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.

Roaming Edition: A Love Affair With the Ocean in The Gambia

There are ways you live your life that make it seem like you are leaving parts of yourself hidden, not being the complete version of yourself- and certainly a place like the internet isn’t the place to always reveal so much information- however there are certain key elements of life or a person’s life without which there isn’t much of a person. And I have certainly run this space like one of those key institutions doesn’t exist, I shall hope to remedy that with this post.


I have had the privilege of sharing my life over the past three years with a remarkable woman and friend who has made life a collection of consummate experiences and who, outside of the location and dish will be the main focus of the consummate experience this time. Her name is Jade.


 Gambia, is the location of this consummate experience and while the what, why, when and how may intrigue you, suffice it to say that I carry Abj everywhere I go so it all tallies. Gambia, the small country on the coast of West Africa is host to about two million plus inhabitants, and is fast becoming the de facto destination for holiday makers in the West Africa. The Gambia as it is officially known is a stretch of country across the Atlantic and at any time British vacationers or other members of the European contingent can be found lying under the sun or walking the streets.


We arrived at Banjul International Airport, after what seemed an eternity in between Lagos and Freetown, Sierra Leone. During the flight we had slept and woke several times, we had eavesdropped on other conversations and wondered why the only male air steward was forever frowning- I have a theory for that but can’t share it as it won’t be politically correct. I also defeated Jade, try as she may at cards, which set the tone for the rest of the holiday. I rule.


Living the life that I have lived so far, I have a special affinity for airports, especially international airports, they are the first impression of a country, the first handshake if you will and while Banjul Airport was a nice fist bump it wasn’t the hearty slap on the back that the Nigerian Airport in comparison. I would find that other things would also pale in comparison.


 My eager fiancée and chief travel agent was first off the bus and encouraging me to take pictures of the airport to chronicle our sojourn, I am Johnny Depp cool and casually glided past, because although I was dressed like a tourist I was not about to affirm any one’s suspicions. Jade, knowing me began to take the pictures herself; at the time of this entry she had yet to prove to me what we would ever use those pictures for.


We cleared immigration with ease and our airport pickup was waiting with our names boldly written, good tidings. We got into the car and began to sip on our complimentary water from the hotel, and we were in the Gambia. As we drove on what looked to be a newly constructed highway I noticed the similarities with Nigeria, Gamcell the major phone network provider had their ads all over the place with claims of over 90 per cent of the market. Their President also had his picture on almost every billboard and streetlight just in case, in the five seconds it took you to move from one streetlight to another, you forgot who was President.


There were no traffic bottlenecks or logjams, expectedly given the population and no one seemed to be in a rush anywhere, even the air, which was dusty and gloomy, seemed to be happy to remain still. In a short time, we had moved into Brufut Gardens the Presidential area, and supposedly their version of Maitaima, Nigeria’s premium real-estate for the dead of conscience. The architecture was appealing while at the same time simple, nothing grandiose, no attempts to build a small republic and call it a house as my countrymen are so wont to do.


I was beating myself up over not having studied the history of the Gambia when we quickly arrived at the gates of the Sheraton Gambia Hotel, Resort and Spa and that’s when I saw her, glistening in the sun, gently swaying in the wind, her wide load evenly spread on the landscape – yeah break in transmission, if you don’t know I am talking about the ocean by now something is wrong with you and you are a pervert, I mean cmon! Jade was right next to me how would I be looking at another woman in front of her, not that I would look if she weren’t there, but you get my point- the Atlantic in all her glory. Jade was in charge of planning the trip, and while she had sent me several mails concerning the trip, I had glanced through them without detail. Being Johnny Depp cool, I rarely smile but on this occasion there wasn’t enough space between my ears and my mouth.


