Nigerian-British Relations in a Thai Restaurant

There are many places in Abuja that you can spend the entire year driving by without ever noticing what is around you. Abuja is that town; a town that may already have the answers to all your questions but never announce it. Maybe is the stellar condition of the road networks, but people don’t stop to observe till the rare occasion of deadlock traffic; or maybe it is because for some reason architecture in Abuja mimics itself, you can never tell if its residential, commercial or for leisure.

I had driven past Sawadee, which is located off the very popular Aminu Kano axis of Abuja, on several occasions. I hadn’t so much as looked at it in the past, I was always headed somewhere else. I however did come to notice it rather fortuitously; I was forced to slow down at one of those ubiquitous speed bumps in Abuja and it was there I noticed the sprawling building. I made a mental note to visit for a Consummate Experience.

I made attempts to experience Sawadee shortly after I discovered it, but my plans were thwarted at the last minute for various reasons, and once, while actually arriving at the gate I was waylaid by the bold Quit sign that had been plastered on the gate. Apparently the city administration just discovered that, restaurants and other such establishments needed to renew their permits. I found the same sign at the entrance of the dry-cleaners in the same week. I would have assumed that it was some grand conspiracy by Omo and Indomie to take the market, but nah, that's too smart.

Eventually permits were paid for, or someone was bribed or someone was called and told that it was this persons or that person’s wife that owned the business; whatever the back-room dealing, I arrived at Sawadee one night and the gates were welcome to me. I was immediately taken with how much space the area had, at rough estimates you could park 50-60 vehicles within the premises, and if you really wanted too with a little common sense you could fit in a few more. The building which again, looked like a house, sat back within the area and there was another building right next to it. The house looked all the more daunting and ominous because my car was the only one parked.

I walked the short distance to the front door and noticed the little bridge that should typically have had fish swimming underneath it, I looked down and there were no fishes. Sawadee that day seemed particularly lonely, I thought to myself, perhaps the ambience would be more comely. I walked in and was greeted by a waitress by the door who was dressed very smartly, she had a warm smiled and welcomed me in, but that was the only thing that was warm about the restaurant at that time. The décor was oriental enough, but it didn't look like it had been built as a restaurant, it was tellingly a house.

I walked into the dining area affirming to the waitress that there was no company, there was a staircase leading upstairs and a bar area with the visible drink cooler that is now becoming the norm, complete with all the local and foreign brew. I sat down and noticed that I was in company of some British nationals who weren't doing a very good job of keeping their conversations to themselves, or perhaps it was the acoustics of the room.

The menu was brought to me promptly, for this I was grateful. I studied the menu and realised how extensive it was when I got to number 75, I settled for a Poh pia tod (Prawn and Mayonnaise Springroll) Tom Kha Kai (chicken hot spicy coconut with galangal), Kao pad kai (egg fried rice), Nua pad graprao (stir fried beef) with lots of freshly  squeezed orange juice and water. 

 Left to my own devices, I had time to pay the restaurant a little more attention, the dining area could easily take 40-50 covers, the décor was oriental but wasn't bold or bright, it didn't take your attention right away, it played with very light or drab colours. The chairs were covered in a light blue cover, and the table mats were a chequered clay-dust brown colour, without careful inspection, it almost looked like Ankara material. The décor was like that weak handshake you give in the hallways of a busy office when you are in transit, it functioned but clearly showed your mind was somewhere else.

With nothing else to do but fiddle with my phone, my attention was soon drawn to the table of Brits who were loudly exchanging war stories from their time in Nigeria, they were largely trading stories on their families’ horror when they had been sent to Nigeria; but they, the Brits apparently were loving it. The conversation moved to all the things to do and places to go, soon enough as to be expected when there are a group of men, the conversation moved to women. They couldn't believe how easy it was with Nigerian women, if I was more inclined I would have pointed out that the women they so gallantly put on their arms were often un-pretty and often had a price, but I wasn't in the mood. I just imagined what these men would all look like in twenty years; sitting at the same table, balding, with their Nigerians wives waiting at home in the house that they bought for them, wondering how a 2-year post turned into a twenty year marriage with children. The real Africa Magic isn't on Dstv, it is in some obscure village sitting in a pot.

My starter arrived and caught me in the middle of that thought, the waiter paused to see what had me so amused, I waved him on. I was caught in my own mind; the soup was served in a very large metal pot that looked very Asian. I served myself and with the thought of the Brits being colonised in Nigeria, I took my first spoonful. It was complete sensory overload. Thai food has always been a bit of a funny one to me, the mix of herbs and plants that have little in common has always given me pause, but good cuisine is nothing if not experimental.

But Thai Food is complete sensory overload especially the soups; you never know which herb you are smelling and which you are tasting at the same time, it is like having a traffic light in your mouth with all lights giving instructions all at once; red, yellow and green all at once. The predominant herbs and ingredients were lemon-grass  coconut, chicken and a kaleidoscope of other herbs and spices that I couldn't possibly place. Lemon-grass is such a potent ingredient with such a strong smell, you don’t understand when you are tasting or when you are smelling it, despite this I kept at it till I had thoroughly tried to guess everything in the soup and failed. In retrospect it was an interesting culinary experiment and I enjoyed it. The main course arrived before I finished the starter.

I swiftly moved onto the main dish and I cannot remember having stir fried beef as well as this, and I have had my fair share of oriental food. The beef was tender and dissolved as soon as it hit the tongue, it was coated in a thick soy-based paste, and there was no experiment about it. The dish was a master-class, I didn't need to understand what went where, or what was in it, I simply understood that it was something that I needed to keep eating. I would put a spoon of rice and beef in my mouth and wait for the moment it would hit me, when it would engage me. It was almost instant, I would smell the food before I would even taste it, like my nose was giving my tongue expo on what to expect. I almost willed myself not to swallow the food, not wanting to let the moment pass.

