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.

A Lesson In Victors House

The French seem to have the market cornered when it comes to things that go in and out of the mouth; they have given us language, a patented display of affection, and cuisine. I must admit that I am not familiar with all three cultural exports (sly grin); I am the least familiar with French cuisine, outside of occasional crepes- which are really pancakes- croissants, French wine and the odd experiment in French Class, I haven’t really been exposed to the French Palate.

 It was with this in mind that I made my march on Chez Victor, the quintessential French restaurant in our nation’s capital, Chez Victor or Victors House is located in the Maitaima District of Abuja, the Maitaima district of course been the haven of the nouveau- riche and others with ill-gotten wealth- yes if it is Nigerian Wealth it is more times than none stolen, and No my Fada doesn’t have a house in Maitaima.

The general architecture of Maitaima whispers, almost as though it doesn’t want to reveal the insane, almost grotesque amount of money it takes to build and live in such abscess luxury, the place hides itself behind hills and trees, and Chez Victor is no different, it is very easy to drive past it. It is unassuming, almost as if the owners didn’t care if you drove by, it stays there unnoticed, shy-if not for the solitary sign indicating that you were indeed at Victors House.

It is in a walled compound with a rather bland gate, that doesn’t grant you view to see if Victor has opened his doors or not, I had to knock on the gate to make sure they were open. Just before I stepped in a Jeep pulled up to the gate, it was the United Nations variety, white, sturdy and ordinary looking. The window wound down and Mr.UN asked me if “we” were open for the night, we? Oui? We, the Federal Republic of Nigeria? We, Joint Chiefs of a can of whoopass?

It took me a second to gather if he automatically assumed I was a member of staff because I was “indigenous” looking, or because I was standing at gate and resembled the gateman, or maybe because my wardrobe looked like the waiter attire-to him- my taste in fashion is unimpeachable, my wallet is another thing. I decided it was a harmless question and spared him my Amistad rhetoric, and told him “it” was open. Discarding Mr UN, I walked into Victors house for what would turn out to be a consummate experience.

At the entrance, Victor had put a waiter to welcome you with a smile and open the door, walking in you notice that the restaurant is actually a house that has been decompartmentalized and the expanse used very well to accommodate a busy hall, the dining hall has been maximised to contain a healthy crowd.

I noticed a bi-racial family tucking away into their food, I could only imagine that Victor had stunned their mouths into silence. I was right. I asked the waiter to show me a quiet table, and he translated this to mean I was embarrassed at eating alone and gave me a table away from plain sight behind a wall. This in the end worked for me, as I was waiting to see if they would forget me behind there.

They didn’t, they were swift in bringing the menu and lighting the candle on my table, as though I told Mr. Waiterman I wanted to fall in love with myself, but it was standard operating procedure I suppose. The menu had a good range of meets, seafood and sweets to choose from, from continental French Africa to France itself. I was looking forward to the wine list and didn’t find it, I assumed it wasn’t available and settled for a coke on the rocks, with lime. (Cokes on the rocks sounds so classy), I should do a Bond Impersonation one day and ask the bartender for Bournvita shaken not stirred.

Anyway, back to Victor, I later found out that the wine menu was separate and in retrospect my wallet was better for it, I ordered for my starter the Bisque de Langoustes- which was Lobster Soup with crab, carrot, fresh tarragon & cream served with Parmesean Crustini and garnished with Prawns. So somehow it was the equivalent of a Lobster eating a crab, then chewing on a carrot while swimming in cream and then being eaten by a prawn. It was heavenly and I am still not convinced that Victor didn’t spike it with syrup, ‘cos i checked the constitution nothing is allowed to be that sweet, hell just thinking about it is likely to induce diabetes. It was like an aquarium of dead (RIP) crustaceans, and they were everywhere. In fact the more I think about it, Victor spiked the meal, at one point I attempted to lick the bowl and remembered I was in civilized company. Although it arrived later the soup was served with freshly baked bread rolls that released their centre in one glorious surrender of steam, everything that touched them melted, including my palate. Resistance was futile.

 The main meal, Langoustes braisee a l’ail pommes sautees persillees – which was Barbecued Lobster served with sautéed potatoes with garlic and parsley.

As you can probably tell by now, Victor’s menu is deliberately declarative and so is the cooking. The main course arrived shortly after the starter, and Mon Dieu, from the presentation to the finished article, Victor couldn’t have done it any better. The lobster had been split into two equal parts, and barbecued till the white meat was hard but soft enough to be swallowed, like a sponge, it cut away with the littlest difficult and my brain had trouble computing what to put in first, the golden potatoes or the lobster meat- in the end I took them on in equal measure which is how I Imagine civilised people eat.

I suppose a Chef hasn’t done his/her job till you are confused as to how to divide your attention on a plate, I have heard Victor makes the round in the dining hall, he didn’t that night and it was safer for him, ‘cos at that moment I wasn’t above blindfolding him with a table napkin and kidnapping him to a life of servitude in my kitchen.

Somewhere in the background there were hearty attempts at some birthday song, I could care less I was only grateful Victor had been born. I paid my bill and walked out, N8100 shorter. As I walked out I wondered why the French hadn’t colonised the land mass north of Cameroon.

Chez Victor is located on 7 Ganges Street, Ministers Hills, Maitama, Abuja, they Can be reached on +234 805 746 7032 or on +234 803 591 1997. The email address is chezvictorabuja@aol.com