Check-in was processed, and Jade who is the stronger of us at bargaining dealt with the administrative things and I like a curious child wandered to the windows to behold the Atlantic, my saline lover. The Sheraton Gambia is built on a hill, with the reception on the top floor and the rooms cascading the rest of the hill in different places. It at once looks like an African village and an Arabian Harem, stretching a significant portion of the beach. I liked it because it made me focus on more than thing at a time, it was pleasant.


 Our room was on the beach, note not by the beach but on the beach, open the veranda window and you were a few hundred feet from the gentle washing of Amphitrite. Taking in God’s work and defying the laws of gravity with Arik works an appetite; we had missed lunch and so decided to order from the A La Carte menu. There was a fine selection but we settled on the Grilled Australian Beef Tenderloin (Well done), with roast potatoes, mushroom a la Greek, whole corn and black pepper sauce. All the ingredients come back to me easily, because it’s a dish to remember.


We waited a while but it was worth the wait, the steak was a generous helping and had been grilled just an inch of being burnt, it was tough but easy to cut and bounced around the teeth with ease, it wasn’t so strong that it felt like chewing gum and it wasn’t too soft that you swallowed it without tasting. The roasted potatoes were golden and had been salted so they looked like they were folded and wrapped into themselves; they met the fork with cooperation. The black pepper and the mushroom added savoury to a dish that was already excellent on its main helping- you can tell a chef has done his/her job when a dish confuses you, when you are caught between two minds whether to finish the food on time because your mouth is impatient or to be calm and enjoy it. Jade resolved that dilemma rather quickly because by the time I looked up to ask her if she liked it, there was nothing left to like.


We ordered the meal the next day but it was disappointing and obviously not the same chef. I asked.


Outside of the food and the Sheraton, there is a bit to see in the Gambia; they have developed their tourism industry to the point that you can pick a range of activities to do while there. There is the Makasoko Forest Reserve with a bit of widelife and floating villages , you can opt to go fishing for the day and sunbathe on the roof of fishing boats, you could opt for a golfing session, or a visit to the former slavery depot and learn about the origins of Kunta Kinte among a range of activities. We chose none, between eating, sleeping, swimming, beach walking and me trouncing Jade at cards and table tennis we were fully occupied.


There is a stretch of about half a kilometre that is known as the Senegambia Street, which is the main tourist area, it supposedly is meant to have restaurants and shops, casinos, clubs and restaurants. I think the Gambian expectation for a high brow area greatly differs from the Nigerian expectation. The African Crafts market may be a delight for our European brethren but as an African living in Africa you most likely won’t encounter anything to astound you, although a lot can be said about Jade negotiating skills, I had to walk out of stalls before I found myself begging that her price slashing was too much.


 Jade managed to convince me to go for a massage at the Sheraton Spa, which was a first for me. It was a mistake, in the end all they did was grease me, molest and slap me with calloused hands. I may as well have been a turkey.


I spent many early mornings sitting outside the room on the veranda watching the ocean; I watched it fall and rise over and over, just at the mouth though like it had a thousand words and they could be any answer to any question you asked. The Ocean; the Constant Conversation and it would keep speaking for many more hundred years. I quickly snapped out of my thoughts when the real answer to all my questions would wake from sleep, I’d realise then that there are better things in this life than far away beaches and endless oceans. Actually, there is just one. Jade.


The Sheraton Gambia Hotel Resort & Spa is located at Brufut Heights, Serrekunda; The Gambia. More information can be culled from www.sheraton.com/gambia and they are reachable on + 220 441 0889 and +220 775 4402


 Sidenote: All intending couples or married couples should buy a table-tennis set, it will do wonders, trust me.

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.

Playing Marco Polo In the Capital

One of the advantages or the self-prescribed benefits of living in a city and being trendy is finding places on the whimsy. If Sitcoms are to be believed our generation finds their Eden or Zen place completely by whimsy, like Central Perk a-la popular sitcom Friends. We just stumble into places either because they are close and convenient or we are out of options, and once stumbled we settle and that place becomes the “spot”, or at least that’s how it works on TV. When I find such a place I will be sure to inform you.