At the time it did register that the food tasted more Chinese than Thai, but who was to judge and quite frankly who cared. It was labour, it was a matter of putting enough of the food in the space that I was forcing my brain to create in my stomach; it was a fool’s errand.

Sensing my dilemma, my efficient waiter stepped up and asked if I might enjoy taking it away, I must have nodded in the affirmative because he whisked the food away and presented it a short time later. The final bill was settled at N 10,000.00 and I was on my way.

I got to the car and noticed that it had been washed and polished, I smiled and tipped the dutiful security men who had made this happen, I thought about the quit notice still at the entrance of my launderers, I wondered if they would have done my laundry while I ate, but as soon as I cleared the speed bumps I was off into the Abuja Night. Another Consummate Experience complete.

Sawadee Oriental Cuisine is located at No 43/45 Kumasi Crescent ,off Aminu Kano Crescent ,Wuse II Abuja, Nigeria and  can be reached on +234 813 903 1019 or +234 9 291 1286.

The Italian Job

They say when you have a passion for something you will find time for it, and while I find this to be true, I also know that life is a massive cauldron of moving parts; I also know that a man or woman of many passions rarely finds time for them all. This is all by way of saying that I have had a busy couple of months, and this is no lame excuse either. I have spent the past few months getting married; you will recall that I introduced readers to my significant other last year in our first roaming edition. See Here 

For those who care, the wedding ceremonies held in Lagos and Abu Dhabi were wonderful, full of adventure and full of consummate experiences which shall all be addressed at a later date. As food takes a central role in my day-to-day activities, this entry, this consummate experience has always been writing itself and editing itself in my mind. If truth be told, this is the longest period of time between an actual consummate experience and the review- over a year. Maybe when you are done reading you can decide for yourself why that is.

I am partial to cheese based meals, so, many pasta dishes suit me well, matter of fact I love Italian food. Period. For those of who have followed all the experiences, you will realise the first review was of an Italian Inspired restaurant, that experience wasn’t too enjoyable. Since then I have been on the look-out for redemption; Da Maria Italian restaurant in Wuse ll seemed the most natural and obvious choice. There are no pretensions from the on-set; it makes every effort to look like Little Italy or any other Ristorante on the streets of Milan or Napoli. From the quaint stone décor in the narrow stairway complete with fine Italian Reds to the small round tables covered in red and white chequered table cloth, the décor was deliberately rustic and charming. If the intent was to transport you away from your immediate environment, if only for a minute, then it worked.

There were two rooms for the dining area, separated by an archway; it was spacious enough, it could easily take about 30-40 covers with adjustments, n the dining area a small window had been carved into the wall of what I assumed was the kitchen. 

Every once in a while a woman who looked to either be of Italian or Lebanese descent would jut a hand or a face through the window to either take or deliver an order.  A short walkway led to a small deli full of anything you would need to make the perfect Italian dish; anything from Feta Cheese to the quintessential Olive oil, Red Wine, Cured Meats and a variety of Pastas. I looked forward to the meal anxiously.

A waiter attended to me promptly, and I scanned the menu and decided to settle on an Italian antipasti dish of cured meats and cheeses for my starter dish, and for some reason I decided against my better angels to select the Cabbage Goulash for the main course. Now, there are certain words that need no direct translation to any language; the enunciation alone leaves nothing to the imagination. Goulash doesn’t sound like something friendly to man or beast, doesn’t sound like something edible or tasty. With due apologies to my brethren in the Baltic Areas but every people have their own words, like Nyanya doesn’t sound like a place you would build Silverbird, there is reason Akpos is the butt of all new jokes, Musibau doesn’t sound like the name of a President, Wilberforce sounds like the name of a Classics Professor and Amala and Gbegiri aren’t served in the Hilton. And cabbage on its best day still smells like bum. However despite my recent protestation and social observation, I ordered the Goulash with a bottle of Traditional Italian Rosso while I mused on the brilliance of Andre Bocelli’s Con Te Partiro. The song is simply brilliant.

Frequent readers of this space will know that restaurants are the best place for people watching in close quarters. I scanned the room for dinners and in all, there was a lady with two men sitting across me and some patrons were sitting in the inner room. Not a lot of potential for people watching so I decided to set my attention on the threesome across me.

The lady sitting across from me had the ubiquitous Brazilian weave stapled to her head, or perhaps it was a lace wig, I apologise cosmetics and beauty treatments are not an area I excel. I couldn’t tell if she was naturally pretty or not because she had a layer of face cement plastered on her mien, it was hard to tell. What was obvious however was that she was enjoying obvious chemistry with one of the men on the table, while the other served as the third wheel. He would guffaw at something meant to be funny or nod his head the appropriate amount of times when an opinion needed to be confirmed. His meal was being paid for.

My antipasti arrived just in time to stop me from judging strangers and feeling superior. It was as antipasti is, full of salted cured meats like Prosciutto, Chorizo, Mushrooms and other Italian Meats. Having a mouth full of salted meats and swirling a rich Italian red is momentary bliss. I quickly realised that the meal had been promised with bread and olive oil, which are complementary to most Italian dishes; it was not on my table.

