Discoveries that lead off course

The lurch for brunch

We have veered off the beaten path in search for brunch around our new accommodations. The places that seem inviting are not particularly offering what we want. When we thought we could walk through Green Point Park, the gate nearest to us was locked, and by the time we got to the open gate, there was no point traversing the park, we kept to the circumlocutory path on the pavement.

After the formalities, sanitised hands, temperature checks, and registration, we made selections from the menu and I was about to hand over my phone when I realised the menus were only available through a QR Code read by my phone. The Jason of Jason Bakery is assuredly not an Argonaut, but for your sausage, thy chorizo instead.

Sausages Española

You can presume if anyone tries something in Cape Town, there will be a copycat and I cannot speak of the originator, it might well be an agreement at the meeting of Cape Town chefs. For a few blocks down, they kept the kitchen open for us at Sotano, minutes after it should have closed.

Jason offered a downloaded PDF menu whilst Sotano on the QR Code revolution sent us to a web page and this time they were upfront with what they were up to. It would appear chorizo is replacing the sausage and the option will appropriately be called Spanglish Breakfast, a portmanteau of Spanish and English. It was good.

And now that we are by the seaside, Brian can get his salt from the sea, the table salt is not nearly enough for him to salt to taste, pepper to heat, and Tabasco to burn. By the time he is done, it is most definitely another meal that he can finish in style.

Eyeing the fish on the sign

The eyes have it

Signs with meaning and some that require a bit of research, though I could not ignore one big board as I step out of our apartment complex. It read, “Buy full set – Single lashes R400.”

For the purchaser, they probably know full well what is on sale, a lash of the whip it probably is not, something for the eyes would be a sight to see. I have seen lashes that could sweep streets, long and batting you wonder if the weight of those lashes would require eyelid training to open the eyes before they slam shut.

Single lashes might indicate the lashes for one eye which you have to pair up for the other eye, to match length, colour, quality, lift, just allow your imagination to run whatever course it chooses. Maybe there are cascading lashes, one mounted on the other in an installation of double or triple lashes. Better to be observed than to be tried out.

Fishing in Congolese cuisine

Further on at the bus terminus, a kiosk serving Africain (sic) foods beckons to patrons to come and try out from a list of foods with literally indecipherable names. I thought I will start with the first and then consider if the rest should be studied.

Mbika (na) Makayabu, the first read, which I found out was salted cod with sauteed vegetables, the name already a mouthful before you have tasted the cuisine. I know in my heart of hearts; I am not ready for this smorgasbord of street food. It is probably tastier than the name suggests, and we’ll leave it at that. It is of Congolese provenance, that’s a few thousand kilometres up north.

If you can follow Lingala or just watch the YouTube video, you can serve it up at home too.

The joy of cooking

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Akin Akintayo (@instaforakin) on Apr 12, 2020 at 4:18am PDT

The principles of cooking

I guess one of the things I learnt from my mother is not so much how to cook, but the courage to decide when presented with an assortment of ingredients, I can make a good meal, not just for myself, but to share with others too. I do love cooking.

Besides, it is the joy in cooking food from its components, the selection, the preparation and the making of it. No time is too long for making a delicious meal, with practice, you find innovative ways to convert the process from a chore to an art. I choose from a variety of cuisines, sometimes following a recipe, but mostly not.

Then again, I remember when years ago I decided to remove taste enhancers like Maggi Seasoning Cubes from my cooking and I remember there was a time we were cajoled into using the nasty Monosodium Glutamate (MSG) back in Nigeria, now I rely on spices and herbs to bring out the taste and the flavour.

Confidence through practice

I have found I cannot taste my food whilst cooking it and when cooking for others, they would probably taste it first. I cannot suggest it is sheer confidence and skill that informs this, but I have rarely had to seek an emergency recovery of a cooking expedition awry. Yet, I desire exciting the taste buds enough for others to compliment your cooking

Knowing how to cook means that my tolerance for fast food is incredibly low, I would generally not consider it food, simply basic sustenance. You masticate, swallow and it keeps you going until you are hungry again. It informs my choosing a high-quality restaurant when eating out, where I hope the chef has a promising idea of what they are doing. It does give me some insight into being able to assess, review and critique, presentation, taste and quality. You never get a second chance to give a first good impression.

