Arabian Nights in the Capital

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


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


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


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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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


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


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

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

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

A Lesson In Victors House

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An Evening In The Belly Of A Bird

Frequent visitors to this site, will understand by now my penchant for the orient, and its appeal to me. However, this consummate experience wasn’t fostered by any real intention to visit Chinese cuisine; I had intended to go watch a movie at the Silverbird Cinemas- Morning Glory to be exact, when I was informed that the picture 

wouldn’t be showing at the time advertised due to a technical glitch.

In my wandering around the floors of the Silverbird Entertainment Center, I wounded up in Woks & Koi Chinese restaurant, while I am convinced that my actions were arbitrary I also know that at any point I could have stopped them, I didn’t and wound up spending an evening sampling, once again, Chinese cuisine.

Woks & Koi restaurant is a fine and welcome addition to the Silverbird Entertainment Center, I have always commended the industry of the Noyinbo^TM brothers, Ben Bruce & Sons, yeah that’s right- I said noyinbo (the Curious Case of Benibo Bruce) which is my trademarked term for people of mixed race.

As I was carrying on earlier, Woks & Koi is a fine addition to the general architecture of the entertainment Centre, it isn’t in plain view, you have to go look for it, if you are inclined to walking- and if you are more inclined to shortcuts, getting the elevator to the second level will bring you face to face with Woks.

Opening the door, or more precisely having the door open for you, you will be hit with sticks, no- you didn’t misread, and you will be hit with the sight of bamboo sticks. The interior decorator- aware of the invasiveness of having a restaurant in the middle of an entertainment centre has decided to remove the glare, the attention and most especially the lights. The decorator is a vampire. Kidding.

Walking into restaurant, you are removed from the noise and pace of the centre outside, it’s almost like you are stepping into a vacuum. The lights are dimmed, and reflected to give it a reddish glow, the entire sprawl of the restaurant is separated by bamboo sticks, and there is excellent use of space, as there is bar at the far end of the room, a welcome area for patrons who might have to wait to be seated, or are simply there for their take away menu. The central dining area is divided between, two/four seater arrangement, and as mentioned earlier, it is all divided by bamboo sticks exquisitely done. Towards the rear there are couches spread across the back wall, for a larger crowd and more intimate environment.

I chose a table close to the wall in the middle of the hall, allowing me to peer through what little opening there was in the blind, and discover if I needed to do what was happening outside of the vacuum. Having not sat for all of one minute, a waiter with a name tag welcomed me-yes people a name tag – announcing he was Joseph, and he very well needed to be in his coats of Chinese colours.

The menu was presented and I opted for a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, Chinese Potstickers for starters (Pork dumplings) and for the main course, Calamari in Chilli sauce. Menu set, agenda approved.

While I sat and waited for my meal, I sampled the wine, standard really, but I detected a strong hint of pepper in it which made me question if they had served me the right wine, I made a mental note to stop being cheap and buy the entire bottle. I continued to wait for my meal, I sampled the variety of nuts they had on the table- this restaurant understood the how to be restaurateurs.

As is my custom I took in the entire restaurants and its patron to see if I would be privy to priceless human interactions, much like the episode in Cafe 24 earlier in the year, however apart from the bald Tosin Beckford and his Noyinbo date, the place was pretty empty.

My potstickers arrived on pan complete with all its accompanying condiments, I dug into it, and the pork was rolled into a thin and elastic skin of dough, the skin on the bottom of the dumpling was crispy as it looked as it had stuck to the pot- and I have since learnt that this is where it gets its name from. It was like it looked, elastic and simple. I found the choice of accompanying sauce to be the revelation of the night, I failed in my enthusiasm to ask the waiter what it was, it was in the same effort, sour and citric, and it was the perfect chaperon to the potstickers as they made their way into my alimentary canal. Woks & Koi is the reason the consummate experience was so named, restauranteering should be a complete experience from arrival to departure, a process of eager welcome to accomplished good-byes.

Before my meal was served, I was presented with a hot towel to cleanse my hands should I abandon pretensions and decide that my hands were the best tool for feeding myself, a napkin was placed in my lap- and then my meal came. I have fond memories of calamari, which is squid by another name, from a much younger age; I remember it been battered in some butter laced ingredient and the end results were glorious. In ordering the meal, I expected the same results. But what was eventually presented to me, and in rather attractive ensemble, platter and all was a steamed and boiled dish covered in fresh vegetables.