I quizzed the waiter and he admitted that he had forgotten to place the order, which I found incredulous especially when it was meant to come with the meal, equally as incredible was that the chef would forget a component that was so essential. He hurried to remedy the situation while I continued with my dish. Pavarotti’s Magnum Opus Nessun Dorma was blaring through the speakers; whatever the mix-up with back of house, the music selection was sterling.

The lady across from me broke my reverie when she started making a fuss over eating fish or seafood in general; it appeared that someone had placed a seafood food order for her. I heard her say “Me I don’t eat fish or seafood o”! I looked at her and instantly knew why. That would be cannibalism; she couldn’t very well eat her sisters. Marine Spirit.

I returned to my reverie and cleared the antipasti dish, shortly afterwards the Goulash arrived complete with the bread I had expected earlier. Remember there is a reason they don’t serve Amala and Gbegiri in the Hilton, for that same reason they shouldn’t serve this Goulash meal in Da Maria or any other restaurant. It didn’t look welcoming, it had the look you give when you open the door to see uninvited relatives or Jehovah Witnesses or the Taxman. The food itself looked like it was surprised someone had picked it off the menu; the meal looked like it was still trying to understand why.

The cabbage was strewn without much thought or ceremony across the servings of beef, at the very least if the meal was going to be dour, the chef could have tried to decorate the plate. But that’s all it was, just the servings of beef on the plate with the sliced cabbage strewn over it like badly healed tribal marks or tattoos. There is no going around it, cabbage is the red-haired step-child to lettuce; it just doesn’t taste good. I have often heard that if you do not have anything nice to say, do not say anything at all…………………..

Da Maria Italian Restaurant & Delicatessen is located on Plot 98 Aminu Kano Crescent, Wuse II, Abuja. Da Maria can be reached on +234 7052555589. The average price of a meal with a starter in Da Maria is N5,500. 

A Good Place to Start in a City that Strolls

To seek a writer’s talent, is to find the writers indiscipline as well. Most writers are really good at their craft, the very special among us are even better at organisation and timeliness, decidedly this writer doesn’t fall into that category. This would have been up sooner, but I spent a lot of time clearing the dust and cobwebs before I could resume writing. It’s funny how when I began to document my experiences in restaurants I vowed that I would always be consistent, and despite coming late to the blogging enterprise I would keep it going and promote my fancy of fine dining. Yeeeeeaahhhhhhh.

Although I am 17 days and 3 months into it, I would like to wish one and all a Happy New Year, may the road always rise to meet you all. In the time that I have been absent, I have had the pleasure of being introduced to new restaurants and re-visit old ones too. In that period it seems the city of Abuja has woken up to the fact that it will not be Lagos when it comes to the social catalogue, it will not be the City that doesn’t sleep, it is now and may always remain the City that strolls in the evening, stays up a bit late to catch re-runs of Fraiser and the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air then goes to bed. Abuja: the City that strolls.

So what has happened is almost everywhere you turn now there is a new restaurant or bar of sorts, or some establishment for leisure and social activity that promises not to try to hard but will keep you interested all the same; and all with charming names like Beer Barn, Tulip Bistro, Heavenly Deliciousness (Sorry that sounds like a Stripper, pretty certain there is an episode of The Boondocks that has that) and the list continues. I suppose the logic is why open a skating rink, or laser-tag or go-cart arenas for a city of poseurs, who want to talk about Nigeria’s sorry state of affairs without actually doing anything about it, or how there is no quality art or music out there. I should know. I am one of them.

No, No, Abuja is not for people who actually want to do anything or get anything done, it is why it is the perfect place to host the Nigerian Government, we like to talk, we like to muse. Sweat, sweat is for humans, there are only celestials in Abuja, sweat and action is what happens in places south of the Benue and Niger, in places like Lagos. No, in Abuja, we like to wear starched shirts, kaftans and even tighter trousers while we sip on our Café Latte and Green Tea in 30 degree Celsius heat. Abuja is the City that strolls and goes to bed at a respectable time, no, no, Abuja isn’t the city that doesn’t sleep; that’s what Lagos does. Vampires.

Tucked away in the Wuse ll district of Abuja in a shopping complex- for our non-resident readers a shopping complex in Nigeria is meant to be a shopping mall without the ambition and where very little shopping takes place- is Nkoyo, a charming Afro-Continental restaurant. Now, this Consummate Experience wasn’t my first experience of Nkoyo, I had been there on two previous occasions but hadn’t been able to eat. The first occasion I had stuffed my gob at nearby Salamader and since I wasn’t being sacrificed to the gods didn’t see the need to continue stuffing my face.

On the second occasion I had just removed a pestersome incisor immediately before arriving there for a meeting, turns out all those horror tales they tell when you were a child about too much sugar are true. So I watched while everyone else ate and seemingly enjoyed themselves, I could only communicate my bitterness and vow for vengeance with my eyes, in retrospect all I may have succeeded in doing was winking at them which would have led to seriously awkward conversations had they noticed me or taken me seriously.

So my consummate experience was a bit of a triumphant return, I had come to eat. Like I said earlier Nkoyo is tucked away in a Shopping Complex, it is also the restaurant at the top. (I am sorry, you know I had to), as it is on the third floor on the north face of the building. It is a bit of a climb as our shopping complexes don’t have elevators. But it may help you work up a healthy appetite.

Nkoyo set a traditional African feel and walking through the door, you notice that while the interior décor may be sparse it boldly endorses African prints, the use of space is commendable as our shopping complexes usually host corporate bodies who haven’t the need, funds or ambition for proper commercial real estate, and in these offices, most of them Architectural, Construction, Surveyor or Legal firms this same space would usually only hold a few desks and office furniture. But Nkoyo could easily do 32-50 covers and still has space for a grill and back of house. The use of space is commendable, and it probably makes more sense that two of these units were merged to create more space. The staff are friendly, courteous and responsive, and also dressed in African Prints.