My Easter meal

For today, I decided on Asaro, I stick to the traditional names rather than find an English equivalent for it. Asaro is from southwestern Nigeria, Yoruba cuisine, made from diced pieces of peeled puna yam tuber, garnished with herbs and spices, cutlets of barracuda and catfish that were steamed for an hour, onions, garlic, chopped tomatoes, chillies, olive oil and palm oil. I have seen many recipes and I seem to prepare mine quite differently without any superfluous elements. I should work on writing out recipes.

It's a big pot and as with our West African foods, ensure the pot gets a good heating at least once a day. So, I will have a couple of days eating this. Like the old nursery rhyme, the porridge tastes better 3 days old. Maybe, it is an unintended ferment or some other natural activity, enough of the science, time to assuage the salivating.

Happy Easter! Everyone.

Ikoyi London - Bring a full wallet to an amazing experience

Decisions in flux

We had planned to meet on Monday evening without any clear plans as I decided to spend stay over in London. We have been friends on Twitter for years and she was coming to Europe for a number of necessary #MeToo events.

I was unsure of what we would do, but when she said we should meet to have more than a drink but to get to know each other, this, I thought, could only be done over a meal. As I do not live in London, I could not suggest a favourite place, but Pitanga was on my mind, however, they open at inconvenient hours closing at 5:00 PM every day except for Friday and Saturday when they are open until 11:00 PM. They are closed on Mondays.

I floated a few other alternatives whilst seeking ideas, Ikoyi London, by interest and by reputation came to the fore and we decided on that.

Impressing impressions

I was greeted at Ikoyi London by a waiter ready to take my coat and my hat, I was then given a check-in ticket, a card, the 8 of clubs. Any restaurant that without prompting defrocks you and knows what to do with your hat has had staff see the four walls of a finishing school.

Making my way to our table by the window where my friend was already seated, embraced with kisses on the cheeks before contemplating what was to come before us. Starting with drinks, we took the non-alcoholic cocktail of Ikoyi Chapman – a concoction of hibiscus, guava and sour passionfruit, it was a tasty shade of pink that lasted through the seating.

Ikoyi London only serves a fixed tasting menu of 7 courses for dinner, which made it difficult to decide on the wine, so, we took on the wine pairing that came in from the third course. Ikoyi London does not follow the good rule of the skirt that any seamstress has learnt from the very first day, that it should be long enough to cover the detail and short enough to keep the interest. The courses were small enough to keep the interest but hardly big enough to sate the hunger – that is for another conversation.

You don’t say

The first course arrived which in terms was a new look on plantain and stew, my two Nigerian grandmothers of blessed memory would have been spinning in their states of repose, but this is an exercise in open-mindedness, where familiarity is dispensed for the whimsical. Authenticity gives way to the uniquely original and surprise. It went down a treat.

[Plantain and a scotch bonnet dip]

Little did I know that I had entered a West African version of Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory, I was living the lines of Ikoyi London saying to me, “Come with me and you'll be in a world of pure imagination.” The course had more plate like a tree trying to be a forest, a burnt pepper and a sprinkling of dust with something related to cassava in the narrative. This was a long way from Eba and stew, the ship of our common reality had sailed.

Within 4 visits from crockery to buccal cavity, we were done.

[Burnt pepper and cassava]

Exciting the taste buds

Mackerel is not necessarily fish you will find on the plate of the bourgeoisie, but we were told the next serving was caught today, strips of seemingly poached mackerel on a bed of banga fish paste with vegetables. It was savoury and comfortingly feeling like home cooking. The paired wine only seemed to assume any character in taste after we had tasted the dish. Though I would be honest, all the pairings were lifeless at first taste and not entirely exciting afterwards.

[Mackerel and a banga sauce]

By the fourth course, we had pumpkin and that was a revelation. I had to ask, could you really do this to pumpkin? By now, we were sold on this visit, it was one to write home about.

[Pumpkin]

Jollof the duck

The fifth course was, in fact, two courses, the duck arrived first and then a steaming bowl of smoked jollof rice, both of which were a titillation of a different kind, filling with excitement and a screaming desire for more. Oliver Twist would have died for the lust of the more that cried for.

