Accepting Compromise In The Clubhouse

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


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


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


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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Elephant in the Room

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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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