No, this entry will not be about how I discovered Narnia in Abuja; although it was certainly in the hopes of that that this particular consummate experience came about. Abuja as I have mentioned many times before is a City of many talents, and lends itself to discovery and definition. The road networks are easy enough to ply and traffic is manageable; the result of this is that you often zoom past several places or “spots” without paying it attention; it is therefore easy to discover somewhere that had always been there and have your own little Indiana Jones moment.

On a night that had seen me put more hours at the office than my contract stipulated or the International Labour Organisation permitted, I felt famished expectedly and decided I wanted to taste the orient, and still remain pocket friendly. Cheap Chinese, it was then. Getting to Chinese Express I was met with a sign informing me that they had shut down for renovation. Perfect!!!

It was then I remembered that I had heard of a Chinese Restaurant not too far from where I was, and I must have driven past that road on many occasions without ever noticing. And so began my consummate experience for the evening. The restaurant was easy enough to locate, being on a prominent road in the Maitaima District of Abuja, after disembarking I realised that the restaurant in question was Marcopolo of Lagos fame.

I was in the company of one of our regular guests here on CE, we walked in with open minds, vowing to judge the restaurant on its own merits and not in the shadow the Lagos establishment. First thing you notice when you walk in is the space and the use of space. Marcopolo is carved into a larger building, and if you weren’t looking for it, you might not find it. The restaurant is L-shaped and neatly arranged two person dining tables along the walls; the end result is very intimate; it is almost like the interior designer didn’t want you hearing other diner’s conversation or even smelling their food. It worked.

The lighting was especially dim, and they had been placed in oriental looking fabric paper with a reddish/clay hue- much like the CE at the Chinese Express, where I had originally intended to dine-, and the room was also separated in places by movable wooden partitions that weren’t ceiling high, so this meant that if you were tall enough you could actually spy on other patrons who felt they were being private. Taking the room in one glance it felt like a Geisha would come out from the partition at any moment.

We were seated and our waiter went off to bring our menus, in that time I gave the room another once-over to observe other diners, seated behind us was the customary Abuja socialite- at least that is the face he wore- and his female companion, who also gave me a once-over and concluded in that same instant that I wasn’t in the same social circle. The witch! (Please feel to replace the W with a B. Thanks). Sitting diagonally from my table was a young couple with a new-born child whom they couldn’t stop doting over. It was a nice visual, and somewhere in the back of the L-shaped space there was revelry of some kind, and that place had been partitioned off from us basic people.

The waiter arrived with the menus and the evening became even more interesting. Running a curious eye over some of the offerings I had to admit that they had covered the spread nicely from Cantonese to Sichuan and Jiangsu cuisine, but some of the helpings and prices were suspect. For instance the waiter and I got into it over their Shark Fin dish; firstly Abuja for all its glory is landlocked, most of the bodies of water in Abuja are manmade, and while it is just over an hour to Lokoja where most of the seafood is sourced from, I am pretty sure that there are no Great Whites lurking in the depths of the Niger and the Benue. Nothing is impossible though, after watching Nigerians give new meaning to Free Willy with the stranded whale in Lagos, it is quite possible that we have turned our appetites to other aquatic predators.

After a spirited conversation with the waiter where I made the observation that the menu was probably printed off the web, I asked him to give me more time to make my decision. I had a craving for a duck-based meal and flipped the menu over to that section, and had another reason to summon the waiter for a round two of a spirited conversation. Their Roasted Duck meal was set at N15, 000.00; I simply wanted to find out why the duck was so expensive, and waited calmly to hear if the duck in question was Donald Duck of Disney fame or perhaps his not so distant cousin Daffy of Looney Toon fame or perhaps the mascot from the Mighty Duck movie franchise, as it turned out the duck was none of the above, the waiter did however have some interesting insights on agro-economics.