[Duck and malt bread]

[Smoked Jollof Rice]

You can wish for death

By then, we have the table next to us occupied, in that group of four of probably Europeans or North Africans, the light or my eyes were dim was one Nigerian who was unaware he was being brought to Ikoyi London. The look of amazement, despair and incredulity at what was presented to him could easily have had someone of a different disposition toss the tables and walk out in disgust.

As soon as I ascertained he was Yoruba, I began in a language that would communicate the experience was to be cherished as the difference for which there would be stories to tell about a place called Ikoyi London. It was not about pretensions but innovation, the challenge to open one’s mind and consider that what we once knew does not have to be sacred and impervious to design, artistry and review. That is what Ikoyi London is about.

It’s a lot more wonderful

He asked if the restaurant was one to visit regularly, I could not say that would be wise, but for the whimsy and the occasion, a conversation and gastronomic banter, Ikoyi London would come ahead of many a restaurant. It is the deconstruction of the mundane and typical to create a new essence. This is bold and hardly experimental, it works.

The dessert was a rice ice cream with a biscuit I cannot remember the name of, paired with a cider. One sip had me reaching for my old cocktail. I do not have a palate for lager, beer, ale or cider. It was a miss for me.

[Rice Ice Cream]

It is easy to forget that dinner is a tasting menu and not a meal, which suggests the portions are for tasting as opposed to filling. We had a wonderful time before walking down Jermyn Street and taking a picture with the statue of Beau Brummell.

Ikoyi London is a variation, an exploration, an interpretation and an experience, you will lose more weight in your wallet than you’ll probably gain in ingested food, that is the nature of the location, the standard of service and daring proposition the proprietors have decided to unleash on its adventurous clientele.

There is a discretionary charge and I suppose we rarely exercise the discretion to refuse the charge. The service was top class, the waiters gorgeous and interesting. The restaurant was full by the time we left. Ikoyi London is what is possible if we decide that excellence matters above all else.

Edinburgh: MaDeb African Shop

Out on a discovery

I stepped out of my hotel this evening to go for a meal and thought I’ll walk to a group of restaurants around London Road and Leith Walk in Edinburgh. However, instead of walking up London Road, I had a sense of adventure to go down Easter Road where I had noted from Google Maps that an Italian Restaurant might be open.

Half a mile down Easter Road, the restaurant was closed and I am beginning to realise that some restaurants and takeaways are closed on Mondays.

Unsure of what else to do, I decided to take a side road that I thought would get me to Leith Walk even if my bearings thought I was on the wrong path, I did end up on Leith Walk, one of the longest stretches of road in Edinburgh that seems to have so many names, you better not look at the road signs.

A homely wonderland

I crossed the road and walked upwards into town as my eyes caught the sign of an African goods shop, my curiosity got the better of me as the two ladies in the shop beckoned to me, and so I yielded and walked into the shop. All indications were they thought I was from Eastern Nigeria, but I introduced myself differently as my eyes darted around the stocked shelves to see familiar goods and wares that excite the West African palate.

I could not decide what I wanted when I was informed they had frozen jollof rice and stew, and if I had access to a microwave oven, that would do just fine.

MaDeb African Shop had only been open two months and whilst for me it was a chance discovery, it might well be the only purveyor of goods and wares the West Africans would only be too familiar with. The African Flavour Restaurant that I wrote about over a month ago had closed, it was a bad business that failed to take advantage of the monopoly it had to serve a particular clientele and that is just a shame.

More and more

The list of things to get from Madeb African Shop is almost inexhaustible, the shop uses three areas, the main shop, the back where perishable goods are kept and refrigerated and the basement with cosmetics and hair products.

In the main shop, there are spices, flours, canned foods, dried and smoked fish, Agege bread, ingredients to various stews as Egusi, Ogbono, bitter leaf, fermented peas (iru), mint leaves (efinrin), palm oil, kola nuts, plantain bananas, tubers like yams, sweet potatoes, suya packs, Nigerian drinks and beverages. Ointments like Robb and Aboniki, this is your perfect nostalgic corner shop.