The menu for Nkoyo continues the trend; it is a simple choice of Afr0-Nigerian dishes and more recognisable continental dishes and special selection from their grill. So you are likely to see Nigerian staple dishes there like Ofada Rice & Stew, Moi & Moi –what our European Friends have called Bean Pudding, people tend to forget that sometimes what makes a meal good is the name by which it goes, bean pudding can never taste like Moi Moi, the same way Pizza cannot taste like Omi Obe ati breadi (translation Tomato paste and bread). You are just as likely to see Lamb Shoulder with Rice, or Grilled Pork Ribs.

I ordered rapidly, a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, the baked plantain cakes as a starter, Lamb Shoulder with Rice, and under my breath I ordered the Pork Bratwurst Sausage with mashed potatoes as take away; if my experience were to be cut-short unexpectedly or disrupted, I would at least make sure that it continued at home. It is called insurance. Around the table there were calls for the seafood platter and fruit salads from friends of the Consummate Experience, who need no introduction.

I understand that the ownership of Nkoyo is the same as that of Wakkis, an Indian Restaurant that I have reviewed here. That explains the open grill and the restaurant furniture; they seem to a penchant for wood.

 Shortly afterwards our waiter comes back to inform me that they do not have the usual beer mug with which they serve their orange juice, and I would have to make do with a rather slim glass. I informed the gentleman that in that case, I would simply drink two glasses as one, he laughed and he thought I was joking till it was time to settle the bill.

He came back to ask if I would like to wash my Heinz, I thought that a side of Heinz baked beans might do till my Nigerian translator kicked in and I understood it to mean wash my hands, I smiled and agreed to the hot towels. He brought the hot towels and the starters for those who had ordered starters, at once the table was littered with a platter of spring rolls and chicken wings and my order of baked plantain cakes; It never ceases to amaze me how conversation comes to an end when there is food on the table, without warning the conversation just halts. The real talent is continuing the conversation while eating without making it obvious, I was with some talented individuals on the day and we didn’t break stride. The plantain cakes broke softly when you chewed into them, but I was expecting something a little more memorable and while it was a refreshing idea, the only thing I can remember about the meal was the pepper with which it came. I remember spending more time wishing I had ordered something else.

The food came in short order, and we had to tell the waiter to hold the food while we finished the first course. Eventually the food arrived and the waiter asked if I would like that with rice, typically I would have gone into some smart-assed sarcastic tirade about how the name of the meal is called Lamb Shoulder with Rice, but ever since I had dental surgery and while I was under I saw the spirits of my ancestors, I have found a new appreciation for…….nah I am yanking ya, I was too hungry to care. I hurried him along and dug into my meal.

The lamb came off the bone with little difficulty, and it has been hard to forget the meal since, it stuck to the fork like it was meant to be there. You know you are having a good meal when you spend some time contemplating whether you should take the next bite because it will be gone. Good meals also shut you up; no matter how talented you think you are, or how many restaurants you have been to good food will shut you up. Your mouth cannot behold wonder and speak rubbish at the same time. Eventually the table fell quiet; silence of the lamb.

As much as I enjoyed the meal, I quickly found that the meat tore a bit too easily and in the end all I was left with was the bone, much the same as the rush you get when you drink a slushy and realise that the sugar rush is for a moment and all you will be left with is tasteless ice. I wish the meal would have lingered a bit longer, but it was gone as soon as it arrived. But I took heart in the knowledge that somewhere in the back my pork bratwurst was waiting to be united with me.

The bill came and for everything on the table; a tidy sum of N15,000.00, the gentleman waiter who had thought I was joking about having two glasses of juice as one soon found out I am not that funny. Gen, gen, Start Saving or Die Trying coming to a cinema near you!!!

Nkoyo is located on 1 Bathurst Street, off Aminu Kano Crescent, Wuse ll, Abuja and can be reached on +234 70 98 209204 or on +234 70 988 13704

Sidenote: In the time that we have been gone, Chef Simon of Clan Fame and who was featured on our last entry Becoming a Member of the Clan passed away from complications in surgery. He was a brilliant chef and an even better human being and Clan Café will simple not be the same without his towering presence. Spare a moment to say a word of prayer for him and his family should you believe in that sort of thing. May the only Oga at the top keep us all safe.

Of German Beer Gardens and Indian Clay Ovens

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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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

Entering China Through the Express

I find I have to confess another bias, I love Chinese, and I am a Self-Confessed Sinophile, I love the culture, rich heritage, film and food! And say what you like Bruce Lee rocks!!! Enter the Dragon Baby!!!

Like I mentioned in my last post the Chinese are everywhere, one billion trillion of them, China isn’t big enough; the healthy import of this is that they have exported considerable parts of their culture to the world. Their recent predominance in world affairs (leave me I studied it in school) means that like the many colonialists genuine businessmen before them, they have new-found interest in Africa.

As Nigeria is known never to carry last (Insert Translation: Nigerians have a healthy appetite for competition and always win!!!) we have been experiencing our own influx, and it is evident from the less suspicious Chinese restaurants springing up around the capital city, and the more ominous giant CCCC- Chinese Colonialist Construction Corporation- Ripping you off since 2010- Allah that is their slogan!!! (Honestly can anyone get that CCCC acronym right)?

