Becoming a Member of The Clan

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                             v.      Waiter: Welcome back

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


 

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.

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.

Accepting Compromise In The Clubhouse

Abuja is a city of many talents, by my considerable standards and that of many it remains the flagship city of the Federal Republic of Nigeria. No doubt as they read this, many of the Lagosians will bite on iron and swear that theirs is the best city on the living planet, bear in mind that many of the lads and friends that have visited me here in the capital from Lagos remark on how peaceful (before they who should not be mentioned became resident) and well-kept the city was, and in their moments of clarity many of them wished that their jobs or family would relocate them to the capital.


Of course they have since returned to Lagos and have inhaled the smog that is Lagos air, and naturally they have taken leave of their senses (I no yab una o!) and will now swear that Gidi is the best. This debate between Lagos and Abuja can rage forever, admittedly there are many fine things about Eko, dynamic leadership, a city that never sleeps, vibrant entrepreneurs and equally vibrant social life, the sea, and that Lagos mentality where everyone is wiser than his neighbour often leading to the general state where no one is wise at all.


But Abuja is for the cultured man, nothing is rushed or hastened, because we generally understand that quality and good decisions take time, the city works at everyone’s individual pace or pulse. If you want the city to go fast for you, it will and if you need it to crawl, it is just as likely to do that. If you live in Ibadan please remain silent, this debate is for town dwellers.


For all the sophistication of the capital, one thing that it has constantly failed to do, is  offer a decent serving of milkshake, make no mistake, it does try but somewhere between throwing peak powder milk in with ice cream, or in some cases with yoghourt it fails woefully. It has now become a pet project of mine to order it wherever I see it appear on the menu, holding out hope that, that one time, someone would hit the mark.


It was no different when I spotted the choice on the menu of The Clubhouse, my default setting is to order it and then select the meal later and this is exactly what I did. The Clubhouse is located in  Life Camp of Abuja City, and while technically no one location in the Capital is too far from the other, Life Camp automatically gives you the sense that is deliberately removed from everywhere else.
This might have to do with the fact that most of the senior management of construction giants like Julius Berger, Gilmor and their ilk reside in this part of town. Abuja is a manmade city, this is a noted fact, and is forever in a state of development, to live in this city is to be constantly aware that a new road might appear tomorrow, new headquarters for yet another government agency will spring forth, but Life Camp allows a sense of finish and calm, I have never heard any ruckus or disturbance anytime I have been there, and this might not be an accurate measure for it overall but Gwarimpa is easy. Like Sunday Morning. I paid Lionel Richie for that, I swear, he didn’t want money so I bought him Petals hair relaxer. True Story.

Coincidentally it was a Sunday morning, and the idyllic nature of  Life Camp is the perfect setting for The Clubhouse which is a little cut-out of paradise, it features a little botanical space complete with swings and jungle gym for the children, it also has a pool that is actually used by patrons, unlike some other establishments I have reviewed (sneezes: Blue Elephant). The pool also allows patrons to dine al fresco, and while it became clear upon arrival that regulars of the restaurant were disproportionately Lesbianese, there was also a fine cross-section of the indigenous.

One such family was sitting by the pool, four little ladies, their mother with the skin of a Greek cruise ship waitress and the father, who’s build would easily qualifying him for the protective services, but whose scowl assured you he had once made a living standing on street corners selling drugs; like Benylin, Strepsil, Flucodin, Tylenol and the rest.

The moment of truth eventually arrived and the milkshake was presented to me, it was chocolate flavoured and while the menu has promised me a mug, I was given a glass. I took the initial sip. It wasn’t a milkshake, I took another sip, and I was now certain what I was drinking was not a milkshake. I took yet another sip, at which point I was able to confidently ascertain that what I had just being served was indeed the famed milo ground with a lot of milk and ice.

What! The audacity! The sheer chutzpah of the waiter and the bar man! I summoned the waiter, and couldn’t wait to let him have a piece of my mind, and when he arrived…………..I simply ordered another glass.

The truth is I don’t care what he had put in that glass, and yes Abuja is still hopeless at serving milkshakes; whatever they concocted was simply delicious and I wanted in. The second class of their compromise arrived, just in time for the Entrée, which included shrimp salad, Baba Ghanoush, Grilled Cheese Sticks and Cream of Chicken soup. It was a full table of friends, all of whom have made at least one guest experience on the consummate experience.

Word to the wise, if you are preparing to have a full meal, do not get zealous with an energy food beverage beforehand. I clearly marked a corner of the table, where I landed the plate of chicken soup and went to work. And while it didn’t have the thickness I am usually accustomed to, it made for that in richness, and it was a very generous portion. I order this soup almost every other review, so at that point I was on autopilot and the engines had begun to fail. I had gorged myself on the compromise-shake and was beginning to suffer the effects.

