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.

Of German Beer Gardens and Indian Clay Ovens

My people have always had a thing with the new or the foreign, with little history of forced or brutal colonialism, we have always had a penchant for exploring, and it is quite possible that there isn’t a country in this world that doesn’t have some level of Nigerian participation. So it is not surprising that in a city like Abuja, everything has the word “international” or “continental” stuck at the end of it.  


It is with this in mind that I indulged my inner Indiana Jones and decided to explore the far reaches of the Indian subcontinent, to traverse large swathes of Indian hinterland and Jungle, to discover the secrets to spices and scents, to witness the wonder of wildlife and an alien culture, to take a right off the Ahmadu Bello thoroughfare and onto Aminu Kano Crescent; my exploration didn’t take me past Wuse II in Abuja. Visa application and fees are an expensive business; so it was with great relish that I swung open the doors of Wakkis Restaurant, Abuja’s premium Indian restaurant.


Wakkis is one of those places in capital that everyone seems to have visited- much like Salamanders- the place had been raved about by one and all, so this consummate experience was fuelled less out of a genuine hankering for Indian Cuisine and more out of curiosity in part and my need to induct myself as a complete Abuja urbanite. How could I not have been to this particular extension of India? Every consummate experience is aided by great company and on this particular evening I was in great company, in the persons of CE resident sidekicks Shephatiah, Onyinye, Donald and first-timers Ify and Mary.


I can’t claim to be the most astute student of interior decorating; my tastes tend to be more particular- for instance when I build my castle I will try and make sure that the master bedroom is decked out in all black; drapes, woodshutters, bedside lamps, lights, floors, wall to wall stunning black granite, and no, I do not belong to the Illuminati, I couldn’t afford their registration forms- but it always occurs to me that if a restaurant specialises in particular cuisine then it should follow that their presentation and furniture should reflect that region. It should follow.


When the doors of Wakkis opened to reveal what they had been shielding, if you thought you were in a German beer garden you would be forgiven, the amount of timber was something to behold. Benches and tables stacked in neat rows across the hall and on the upper floor. The interior decorator had obviously ruled out intimate or private dining, there were benches so you would be forced to sit close to your fellow diners, savvy business strategy when you think about it; if you were going to be digging into your meal elbow to elbow with strangers, you would ensure that you always came with your own crowd.


After you get over the initial shock of being transported to your boarding school cafeteria, you realise that the first sight when the doors swing open is the huge clay oven under a thatch roof with a chef in the customary white ensemble scurrying from end to end, it’s a good solid first hand-shake. Wakkis is brilliantly lit, there will be no romantic meals in dark quiet pockets; it was very much Covenant University complaint. It wasn’t the most Indian or Asian room dressing I had witnessed, truth be told it was not at all Indian, but it was different and for that it was welcoming.


After giving the dining area the inspection, our waiter ushered our contingent to a table where we all slid in one after the other, and waited for the menu to make our choice. As we waited I accustomed myself to the environs as other members of our contingent regaled the table with stories of previous experiences of the restaurant. I cast another eye over the restaurant and the more I looked the more accommodating the particular arrangement was; I had heard that on a busy night dinner patrons usually hit over 100 covers and I could now see how they housed that comfortably.


The menu arrived and perusing it, you were left in no doubt that it was very Indian and you can have a peep at it here, after careful deliberation and recommendations from others, I settled on Spicy Chicken Tikki as my starter and the Tandoori Lamb shoulder to be roasted over charcoal. Around the table, there were calls for tandoori wings dipped in yoghurt and mint sauce, Murgh Malai (Boneless Chicken nuggets in rich pepper marinade) Lasuni Machi (pieces of fish flavoured with crushed garlic and fresh cream), Grilled Lamb Chops amongst others. It was going to be an interesting night; there is something about paying for meals you can’t pronounce you just know that the final bill will be just as foreign to your wallet as the meal was to your tongue.