And while I am wont to discuss the benefits of Foreign Direct Investment or the disadvantages of Corporate Imperialism, Goodluck hasn’t commissioned my humble submission that I- yes I- should be made Minister of Foreign Affairs, so I took a day off from my posturing and political grandstanding and swung by the new Chinese restaurant in the Wuse II District of Abuja, and I will tell you all about it after a message from our corporate sponsors.

(Insert Voiceover: Welcome to China!!!! Most of us have watched the late great big boss Bruce Lee in one of his action movie films, and we have all seen someone wear the perhaps not-original-but-close-to-it latest fashion from China, ever wanted to go to China???? Embassy turn you down??? Sad Face?? Not anymore!!!! Offering you your one stop shop Visa Procurement Agency!!! Idon Fraud & Sons guarantees you Visa to the orient for a discounted fee, our consulting team includes renowned spiritualists & prayer warriors and T.B Joshua!!!!. Visit us at Unit 419 Alaba International Ultra-Modern Bluetooth Wireless Market) and now to our regular scheduled programme......

I walked into the Chinese Express and I will say this much, the greatest testament to any Chinese restaurant is to see actual Chinese people eating there –no not Lebanese- actual Chinese people, with that said I sat down, confident that the proceedings could only get better. The Chinese Express has a dual system- operating with both A la Carte and buffet- for the person on the go and those that can spare time.

Like most non-gourmet restaurants the furniture is functional, wooden tables and comfortable steel chairs, they however go to elaborate lengths to create the feel of a Chinese den, expect to see Ceiling lights draped in red paper fabric in what looked like a bamboo cylinder with tassels- and while I visited in the afternoon I imagine they give a pleasant luminous feel at night, resembling homely lanterns. The massive flat-screen was tuned to a Chinese station and as is custom it was muted while the speakers softly gave out sounds of the orient- gentle string music. 

The owners were leaving you in no doubt what the nationality of the establishment was, which is fine, it is after all named Chinese Express. While I waited to be served, the waiter who was attending to another table tripped over a table leg and the Chapman cocktail he was taking to a ladies table, flew off his serving tray and landed on mine perfectly, emptying its sugary-syrupy contents into my unsuspecting mouth- True story!! I only drink masculine drinks like Cognac and Jack Daniels and stuff, and that’s the only plausible explanation of how that drink would end up on my table. True Story!!!! Not like I ordered it- Tiger Rwwarrhhhhh!!!! See, very masculine.

After apologizing profusely for his folly, the waiter who we should call- hmmmm- Pooch, yep Pooch!! (Honestly restaurants need to get their waiters name tags or tell em’ to introduce themselves) Pooch refilled my glass with masculine content, and asked me what I would like, skimming through the menu my eyes settled on yet another plus for the restaurant, Aromatic Duck , that is yet another standard by which I judge a real Chinese Restaurant. I however didn’t subscribe to the Avian Platter, I opted to try a meat dish, and I opted for the Lamb with Green Pepper in Black Bean Sauce. Simple.

After a proportionate amount of time, my meal arrived, I was impressed and disappointed in equal measure, impressed that the chef obviously understood how to manage time, but disappointed that this restaurant wouldn’t provide me with fodder to dwell on or eavesdrop on. Just as the meal had arrived on time, everything else was happening within expected parameters. Then It Happened.

A bunch of armed robbers dressed in Halloween costumes ran into the restaurant, armed with Bow and Arrow and horsewhips, they ordered all of us on the floor while threatening to either release the bow or the whip, and as Yoruba men are always known to run to live to fight run another day, I gently and quietly- masculine drink in hand- lay down, after demanding that the till be emptied, they also demanded that the frightened manager pack a takeaway meal for them. True Story.

While this was happening, the Chef who up until now had remained hidden behind clouds of steam and the kitchen door, snuck out spatula and whisk in hand, he promptly disarmed the first bandit with a flash of the hand, and swift movement of the leg.........See you!!! You too like ‘tory. Na Lie o....I must have drifted off.

The Chef actually did make an appearance and he was a comely, wizened tall Chinese gentleman, he looked like he had fought many a battle in the kitchen. As I mentioned earlier, the restaurant didn’t provide much in the way of conversations to eavesdrop on or human interaction to spin. The group that I met there, the Chinese contingent was just about rounding up; they had obviously enjoyed their meal and were clearly suffering from the Itis (watch Season One: Episode Ten of the Boondocks) they were having a rapid staccato conversation, and the sole Nigerian who I imagined was their guide was seated quietly, occasionally checking her wristwatch and probably calculating mentally the exchange rate of the Chinese Yuan to the Naira.

One of the ladies in the contingent stood up to go to the bathroom, dear readers if you encounter a Chinese lady with Beyonce-esque features, let me know.

While casting my eye across the spread of the Express, I had failed to notice that Pooch didn’t bring the meal with the natural accompanying rice dish, and while I had assumed that the meal came with rice, Pooch should have pointed out what he saw to be an anomaly. What is it with waiters and not serving the complete meal, same thing happened with Vero at Cafe 24 (whose real name I have since confirmed is Euphrates: she should be happier called Vero).

Luckily I was able to order rice from their buffet section and not wait for it, while Pooch once again apologized. The meal wasn’t elaborate, and after tasting it, it didn’t have to be. There was no flourish or embellishment, it was simply Chinese and by that I do not mean the type of food, I mean it was lean, efficient and functional- like a Toyota- which I am well aware is Japanese. And while comparing a meal to a Toyota might not be the best description that is what the meal was to me, functional.