As I deflected the chiding of my colleagues on the table I looked up to the heavens from whence cometh my help, and noticed that while the interior decorating for the clubhouse wasn’t elaborate, it was easy to miss the finer details; such as the roof being supported by massive tree trunks, or pillars encased in a tree trunk. I am not an architect so I cannot speak to how it was done, but added to the botanical space outside it was clear they were going for an organic feel.

By the time my mind and eyes wondered back to the table, my main dish had arrived Chicken Scallopini and the portion was generous. In retrospect, I suppose I could have just asked them to take-it-away for me, but I soldiered on even in the face of apparent discomfort, much like our First lady speaking English, a language she is not accustomed to……. Ok that was a cheap shot, I shouldn’t  malign the person of the First Lady like that…but I’d rather speak behind a person’s back than gossip about them………get it…….

Chicken Scallopini is a meal prepared from chicken breasts that is then drenched in lemon juice and sautéed with breadcrumbs. That is all I know of it, and I am sure it tasted great but I was already stuffed and was simply going through the motions. My meal was completed after a stretch, and after another stretch I pushed myself from the table and proceeded for the exit.

As we walked out, with me in discomfort, I wondered if this was how Atiku felt when he tried by force to win an election. Sometimes you have to know when to walk away……

The Clubhouse Resort is located the TAK Continental Estate in Gwarimpa, and can be reached on either of the following 0807-704-0404 or 0808-989-0700

Sidenote: Forgive the cheap swipes at notable figures, as we approach the 51^st year of our Independence as a country, there is precious little to do other than laugh. If you believe in God, take a moment to pray for our Country, Nigeria, we need it. On a lighter note, fine cuisine is nothing without fine wine, and I have been remiss in my duty in not including it in my reviews (no be my fault, wine cost for these places). Luckily a friend of the Consummate Experience has a fantastic place to get tips and recommendation on wine and can be accessed on http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100002258693175

The Elephant in the Room

Consistency is key. When you find something that you enjoy and have decided to share; that thing is only enjoyable to the extent that it is consistent, and I realise readers that I have not been consistent, for this I apologise. For those of you, who just happened upon my page for the first time, forgive my delusions of grandeur. It has been a busy few months, and I seem to have only documented my consummate experiences in my head alone. But now we remedy that.


Home is where the heart is, this well-worn refrain is necessary, because this consummate experience takes place in the fine city of Port-Harcourt. My claim in my previous reviews to be a Port-Harcourt boy are now validated, I am well aware this review was established for Abuja, but I take Abuja wherever I go, so it still holds. 


The City of Port Harcourt is for all intents and purposes one of the four metro-cities in Nigeria, its oil wealth and its dynamic leadership have certainly put it on the map in recent times. The denizens of this fine state possess a certain way about them; and to the keen observer it is a curious mix. They are constantly reaching for the finer things in life, Moet & Chandon, Cristal Champagne, The Best in Swiss Watches, while only a moment removed from a good old-fashioned brawl. The average Port Harcourt man will go to great lengths to prove himself worthy of his great wealth and affluence, but will always remind you he came up; that he too is from the streets and cannot be taken advantage of. This is the spirit of the Niger Delta.


In this there is always a smile, there is always laughter. Port Harcourt understands the groove. As I no longer enjoy loud music, cramped spaces and ladies in various states of undress (Jesus Saves!), when I am in town I seek out what pacifies my soul. Food.


Good food can solve any problem is my sincere belief, it can stop wars and restore peace, toss the amnesty plan! Let’s rehabilitate with food! One place in the Port Harcourt metropolis that always meets my criteria for war-ending, peace-restoring, family-restoring, children-laughing, flowers-growing food is Blue Elephant.


Blue Elephant is a located in GRA Phase ll of Port Harcourt; it’s a non-distinct building save for the Blue Elephant head proudly mounted on the gate. Why it is called Blue Elephant, no one seems to know; was a blue elephant killed and buried in the foundation of the building? Did the Lesbianese Lebanese owner have a pet blue elephant when s/he was a child? Maybe it was a stuffed animal? Is there a song called blue elephant that it’s named after? These are all the questions you might wonder till the sheer genius of the food stuns your olfactory and gustatory senses. (Yes, I too dey form knowing English, go find dictionary).


The non-descript nature of the place adds to its allure; there is not much by way of interior decoration indoors, as though the owner feels certain that food is all that matters and everything else is a side distraction. There is a bar outside, at the back, with tables arranged around a pool that no one ever seems to use, this feeble attempt at ambience is what attracts most people, as most if not all the patron prefer to sit outside.