While we waited for the meal, the conversation around the table took different directions, as you would expect with a full table, and with the men being outnumbered on the table 4 to 2, the conversation inescapably drifted towards the battle of the sexes; the women on the table were musing over why men always felt the need to be right and in control, for the life of me I do not know what led to the conversation, I do however remember that as soon as I joined the conversation I automatically realised I had made a mistake, you see when debating, men are handicapped by their need to make sense (not my words ladies sharpen your dagger for Chris Rock). I have some interesting theories on the male-female dynamic, but I will hold my fire for now.


Luckily the meal arrived before we started tracing gender roles and subsequent missteps all the way to Adam and Eve; and as any man will gladly admit when you are arguing with one woman its really arguing with three women at the least; the woman you argued with in the past, the woman you are arguing with now, and the woman you will argue with inevitably in the future, please let’s see a show of hands if when jousting with a lady you have heard these words “This is how you did this the last time”, “You always do this and you are doing it again”, “You don’t get it, You will do this again”. Now do the maths for 4 women V 2 men; I was glad for the meal as a distraction. As the meal was placed on our table and we all marked our territory angling our elbows, I noticed that the only laughter I could hear was ours, I looked around and the restaurant was empty and I could see the look of anxiousness on the waiters face as he placed the food, he wanted to close.


Armed with that, we all decided to deal with the task at hand with dispatch; there was so much food on the table it was hard keeping track of what was whose, and that worked for me as it easily allowed me cross borders and taste as much as I would like. Since I had forgotten that I had ordered a starter, I dug into the shoulder of lamb and was met with what I can only categorise as the taste of dusk, if dusk had a taste. Most of the meals on the table were grilled over the clay oven so they all had subtle hints of ash and soot, which wasn’t altogether a discredit. It was however distracting at times, as every slice of meat was at first tarred before the gustatory sensors kicked in and you tasted the meat, but aided with the sides of yoghurt and mint, the one-two punch of twangy and tingly worked well with the slightly charred pieces of meat, which fell of the bone almost expertly. I particularly enjoyed the smell of the meat, it registered something natural about making meals, the smoke, the char, the roast all distinctively coloured me African.


I remembered as I continued with my meal that I had ordered a predecessor and quickly searched for the plate of chicken tikka, and threw it in my mouth, it was change of pace and immediately registered that it was less about the chicken and more about the spices, which was interesting. Had I had more time to muse on the tikka I am sure I would be able to come up with something more descriptive, but no sooner had I turned back to the lamb that I realised that a hand was shifting it off the table, I looked up to see the waiter on auto-clearing; he hadn’t asked if we were done with the meal or if we would like it packed, he was ready to go and that was all the mattered.


Understanding that we had stayed past the closing time we asked for the bill and he scurried off to get it, my fellow diners, most of whom had ordered tandoori meals themselves all commented on how singed the food was, and how it didn’t agree with their palate, I could only muse that it had done exactly what it had advertised. The waiter arrived with the bill and I instinctively reached for my wallet and remembered that Donald was from an Oil producing state, I was not. I left my wallet where it was. Geopolitics and zoning factors in everything.


We got the rest of the food packed in disposable units and made our exit with Donald twenty-something odd thousand lighter; as we made our exit I wondered to myself how a thatched roof clay oven would look in the middle of my all white granite kitchen in my future castle.


Wakkis is located at Plot 171 Aminu Kano Cresecent, Wuse ll, Abuja, Nigeria and can be reached on +234 (09) 780 2929, +234 (09) 780 3000, +234 (0) 80 33231908, and on info@wakkis.com or wakisfood@gmail.com and www.wakkis.com where their menu is accessible. They allow you bring your own drinks as well, but there is a nominal corkage fee.


Sidenote: All of you men that raised your hands when I asked for a show of hands, firstly you can put your hands down, secondly this blogger or this blog will not be held responsible for any rift in your relationships the showing of hands might have caused. And something completely unrelated, I left the takeaway ribs in my fridge for over a week and for the rest of that week and longer, it continued to smell dusky and foreign, I highly recommend it.