He departed a third time, while I perused the menu for something reason satisfactory, I settled for the Black Peppered Beef on a hot plate and the summoned my waiter for round three of what had so far proven to be an interesting series. I also decided in his transit to start my meal with a “cup” of chicken and sweet corn soup. When he took down my menu, I enquired what the difference between a full bowl and a cup of soup was, and he quite sternly told me that the former was ideal for two people, and in the same breath told me he would cancel my large order as he felt I would waste the food and the medium was a better choice for me.

After I picked up my jaw from the floor, I proceeded to ask our nanny why he felt that I wasn’t capable of making my own choices, he matter-0f-factly reiterated that I would end up being wasteful and regretting my choice. I looked at Nanny Mcphee and I was twice his size and it happened on me to mention that the reason for this was because I indulged my palate, but you rarely meet people in businesses who aren’t eager to take money off you; I figured he must be a Deeper Life member, so I allowed him place the order as he saw best.

While we waited for the senior prefect to bring our meal back, the restaurant received more guests, it seemed the soiree in the back was an all ladies affair, and various women in various stages of undress came walking in, looking straight ahead, with the kind of steely determined hypocritical look you can only have when you are half naked and don’t want to catch people looking in the exact way that such dressing would inspire. We were in good company.

The meal finally arrived, hot plate and everything, and the moment of truth arrived as I waited to see just how much these generous waste-inducing portions were. Well, true to the description the cup of soup was indeed served with a cup helping and I still do not understand how the cup would have adequately served one person, unless of course that person also wears a bib and is still mastering motor skills. The soup was uninspired and lacked any memorable moments, and the sizzle of the hot plate was the only thing distinct about the black peppered beef. It was the equivalent of watching a movie trailer with the baritoned voice-over, only to walk into the cinema hall and discover that the movie was in fact freshly served manure. It was Tonto Dikeh till she opened her mouth. It was false advertising. I have tasted more inspired meals and this particular meal in other establishments; shout out to the Dragon Chinese Restaurant in Port Harcourt!!!

In the middle of my experience, I had forgotten to notice that our waiter had failed to deliver my companion’s dish and when he was summoned for round four, he informed us straight-faced that after my order he didn’t feel it was necessary to place the second order, as surely I couldn’t finish that meal on my own and he didn’t want waste. I concluded at that moment that surely he was a member of Deeper Life and was opposed to any form of self-indulgence or whimsy, like cable television, Ice-cream, breathing excess oxygen, Coca-Cola, extra helpings, having more children that required to till your farm, spare change and facial hair.

I convinced him to please place the order, it was shredded chicken in green pepper, but as if he wanted to prove the point the food arrived late, at which point we had finished the first meal and really didn’t have the appetite to continue with the second meal, before our waiter par excellence could break into a self-satisfied smile, I countered him and asked him to pack it for take-away. As I broke into my own self-satisfied smile, I almost shouted “checkmate dumbass!!!” but I decided to be civil.

As we waited for the take-away packs, one of the mannequins broke away from the crowd at the back to answer the phone, unfortunately she drifted towards the young couple and their new-born and I honestly cannot make this up, as soon as she came close enough the baby started shrieking. Now the more scientific or practical among you readers will say that’s a complete coincidence, but I have it on authority that babies can sense evil more accurately than adults, and that’s what I believe; her marine spirit upset the innocent child. The mother and father obviously shared my opinion; they caught me in stitches and had a giggle themselves. It was good to see that some people in this life hadn’t placed a ban on whimsy or humour.

No sooner had I bonded with perfect strangers over the marine spirit than the coven of winches (read: witches or emere or ogbanje) and fleet of marine spirits made their way out from the back, flaxen hair, bright prints and all. I didn’t make eye contact with any of them, I have watched enough Nollywood movies, I glanced around for my barometer of evil, but his mother had taken him outside to pacify him. Our takeaways packs arrived; I had a lively conversation with Lurch our waiter, settled the N10, 000.00 tab and walked out as the restaurant shut down.