Perhaps I have had too much Chinese, but the meal did not hold any surprises for me, the lamb was coated in sauces when it had to be, rubbery when it had to be, tough when it had to be and then soft all at the same time. In other words, my meal was either a Transformer or schizophrenic, which in the end cannot be an easy feat.  I think I might have to have another dish there, and if the worst thing I can say about the meal I had was that it had split personalities, then I am sure the next one will be yet a surprise.

I emptied the remaining contents of my very masculine drink and exited expressly (see what I did there) N3500 lighter, as I walked out of the premises I was met with the obvious structure that is Banex Plaza immediately opposite Chinese Express, quite visibly I could watch my Igbo brothers scurry around as they tried and succeeded to convince many a buyers that their wares and Cds (all doctored and pirated from China) were the latest and Original, I mused on how the Chinese and Nigerians are not so different, Chinese sef No dey carry Last.

   

The Chinese Express Restaurant & Takeaway is Located at 44, Monrovia Street, Off Aminu Kano Crescent in the Wuse ll District of Abuja . They can be reached on 07043067888 & 08032413557 or emailed at chinesexpress@yahoo.com

**Sidenote: I am happy to announce that the Chicken Hurricane Meal I have been campaigning to have re-instated on the Cafe 24 menu has been (drum roll please) re-instated!!!! I have since been told that it was there ever since and I must not have seen it, I will continue to believe that it is my relentless advocacy and the countless amounts of Naira spent on me by others. And Vero or Euphrates is actually called Eucharia but I heard Euphrates and I think we all prefer it (just kidding).

Disclaimer: All views expressed in this are for comic effect, and not entirely the view of the author, I say this confident in the abilities of the likes of Jackie Chan, Jet Li and their compatriots, I will not like to have my ass kicked, my own muscles are simply cosmetic. I also harbour intentions to travel to Hong Kong one day and in case there are any Chinese Embassy Officials reading this, I was clowning. We are all God’s children. Gimme Visa.

On a more serious note, while speaking on China Let us all, spare a minute to pray for Japan, in the end we are all truly God’s Children.

One Hour Outta 24 in a Cafe

Now I must confess a bias before I continue with this review, I like Cafe 24. A lot. It is by any standards my favourite watering hole, and the fact that it hosts an interesting menu doesn’t hurt. Rumoured to be owned by one of Obasanjo’s son (Baba is the greatest!! Now gimme a free meal or contract, I see you rolling your eyes, shame has no market value o!!) It is the business model more than anything else that appeals to me. It is the first 24 hour establishment in the city, and it should be emulated, in a city with more cash than sense and discipline (hard to be sensible when your fada is a thief) it is a welcome development.

Plus some of us are in relationships (read: shackles) we need a place to run and soak in alcohol at all times of the day, I asked- Tantrums do not own wristwatches. (Insert Mandatory Just Joking Baby!!!) Listen, the logic works, if ATMs and Debauchery can run at all times of the day, so can alcohol and food- Salamander, Grow up and open late!!! In the full sense of the word, I cannot make this a review as I have been there a hundred dozen times, but the fact that I always go back is reason enough. So I will review my most recent experiences.

It is factual that humans are creatures of habit but when an establishment becomes De Facto, it is also a testament to their strength- or their customers’ lack of taste- whatever the case, Cafe 24 is “my local” and I can be found there every Friday night nursing a green bottle – Sprite boo!!- and No! I will not sign any autographs!!!

Cafe 24 is nestled right next to popular sports bar & club –Play- and opposite the also popular slave master expatriate haven Peniel Apartment in the Wuse ll District of the city. It has undergone a facelift in recent times, comfortable before in the strength of its business idea and plastic chairs and open air, it now wears a thatch roof and is surrounded by a stone finish, almost gives it a quarry feel. It works, simple still distinct.

In the middle of the floor is a raised bar cut in a semi-circle that covers a nice spread, central and focal, the location of the bar is the first handshake of Cafe 24 and it is a strong one. There is a close air-conditioned room for the faint of heart who don’t want to be one with nature; the menu is simple, two choices of Continental, Chinese and the obligatory Side Dishes. Their menu for drinks & cocktails is another story, with the standard Sex on the Beach , it isn’t a stretch to see Flaming Orgasm or Slippery Nipple- true story. Next they will hit us with Discounted Contraceptive, or Sexually Repressed Bartender, what? I am just saying!!

Walking into the Cafe that Friday I was more familiar with their sandwiches – they make a killer Salami Sandwich- & their more adventurously named dishes (Chicken Hurricane) than the new “professional” menu. Apparently there is a craze for Chinese these days ‘cos they are everywhere, no, not the Chinese, the restaurants, well the Chinese are everywhere but-back to the story at hand. I sat down in my comfortable straw chair, to the news that Hosni Mubarak had made like his ancestors and let his people go, to celebrate I ordered One – please note the number- Green Bottle, sweating, Ice Cold. I then proceeded to ask Vero- Yes I have assigned her the name- for the menu, when she brought it over I asked for Chicken of Cream Soup, and for my main Course Diced Chicken with Cashew nuts. And waited. And Waited some more.

Now, a place, anywhere, is as interesting as the people that are in it, while I waited for what I am certain was an eternity, I observed several things, for one all the people that emerged from the air-conditioned room-  and they were all women by the way- had blackberries and wore revealing Maxi Dresses, and walked with the air of someone who would invent a way to defy gravity and float if she were smart enough. Secondly, Rich Men talk a lot of sewage. I know, because I am not rich.