For those who prefer their West African dishes ready-made, the shop provides a cooking service as well as preparing meals for events. I have the feeling this outfit would be a better replacement for that lackadaisically useless restaurant.

Get there and shop

The ladies were humorous, pleasant and nice, on getting back to my hotel, I defrosted my jollof rice, added some stew and downed it with a can of Afrimalt, I must be tipping the scales on the wrong side of zero.

MaDeb African Shop,
5 Croall Place,
EH7 4LT
Edinburgh

Photos

My food haunts in Berlin and Paris

My habitude

The creature of habit that I am means I have a tendency to do visit the same places, watch the same series or similar genre, eat the same cuisine and repeat some things without tiring of the experience.

It is like I am comfortable, fulfilled and happy when I find something I like and cannot be persuaded to consider something else.

On my recent visit to Berlin, having stayed in hotels all around the city, I have more recently gravitated to staying right in the centre, Schöneberg, in fact, it would most likely be bordered by the Wittenbergplatz and Kurfürstenstraße metro stations.

Apart from the ease of getting around Berlin from this central location, most of the places I will frequent will normally be within walking distance.

Ebe Ano, again and again

On such place I cannot miss when in Berlin is Ebe Ano at Pohlstraße 52, a Nigerian soul food restaurant that I must say is second to none in all the Nigerian cuisine outfits I have visited in Western Europe.

What it does not have in variety is full catered for in service and passion with what is on offer. The proprietors are a multi-racial couple, the man being the chef majoring in the exquisite stews from the eastern part of Nigeria.

I do the deep dive with a starter of pepper soup or suya and follow that with one of the many vegetable stews that includes any of Bitterleaf, Oha, Ukazi, Utazi, Egusi, Ogbono, Ugba, Okro vegetables with pounded yam, semolina, garri, amala, ground rice or wheat puddings.

Hands and more

The stews are not heavily spiced or too hot for the Western palate, though you are provided a side ramekin of red hot chilli paste, if you want to up the ante.

We go the traditional way and eat with our fingers rather than with cumbersome cutlery, and you will probably see many non-Africans digging in with just as much pleasure beyond the unadventurous rice or jollof rice with plantains and moin-moin into the amazingly exotic.

My understanding is that they have a growing non-African patronage and it is always a pleasure to meet up with friends there. For the taste of something original, different, exquisite, ethnic, inexpensive and delicious, you cannot afford to walk past Ebe Ano without looking in and having a go. I always do.

CDG is an impossible airport

Then, if I do stopover in Paris and have time on my hands, navigating Charles de Gaulle Airport (CDG) is hellish at the best of times and whoever designed that airport should get invited for tea with Madame Guillotine at the Bastille.

The staff at CDG are well aware of the absolute inscrutability of this airport, my only advice to anyone transiting through CDG is to never be pressed for time navigating this place or you’ll miss your flight. Let me introduce the EasyCDG website which is not affiliated to CDG but is the labour of love of some who knows the CDG is anything but easy.

Getting into Paris

I finally found my way to the RER B trains to Paris with a long wait at the counter-intuitively impossible self-service ticket dispensing machines that up to 70% of the users operated with great difficulty before I boarded the 45-minute train journey to Châtelet – Les Halles in the very heart of Paris.

The station sits beneath a sprawling shopping centre that is being reconstructed, it does have the feel of a construction site with directions a bit messed up apart from the fact that escalators and lifts could be out of order.

Generally, I want to make it out of the Rambuteau exit towards the Georges Pompidou Centre that I have viewed for as long as I have visited Paris but never entered.

Just Café Beaubourg

My rendezvous is the Café Beaubourg [Not a flattering review, but hey!] which is to the left of the centre if you are stood with your back to the centre. This is where I meet with friends in Paris and where I take anyone I meet in Paris for brunch.

The brunch does not come cheap, but the view from a first floor window towards the centre and the square in front of it is one where you can watch the world go by without being disturbed by the charade outside.

It is also a place to reminisce for there I have been with friends some gone away and some long gone leaving me with just the memories and the realisation of how the passage of time brings people through your life like a river flows under a bridge. Sometimes an eddy is created that lasts long enough for one to behold with wonder leaving more than an impression.