As we walked out I wondered why I had not asked the waiter if he was a Deeper Life Christian, and reflected on a night borne completely out of whimsy and the subsequent rebel against the whimsical.

Marcopolo Chinese Restaurant is located at 70 Usuma Street, 911 Plaza, Maitiama, Abuja.

Arabian Nights in the Capital

One unassailable fact of life is that, it (life) is remarkably easier to get through with good company, and while I am yet to discover my super-human talent- be rest assured I have one, if Magneto can control metals, and Professor Xavier can bend, read and control minds, I can probably plank in between the time President Jonathan took office and the time its taking him to form a government - or the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, I have made my way through life thus far, with the good fortune of meeting interesting and good people.


This good fortune caught up to me over an interesting weekend, where some of my cronies from out of town and time (Coughs #Williams) visited the capital for what we called a retreat- but in reality was just a group disregarding age and wisdom and taking the absolute piss. There was eating, and drinking and attempts at the moonwalk, the running man, the electric slide, the butterfly, ballet, the waltz and all other antiquated closeted dance moves, there was also singing, in all, general pisstaking.


I have spent some time in the south-south of this our fine country, to be precise in the creeks staking out Boyloaf and Tompolo with the 81^st Army Airborne Division out of Kafancha in Kaduna……I see the look of awe on your face… it seems I forgot to mention my daytime job, I am a Special Ops Army Officer and I…..back to our regular scheduled programme. I have spent some time in Port Harcourt and has Duncan Mighty has already told you, I am a Port Harcourt boy!!!! But the biggest takeaway from PH for me was the people I met there, one of which is Mr. Donald Okudu, Mr. Okudu is handicapped as he doesn’t understand anything if not explained to him in art, design or animation (it will be interesting to see how he reacts in a delivery room), no Donald isn’t “special”, he isn’t autistic, this is just how he chooses to enter the world.


Another huge takeaway from PH is Mr. Williams Derrick, entertainment Impresario & stage manager extraordinaire, now Mr. Williams is my slightly more advanced colleague, let’s just say for the purpose of this entry, that Mr. Williams was around when Nigerians were still spending Shillings, scratch that Cowries, scratch that he discovered River Niger, scratch that he personally knew Solomon Grundy. Straight Face. He however is the most honest person I have had the pleasure of meeting, and if his heart were any bigger he would need surgery.


These two fine PH/Lagos Imports formed part of that motley crew over the weekend, completed by my regular casts of bandits, Ms. Onyinyedamola Iroha and Mrs. Shephatiah (it’s in the bible, one of the names before Adam was created) Obadan, my colleagues in the bullpen. What these gentleman and myself have in common is a unique taste in soul music (Kem, Raheem Devaughn anybody?) and an even bigger taste in fine cuisine. And so began another memorable consummate experience.

After a complete weekend of activity as described above, on the last evening of our weekend we all decided to end it by having a meal, and yours truly was asked to suggest and promptly I named Al- Basha, the upscale Lesbianese Lebanese (I will address this in another post) restaurant, and I picked it for no other reason than I had yet to experience the restaurant.

Al-Basha is located in the Maitaima District of Abuja, one of the high(er) brow areas of the capital, the entire district is remarkable for its dual ability to seem unassuming but at the same time display such diabolic wealth and then manage to keep a straight face, as though surprised that wasn't how all humans lived.

We drove into Al-Basha and like all other reputable restaurants in the city, it is housed in a house that has been converted into a restaurant, the first thing to tick of the box for Al-Basha was the attempt at providing adequate parking space like they understood that most of their patrons wouldn’t parachute into the premises or emerge from the pond in the middle of the restaurant – sorry my military mind at work, what? I am serious. Walking into the restaurant you immediately notice that the owner had gone through great lengths to keep the theme of the restaurant Arabian, there was a courtyard, giving you the choice to dine in the open or walk into the restaurant for more personal dining.