A group of men walked in, they all appeared to be well over middle-age but with signs that their arthritic fingers were still holding on to youth, and they belonged to a group of men who believe they can substitute personality with currency- don’t blame them- it works. The waitress walked over to the table to collect their orders, one of our hip geriatrics asks

Geriatric One: “Ahn Ahn Fine Girl, are you from Benue, You are so Pretty”

Fine Benue Girl: “Good Evening Sir, Can I take your order”

Geriatric One: “You won’t answer me, Are you from Benue, Benue Girls are fine”

Fine Benue Girl: “It doesn’t matter sir, I would like to take your order”

Geriatric Two: “Geriatric One, don’t mind her she doesn’t have manners, Fine Benue Girl you can go, I won’t play with you again, do you know who I am?”.

I repeat “I won’t play with you”!!! In this age and time, who says that, honestly? All this while, my meal hadn’t arrived, I am convinced now that Cafe 24 has a trap door which chef’s can use to escape when they have forgotten an important ingredient, because s/he, it must have jumped through the trap door, surfaced on the other side, hopped a cab, drove to a farm, pointed to a chicken and bought it, came back, slaughtered it and then began to cook. True Story.

The Un-cut version of The Old & Senseless continued to play itself out beside me, luckily my soup arrived. As Vero brought the soup to me, my spidey senses went off, the bowl was notably smaller than what I am used to. Ah well, don’t judge a bowl by its size but the contents of its character. Sigh, there is something amiss between Abuja Chefs and Cream of anything soup, yes there was chicken, yes it was the right colour, but not the right density. Cream means thick, I want the soup so thick I can stretch it against my spoon and use as a catapult against Geriatric No 2, still- Who says I won’t Play with you!!! No catapult for me, but it scalded my mouth- which is good- was the right temperature, and hit all the right places, like a fine tune instrument, revealing itself with subtle hints of all its ingredients. But no weight, when it comes to soup I want it thick like Serena!! Shout to Piccolo Mondo In Lagos!!

While I savoured my soup, the Geriatrics had a visitor, Nikki Nike Minaj, she had what appeared to be botox in her lips or flapjacks for lips, and her eyes constantly channelled lost or confused, and if that’s not the case then let’s just say she is always aware. The Geriatrics didn’t mind, matter of fact one of them declared his intentions, loudly announcing and displaying Two Hundred American Dollars, my eyes caught the dollars, hers caught mine, don’t know if she sneered or smiled, too much going on with her face. How does someone manage to look scared and alert at the same time?

Luckily as the episode of Benny Hill played out, my main course arrived. Now scroll up and see what I had ordered. Now that you have scrolled down, you remember when I said the chef had a trapdoor for ingredients he had forgotten and such, well he forgot the cashew nuts and thought it was fine to make up for it with another type of nut. Yes, you guessed it, Peanuts, Groundnuts, Ekpa!!! In my diced chicken meal. Sigh. The entire enterprise was defeated by just that one simple act of vapid abandon, the structural equivalent of having completed a building only to find out it has no stairwells, then stringing rope from the roof for people to use for ascension. It is criminal.

I ordered my second (2) green bottle which Priscilla- the Fine Girl from Benue served- Yes her name is actually Priscilla, Vero had forgotten to bring a straw for my main course. Straw? Yes straw, as she forgot to serve my meal with rice as ordered, I only imagine her and her chef had intended me to drink the ground-nutted-diced-chicken. When she gets my order right I will find out her real name. At this point I simply crossed my legs in my pristine starched blue traditional wear. As a bad guys is concerned.

I don’t know what I was waiting for, but then it happened, he swooped in without his cape to save my meal, he being Elijah one of the more reliable waiters there, just starting his shift and noticing the despair on my face, he came in and remedied my meal. But the nuts were still there, the Geriatrics were still chattering and Nike Minaj was still side-eyeing me, well I can’t be sure, she probably cannot control the muscles in her eyes. I battled on.

The design of my meal was botched, but it did taste good, an almost citric taste to the diced bits, once you could shuffle the nuts to stay out of the way in your mouth and the plate, the spices and tastes of the meal began to come out of their hiding places. Like a smile from a shy girl, it wasn’t immediate, a gradual settling & agreement between your palate and what the chef intended- then you tasted the nuts. Sigh. A good experience if not the intended one. I finished the meal and began to walk out, N4500 short for the enterprise.

On my way out I walked past a Nana-Who-Doesn’t-Know-Her-Name (Rihanna) lookalike, apparently she was a friend of Nike Minaj, who mind you was still looking at me, in my mind I thought “O je Gba Dollar” (Insert Translation: You are better off acquiring dollar from the Geriatrics) . I walked out and watched them watch me walk, with a full belly, heavily starched attire, and all the waiters knowing my name- they must have thought I was a big shot. Perception only Cost N4500. Sweet!!

Cafe 24 is Located on Adetokunbo Ademola Crescent, Wuse II
Opp Penniel Apartments
Abuja

Sidenote: Elijah and Priscilla happen to be the best waiters at the Cafe and should you venture to the Cafe 24 ask for them, if your service needs to be better than what you are presented with. I will be staging a campaign to re-induct the Chicken Hurricane into the menu, if you agree please show up every Friday with a full wallet as I will drive the human end and you can pay. I will be the one with the green bottle, feeling like a big shot. Thanks.

  

Humble Beginning: My Foray Into Italy A La La Dolce Vita

I have always had a healthy appetite for cheese based meals, throw into the mix generous portions of meat- I am African- and we are in business!!! This informed my decision to begin my restaurant review at what I presumed was an Italian Restaurant. By the end of this review, you can make your own conclusion as to the definition of Italian. 

La Dolce Vita is located in the Wuse II District, Wuse II being a hybrid of the city’s penchant for the elaborate and its ability to recede to ordinary everyday Nigerian Life. La Dolce’s welcoming sign boldly displays that it is a Pizzeria, Bar & Restaurant.