I have asked before whom the pool is meant to serve and have yet to receive a credible answer, personally I believe that the pool is meant for the Blue Elephant the owners and the staff pray to, to make their food so good. The pool is where the elephant comes to wash and drink water. Curiously the restaurant is never open on Monday, this must be when they bring the elephant out of its hiding place and pray to it; their prayers must work. Anonymous sources have confirmed to me that every Monday about 2-3 massive trucks can be seen parked outside, this must be how they transport the elephant. 


As you can tell by now, I am not a newbie to Blue Elephant, we are well acquainted. (But I do not worship it, Jesus Saves!). I have some pull in Port Harcourt, (I command you to be impressed!) so I was able to place my orders before getting to the restaurant by calling their direct line and making my order. Whatever!! I still have some pull.


A consummate experience is always better in the company of friends, and on this consummate experience I was joined by Onyinye and Donald, my colleagues and featured guest in my last consummate experience. We walked in and were ushered to our table, shortly after which, our food arrived.


The crowd was lively, livelier than I remember Blue Elephant being, but admittedly it was a weekend, and a cross section of the restaurant revealed the customary solitary babe waiting on her order, playing on her blackberry, removed from the environment with a look of cerebral detachment on her face, while at the same time parting her Brazilian hair every once and again to see how many guys had checked her out. There was the mandatory business group in another corner, thrashing out some high-profiled deal, just loud of enough to hear the financial details but too low to hear the specifics. In another corner was the obligatory Port Harcourt big boy and his date, who wore a look that expressed he would much rather be in Tima’s on stadium road eating afang soup, and his bleached and patched counterpart who wore a look that expressed she had a test first thing the next morning and hadn’t studied yet. The most interesting sight for me was an older white gentleman, weather-beaten with leathery features, who sat quietly in his corner drinking his Gulder from an Ice Bucket. Who does that!!!! I have seen him there everytime I have visited, I am quite sure he is the High Priest of the Blue Elephant. 

The first indication that this experience might not tally with my former experiences, was the orders came in wrong. I had ordered cream of mushroom soup, and Spaghetti Carbonara which already comes with bacon bits, the attending waiter on the phone heard cream of mushroom soup,Spaghetti Carbonara & Pork in pepper, because that’s what arrived. With my dish came an assortment of other dishes, Donald as usual ordered Hummus and King Prawns with Fries, Onyinye as usual fell into a predatory stance where she waited for her meal and ate off everyone else’s plate. Her meal eventually arrived and it was a grilled fish dish, but at this time I had tuned out to make sure I was paying rapt attention to the task ahead of me.

For frequent visitors to this page, you will realise that the meal that was ordered was very similar to the meal ordered in the first consummate experience, and blue elephant was the original inspiration of that selection. As usual the soup was thick and elastic, I could use it to hold up my trousers, it worked and I enjoyed it. My attention was somewhat distracted as the waiter had managed to crowd the table with food, with dishes that weren’t in the order, like the pork dish which I had to go through as I savoured the soup.

The pork lacked any lasting impression; the only thing that can be said about it was that it was so well done; if I had the time or inclination I would have argued with the waiter on whether we had been served swine or bovine. (See what I did there? A little rhyming, genius!). After devouring the soup and the pork, I moved onto my main course. The pork was eaten like a starter, and I must have been stuffed or overwhelmed, because the fireworks I was certain I would experience, didn’t come.


To make certain that I wasn’t going off on a tangent, I asked around the table and it seemed that I wasn’t the only one unimpressed with our dishing. I looked around to make sure we were still in Blue Elephant, the water in the pool was still full so the Elephant god wasn’t thirsty, the oyinbo high priest was still drinking his libations in the corner, so what was wrong? Did they not pray to the elephant last Monday? I continued with the meal, but it didn’t have the usual cream or texture that I am used to, while all the ingredients were there, they weren’t confusing my senses. 

I had to call the head waitress and ask if the chef had recently broken up with his girlfriend; she laughed and assured me that he was fine, but for all her good cheer, the food was not fine. It tasted like it was prepared by a broken hearted man; like someone who was hurting, who was going through the motions but didn’t put his soul in anything anymore. The food didn’t have its magic; it had lost its jazz. The Blue Elephant god was obviously not happy and neither was this consummate experiencer.

As we walked out, N17500 lighter, I did a little mental calculation and wondered what the cost-benefit of hiring a private investigator to look into the restaurant’s activities every Monday. 

The Blue Elephant restaurant is located on 85 King Perekule Street, GRA Phase ll, Port Harcourt.

Sidenote: Blue Elephant is usually a stand-out culinary experience in Port Harcourt that probably doesn’t worship an elephant, if you happen to be in Port Harcourt area, visit and please look out for their Mexican Salad and their Ice Cream cake. You will thank me.