The walls had a mustard colour to them, and were in perfect rhythm with the lighting, which at first I as a well groomed Nigerian, figured was low current from our national carrier NEPA, on inspection I realized that the lights were dimmed. The overall effect was the room welcomed you like you would expect an Arabian hut would, it was charming.

We all sat and the waiter, decked out in complete garb or costume reminiscent of Aladdin approached us, he reminded me of the Genie in Aladdin, I would have asked his name but I was very certain if I made eye contact I wouldn’t keep a straight face. He handed us the menu’s, I said “Open Sesame”, but the menu didn’t open as I expected, awwwwhh schucks !!!! We all made our orders, and in the many things asked for, there was Lamb Chops, Grilled Lobsters, Black Pepper Steak, Baba Ghanoush, Chicken Wings and a salad. Our waiter jumped on his magic carpet and whisked away to sort out our orders. 

As we waited for the food to arrive, I noticed that the deliberate dim lights seemed to brighten intensely periodically; I thought this was once again the work of NEPA, till I noticed that it seemed the energy was being generated from our table between two people. The rest of us watched in amusement as topics of athletic performance and artistic skill were bandied between the two, and noticed with equal amusement how the lights brightened every time more information was passed between the two. Upon closer inspection, Onyinye and I realized that it wasn’t actually the lights in the rooms that were brightening, but the glint in her eyes every time they spoke. Hmmmm.


As we watched our own version of Jacobs Cross play out in front of us, the food arrived and it was all over the place, Steak here, Grilled Lobster there, and while that was fine for the recipients of the meal, it didn’t really allow me strategize on how to pick off everybody’s plate. So I did the simple thing and concentrated on my own meal, and dear Lord, the lamb was sublime, in fact I have since decided that the lamb was descended from the one Abraham sacrificed for Isaac in the bible, it was a holy lamb, and gentleman lamb. It tasted good. The farmers or Shephatiah shepherd must have fed the thing, gravy, lollipops or candy-floss all its life. The meal was served with rice, I am sure, I don’t recall how the rice tasted, all I know was the lamb was on my plate and there was bone in it separating me from another slice of meat.


On my right Onyinye had decided to take the average of all the meals, having ordered a salad herself, ‘cos her plate had at least one thing off everybody’s plate, Shephatiah was cutting away like the Queen into grilled lobster, Williams was cutting his way into steak and Donald was deciding what colour to paint his lobster. No, seriously he was cutting away into his meal as well. You know a meal is good, when people who had previously spent time chatting and yabbering are all suddenly mute. I can’t suppose for anybody else, but my lamb was good, infact it was so good it should have been part of the X-Men. It should have been Professor Xavier’s sidekick, ‘cos sure as hell, the meat on the plate was reading my mind.


After a session of bantering, and I had said a prayer for my lamb, we exited the restaurant, complete in the experience for the night. We got into the car, I looked up to see if I would catch our waiter silhouetted on the moonlight on his magic carpet, no such luck. We drove out the gate, and It occurred to me that the President didn’t have to look to far in solving the energy problems, he just needed to hook up two of the dinner guest to the national grid and let them flirt, problem solved.

Al Basha is located on 11 Cassandra street, Off Usuma Street, Off Gana Street, Maitama. They can be reached on   + 234 -807-6909-993 begin_of_the_skype_highlighting            + 234 -807-6909-993      end_of_the_skype_highlighting, +234, 807-7667-766.

** Sidenote: Mrs. Shephatiah Obadan is actually a Ms. Shephatiah Obadan, and I am available for all comments.  Baba Ghanoush is actually hardened Pap with stew on top. True Story. Everything else aside, Mr Okudu and Mr. Derrick are extraordinary talents, and should you ever need to express yourself creatively, I am available for comment.