Naturally when Pizzeria & Restaurant are in the same sentence, I assume Italian, in retrospect might not have been a fair assumption. I walked into the Plaza and the door was promptly opened for me by a man in a La Dolce t-shirt, - hmmmm good service, or the Oga Factor- hunger was wiring me (Insert Translation here: I was famished)

I rode the elevator three flights up- yes, if there is electricity and a functioning lift- exercise be damned. I opened the door of the restaurant and appeared in Narnia, ok seriously, I walked into the restaurant, and the first thing I was met with is the bar & the decor. The bar is complete with stools and lighting, almost like the decorator was trying to throw you into a vortex taking you back to the rat-pack era, Sinatra et al, still not decided if this is a good thing, as Chuks and Secondus behind the bar weren’t properly attired to lend to the theme.

Having said that the eponymous restaurant gets its name from the legendary movie La Dolce Vita, so expect to see a lot of movie memorabilia and movie posters, this works well for the Lounge which is thinly separated from the dining area with thin multi-coloured veils curtains. Honestly standing on the other side, you half expect to see Cleopatra make an entrance. Light Bulb moment, A restaurant Called Narnia with Egyptian Belly Dancers (Copyright, or Intellectual Property, meaning I will Sue if such a restaurant becomes reality without me on the payroll somehow)

Ehen, so I sat down at my table, there was no table for a two person- dinner, either the owner was looking to maximise space or s/he grew up with many brothers/sisters and one calabash. The Four person table was covered in red-white chequered table cloth, reminiscent of something in small town Italy, it worked. Akpan forgot to clean the table because there were still ashes from the previous occupants; there is no distinction for smoking or non-smoking section. Nor can there be, the dining area isn’t that big.

I ordered Mushroom Soup as a starter and Spaghetti Carbona with a Glass of Sangiovese Red Italy of course, to wash it down- from a waiter who didn’t provide his name or a smile, like the others I have named here; I’d like to imagine his name is Paulinus. Yes, yes, let’s call him that. Paulinus didn’t display any familiarity with his menu, and wasn’t able to provide me with a chef’s special. Asking for a sommelier after my conversation with Paulinus, would have just been cruel. The menu was limited as far as I see it, if you are going to go Italian, you cannot leave out Linguini, Ravioli or Lasagna, and what the hell is Goat Pepper Soup doing on the menu!!!! The Pizza section was extensive

So after ordering my starter at 19:26 it arrived ten minutes later, I am stickler for good mushroom soup, and when I have it in La Dolce Vita I will let you know. (Shout out to Blue Elephant in Port Harcourt) It was more onion than mushroom, and what it lacked for in quality and composition it made up for in volume. The Chef’s application of cream here was the equivalent of wearing perfume, hair gel and deodorant, it smelled nice but the body was dry and inelastic.

Did I finish it, Yes ke! Of course I did, there is a higher principle here, and children are starving the world over. After the abortion that was my soup, the redeemer lay in the main course, now the way I figure if you serve Italian you can’t go wrong with pasta right? Wrong!

See, I have had eye trouble in the past, but I am quite confident that what I was served wasn’t pasta/spaghetti but a superhero version of the Nigerian Staple Indomie Noodles. (Someone alert De United Foods to sue for False Representation? Someone? Anyone?)

I say superhero because the noodles looked decidedly more bulky and it almost seemed to shimmer in the hot moist, bath of steam it was served with, but it was not Pasta or Spaghetti and the bacon bits resembled large chunks of pork fried into a metallic state ( it was some sort of meat, so no beef there! All puns intended). In the mix with what I can only hope was celery, was something akin to semi-liquid bits of Peak Milk, I was assured it was intended to be egg bits, as if that somehow would assuage me!! Milk  eggs in a Carbona Dish!!

If it looked suspicious it tasted even more suspect, the Parmesan Cheese I sprinkled on it was all I could do to avoid the greasy slippery taste of 419 down my throat, sigh! And yes I finished the meal as well, is it your money?? But before then I had to balance the need for a review & hunger VS possible food poisoning, it would seem in the end my visa to Italy had been granted but I ended up in Hades. The wine was just right, not saying much you can hardly go wrong with red.

I finished the meal and walked out desolate, N5600 short and with the cold metallic taste of regret down my throat all by 20:00. In the end La Dolce Vita has a good thing going, nice crowd, ambience, it should however upgrade Chuks, Secondus & Paulinus and fire the Chef! Ok that seems a bit harsh, all that is needed is for two plates of Italian Cuisine to be placed in front of Le-Cheat Chef Conman, person, One plate of Original Italian Cuisine and the other his own misadventurous drivel. After a taste of the original, and his own submission, he will promptly run out the kitchen, through the dinner area, out the lounge onto the Rooftop Terrace and jump. Case solved.

On my way out a new crowd of what was apparently British Citizens came in for a meal, I left with a grin confident that someone else would be looking at the definition of Italian that night.

La Dolce Vita Restaurant is located at Safire Plaza 1066 Ademola Adetokunbo Crescent, Wuse II, Abuja.

Phone Number: +234 (0)8057828087

                           +234(0)7040045579

** Sidenote: I Apologise for not having visuals here, I didn't take a camera with me, lest Secondus show me his second side (Couldn't help it) and I have recently had my blackberries accosted, and it is my sincere wish that e no go better for who carry am (Translation: The thief will experience displeasure and discomfort)

It should be noted that La Dolce Vita hosts Karoke on Friday Nights and it promises to be good fun.