitment, some will choose to re-evaluate their lives, job, relationships, some will take on projects, the New Year always offers a chance of rebirth, and it seems that the fine City of Abuja has gotten the memo. Without my knowledge the town seems to have sprung up new dining establishments, and I looked forward to sharing many consummate experiences with you there.


At any rate, the Consummate Experience is brought to you by an older Abuja establishment, L’etoile in the Maitaima District of Abuja. Like so many other experiences, the decision to dine out was completely on a whim. In the company of my colleagues, Onyinye and Sheph, CE regulars and two other ladies, Michelle and Hayley, driving aimlessly around town, the conversation had been locating a decent place to get fries, after several u-turns and right lefts and wrong rights we arrived at L’Etoile.


L’Etoile is one of those quintessential Abuja restaurants, like Wakkis and Chopsticks that everyone seems to have gone to as the complete Abuja resident, much like my dinner at Wakkis, this would be another rite of passage for me, and after my delightful experience at Victor’s house, I was looking forward to another evening with French Cuisine.


L’Etoile after all is the French word for “The Star”, and I looked forward to the food making me see lights. I should have known something was amiss when I stepped into the restaurant, despite the very welcoming mini-fountain at the entrance, the hue of the lighting and the dull interior most reminded me of another Consummate Experience, Arabian Nights in the Capital.


The feel was at once Middle-Eastern, but the name though………we were shown to our tables and I didn’t like the furniture any more than the interior of the place. I asked for a menu just to be sure that I wasn’t misplacing the feeling of fraud that was becoming enveloping. In the interlude, I cast an eye round the room, and once I saw it, the matter was settled. I was not going to be having a Consummate Experience this evening.


Restaurants that aren’t Quick Service in nature have got to quit putting visible drink coolers as part of the design; anywhere with a fancy French name no matter how misguiding should never have a drinks cooler in the dining space!!! As soon as my eyes settled on it, I was thrown off, what was the interior decorator or the owner thinking, that if they printed beer on the menu the patrons wouldn’t believe them, or perhaps it was a sub-conscious compensation, after all Patrons had walked in to expect French cuisine and were met with something else, from there on in, everything else had to be transparent, literally!


After my quiet storm had passed, the menu was presented to me, and as I suspected, I didn’t even find a croissant on the menu, not a single baguette. The menu was decidedly middle-eastern and continental. The deceit was now complete, now all I had to do was locate Judas and the thirty pieces of silver. Judas never came, and the waiter searched my face for any signs of life or interest. I settled on the Calamari dish, as I have always been partial to deep fried squid and ordered a cocktail, anything to avoid the transparent drinks cooler.


Closer to the entrance, a saxophonist and his band tested their equipment, apparently that night was going to be a Jazz-themed night (Wedsnesday), I recognised the Saxophonist from a Wine-Tasting session I had participated in, I looked around the table for Michelle whom I remembered had taken a shining to the instrumentalist at the Wine-tasting session, it suddenly dawned on me that the u-turns and misdirection might have been deliberate. She grinned slyly.


The conversation quickly turned to the Federal Republic of Nigeria; Hayley was visiting from England and we all took turns introducing her to our Version of Nigeria, at certain points we had to restrain the vitriol as the horror was clearly beginning to register on her face. In turn she baited us with sunnier climes, white sands, coconut, and the semi-clad Rihanna from her native Barbados.


The food arrived shortly after, and this time what was advertised was delivered, calamari with fries. I leered at the food for a fashion before I decided; I would forgive all other indiscretions and have this meal. The table was littered with chicken, fish and steak dishes, and the report reaching me was that the food wasn’t half bad. On that report I stuffed my face with two rings of Calamari and while I didn’t see the sun, the moon and the stars, the chef had managed to redeem what was left of my evening.


My childhood memories of Calamari are huge rings of deeply battered spongy circles of…. of…..New Year- that feeling you can only get in the moments that you are especially grateful for life and health, like crossing over to a New Year or adding a Year- ……..of rebirth. Perhaps I am now looking back at it through the lenses of childhood nostalgia, and no other Calamari dish will ever measure up, whatever the case, the chef didn’t give me rebirth or New Year’s on a plate, he did however satisfy my curiosity. The fries the dish came with, did what they were supposed to do, much like taking your cousin to the Prom, they were useful.


My attention was soon drawn to the stage, where Kehinde G (I don’t remember what his real name is) was blowing a tornado through his instrument, it was engaging. At that moment, he was taking on a classic, George Michael’s Careless Whispers, on stage with him he had a female accompanying singer and that’s where it got interesting. I would have never noticed her fashion faux pas had I not been on the table with 4 women, a fact that only dawned on me when all other male diners kept looking at our table, and since I know they weren’t checking for 14 years, it was the women they were checking for.


Apparently the songstress was wearing polka dots with strips and nude leggings, from the summary of the conversation from the girls; she was a cross between a circus clown and a zebra crossing. I was more taken with her attempts at sounding American when clearly she wasn’t; it was hilarious especially as she kept prancing round in her outfit. She had a very promising future in Nollywood or a Pentecostal church.


We finished the meal and the bill arrived, all N16, 800.00 of it, it was settled and we made our exit to a warm Abuja night, as we located the car I summed up all Mid-Eastern countries that spoke French and tried to compensate for my disappointment, but that drink cooler though……….


L’Etoile is located at No. 10 Nile Street, Maitaima District, Abuja and can be reached on +234 80 242 36562 and emailed on letoilerest_2@yahoo.com or on their facebook page here.


Sidenote: I encourage you all to go out and discover the city more, dine out a bit more, have your own consummate experiences, and on something completely unrelated, Jade Aladewolu, you will always be the best way to start any year. I love you and thank you for every year that you tolerate me.