It was perhaps my disappointment in not having it grilled or fried that transcended on my eventual (dis)regard for the meal, it was nice, and the fault in ordering had been mine. I will say this much, the accompanying rich dish stayed true to Chinese cuisine and was prepared with Gluten. I emptied my glass and sorted out my bill, leaving the welcoming hold of Woks & Koi N6200 lighter.

As I walked out of the restaurant, I noticed it had begun to fill out, the Incredible Bulk and his Noyinbo date were in animated conversation, and other patrons had arrived, everyone seemed to be drawn to the television where an engaging Presidential Debate was ensuing, I stepped out into the lights and sounds of the entertainment centre and pondered how many Chinese meals it would take to get me to sell my vote.

Woks & Koi Chinese Restaurant is located in the Silverbird Entertainment Centre Plot 1161, Memorial Drive Central Business Area. They can be reached on 09-8746884, or on 07028002165 

Three Guys, A Girl and an English Plate

Wayne Rooney was promptly displaced and the possession swung back Arsenals way, Wilshere who had won back possession for the Gunners was quick to find the nimble feet of Samir Nasri who in turn fluidly laid the ball for the Flying Dutchman Van Persie- this is the Arsenal Way of course. One deft movement of the ball to the left and Robin was about to strike and presumably curve the ball to the top left corner, which would have left his compatriot Van der Sar flatfooted when he was fouled by the non-descript John O’shea, just outside the eighteen.

Free kick in Dutch territory, all travelling Arsenal fans were on their feet as was the Gallic arrogant Manager Wenger, this was the moment of truth, a singular moment of brilliance could be all that stood between them and a return to winning ways, his teammates huddled in the box and sweat drenching his jersey, the referee blew and...........my phone rang waking me up from what I imagined would have been a better ending to Arsenals botched FA Cup Quarter-Final against Manchester United the night before.

For a moment there I am pretty sure some of you would have checked the web address to reconfirm the right address, but to truly experience a restaurant with me is to experience everything leading to it, and being a despondent Gunners fan is one of them. The phone rang and my good friend and banker extraordinaire Seun Williams (yes I am hyping him, and as you read more you will understand why) called, and wondered if I was up for breakfast at Salamander Cafe before he dashed to the airport.

Never one to pass a good meal, I was up to it and with that I was out of bed to go through the morning ablutions and get myself ready. You see not being a man of means or material things, you see I am a Buddhist- somewhere over the hills my prayer-warrior mother spidey senses just went off, I expect my phone to ring in 5...4...3..2..1... hmmm strange- just kidding I am a Bible- Believing, God-Fearing, Gun-Rights Christian, I am Sarah Palin.

Ok, more seriously, the point I was trying to make is, I have unflinching faith in the power of friendship and camaraderie and I have been rewarded, quite undeservedly with a rich crop of friends (and I mean that in all versions of that word) , who enter and see the world differently, some who are (Inhale)  tall, short, fair, dark, bald, balding, hairy, Igbo, foreign, Yoruba, Hausa, Middlebelters, South-South, Confused.  Those that believe in God, those that believe in Capitalism, others the Universe or Darwin.(Exhale). I have good friends.

The lads got to the Cafe before me, and were kind enough to inform me that it had changed location, seeing as we were also working with a schedule, they called ahead to ask what I would like. I have always enjoyed Salamander and I do not go there quite as often as I would like, it was on the experience of my last visit that I ordered the Spinach Omelette. I remember it being a revelation and was quite taken with it, lacking the clear sense of their menu and not having the presence of mind to ask for the contents, I was comfortable with my choice.

I arrived at the new Salamander Cafe in Wuse ll, conveniently not too far from their previous abode, and it would seem the calls in my previous post for Salamander to grow up were heeded, and while I continue to give myself false praise, it should take nothing from the exquisite decor and calming pull of the new location.

Noting the room for improvement on its origin, the cafe has sprawled into something chic, modern and glossy. It is quite the bohemia for artsy & pretentious type, Salamander has always fancied itself as sort of a cultural Mecca in the capital. It features a book store, well as far as book stores go; it has a healthy number of shelves and does manage to display current and engaging books. Expect also to see a guitarist on some nights strumming away on his strings, eyes closed, apparently oblivious to a world that he fails to realise is also oblivious to him, but hey- man must chop.

The new cafe has made good use of its space, and it’s commendable that they have acquired a bigger location, the floor design immediately makes you feel that the room is larger than it is, the choice of colours for the rooms also gives the feel that it repels sunlight, so you feel that you are caught in place of perpetual shade, a nirvana of sorts.

The Lads and lady had sequestered themselves in the closed off glassed compartment of the cafe, and it made it more intimate. Our crowd seemed to have mellowed out; previous nights we were involved in heated debates about the Decline of the Nigerian Film Industry and the Charade of Modern Marriage in the 21^st century. But this morning I sensed no one cared about what part of America Jim Iyke’s accent is meant to be from or what sackcloth Omotola wore to the Grammys, or what our mothers had to say about our advancing age and our marital status. We all just wanted to eat.

While we all waited on the food, and ordered our accompanying drinks, lattes, Orange Juices, Black Coffee,- yes this lot, can like to form. The conversation quickly drifted to ventures, current projects and the immediate future, as is often the case with young adults; we all rued how hard the country was while we all nursed over-priced cocktails and high priced digital gadgets, the Irony never sets in with us.

Our meals eventually arrived; mine was served last, so it didn’t arrive till well after the others, which gave me enough time to observe and inspect everyone else’s meal. My friend and Film maker extraordinaire Ishaya Bako had ordered the full English breakfast and I immediately became the Cain to his Abel and if could have found a hard enough object I would have smacked him upside the head with it. His meal was complete with, Toasted Bread, Bacon, Baked Beans and Eggs, it looked resplendent like the King’s Speech, Seun had a sandwich, and our accompanying lady Friend Bimpe was content with orange juice.

My meal eventually arrived and it was an afterthought, I was already in the process of thieving several key areas of Ishaya’s meal, I felt like a “coalition jet strategically picking off Libyan forces”. I am sure had I concentrated I would have enjoyed my meal and remembered it with the same fondness, had I not been obsessed with Mr. Bako’s food- in retrospect there was nothing on his plate or mine that anyone of us couldn’t easily have made on our own, but then how would you know we were hip and uber cool if we couldn’t pay for services we could just have easily rendered ourselves and then act like it is our right and unfair all at the same time. Ah, the sweet smell of capitalism.

Speaking of capitalism, while I consumed all of my meal, large portions of Ishaya’s and occasional pieces of Seuns meal, the bill arrived in its several thousands and I promptly moved to the next table to make the acquaintance of the gentleman who we had no doubt been disturbing with our bantering.

Seun and Ishaya settled the bill (now you see why I was hyping them) while I continued to make a new friend, I would have joined in settling the bill but my kind nature got the best of me, and Seun and Ishaya forgot to remind me, honest! I vaguely remember them calling my name at the time, but I imagine they were calling to tell me my laces were undone or something. Honest! The fact that I left the table as soon as the bill came was complete Coincidence. Honest!!!

It so turned out that the acquaintance I made was Mr. Bayo Imam, Editorial Director Extraordinaire of the excellent magazine Sur La Terre (a lifestyle Magazine that this humble blogger hopes to feature in some time)- now you see why I am hyping him too!!

As we left the cafe, with Seun and Ishaya several thousand shorter, and I, with the distinct taste of AWOF down my throat, I mused on how the person that said you don’t always get what you want, had probably never watched me eat before. And while I would like to finish that thought for you, I didn’t account for the time difference, my mother is now on the phone....seems her spidey senses are still intact, now where did I keep that Bible............

Salamander Cafe is now located at No: 5 Bumjumbura Street, off Liberville Street, Wuse ll, Abuja. They can be reached on +234 70 27850 932

Sidenote: Spoiling for a laugh? Head over to www.wazobiareport.com for the best coverage of Nigerian Non-Issues. Salamander Cafe also hosts The Abuja Literary Society every third Friday of the month for the literary inclined. My friend Seun heads an excellent travel agency called Siobhan Williams, interested in hassle free travel give him a shout on +234805411109

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.