Blog - Thought Picnic: A Brunch of Long Memories

These are things creatures of habit are born to suffer, the living and the memory and then a smile and a tear. The moment is replayed in the mind like a film and then we move on from that encounter with the past to be tried again at another opportune time.

805 Restaurant just improves on itself consistently

Meeting my uncle

It came on a whim; I was meeting up with my uncle who I had not seen for nigh on 7 years or thereabouts. It was interesting when we first spoke that he had been informed that I was ill but he thought it just a fever – well, I did have fevers amongst other things – to which I commented, “That is an understatement.”

He probably went half-numb into shock when I told him how ill I was, the story of the discovery, diagnosis, hospitalisation, treatments, recovery and return to life has become a somewhat flawless delivery with snippets of other things like my brother thinking my being able to blog from hospital meant I was fine – the little artistic bent I have allows for the a dead-pan delivery of the line – You have no idea.

805, it is

Anyway, we got stuck in traffic so I suggested we go off to 805, the Nigerian cuisine restaurant at 805 Old Kent Road. Whilst my uncle had his general bearings of where we were, he was unsure as we got to Old Kent Road whether we had to turn left or right.

Smartphones are so handy nowadays; I should write something about how smart my phone is when looking for directions, checking timetables for public transport and much else. Immediately, I keyed in the address and we found we were to turn right, having parked the car briefly to be sure – there was no rush.

On getting to 805, the car park behind the restaurant was full apart from watching the annoyance of someone parking and re-parking with such indecision you were ready to take a nail to their tyres just to stop them.

Between you and me, you can use the Toys ‘R Us car park on Old Kent Road some 100 yards from 805 on the other side of the road – Yes, I am back to imperial measures – but you must never have your car there for more than 2 hours, else, be a customer of Toys ‘R Us before you go to 805, the penalty is a £50 fine wending its way to your wallet.

Responsive service

We got to 805 as it began to get busy and we were ushered to a table in one of the even more sophisticated dining areas, all the décor looking formal and well laid out. I then noticed a good subtle organisational arrangement; waiters and waitresses were allocated sections to attend to and the floor manager being very observant would notice if the service was not as prompt as one would expect and ask questions of the staff as to why the delay.

As it does get busy, there could be a bit of a wait but the staff will come with assurances to handle your expectations, the wait will always be worth your while.

I had assorted meat pepper soup as my entrée and semolina pudding with edikang ikong with assorted meats for my plat principal, my uncle went for the fish pepper soup and amala pudding with corchorus (ewedu) vegetable stew and assorted meats. We had Malta Guinness for drinks but the capsicum rating of the pepper soups had us pleading for water too.

Quality and class

I first visited 805 in 2006 and since then, I have watched the restaurant expand and improve, in quality, in service, in choice, in clientele and it is a stand-out Nigerian-owned business that sets the standard for what one should expect of a decent restaurant that I find quite lacking in many other Nigerian cuisine restaurants I have visited around Europe.

805 easily caters to an international diverse and multicultural demographic, it is a place you can take anyone not familiar with Nigerian cuisine to experience the amazing smorgasbord of Nigerian cooking without being squeamish about setting, service or any other uncomfortable situation.

Easily the best

We had a lovely dinner, the facilities are also much improved too and as I made for that opportunity I acknowledged the owner who apparently also knows my uncle that when I was later introduced to him commended my appearance – he is a sharp dresser too, commanding an air of understated sophistication that most of my country-folk usually fail to carry for hedonistic ostentation that makes for expensive and vulgar expressions of wealth as one risks snobbery for noticing the difference between the one and the other.

If you are in London and looking for a bit of class mixed with nostalgia, 805 at 805 Old Kent Road cannot come better recommended.

How to get to 805 and the menu.

My first review of 805 in 2006.

Berlin: Home-cooking at Roots

Continental African Restaurants

One of the things that excited me about visiting Berlin was last year I found a Nigerian restaurant called Fifty-Fifty which in Nigeria parlance is a euphemism for equal share of halves.

Living in the Netherlands, we have been regaled with the dastardly service of African Kitchen in Amsterdam, the illegal restaurant of Obalade and travelled over 50 kilometres to The Hague for fare that left us shocked at the service at Swingin’ Safari, which last time we were there.

WaZoBia in Antwerp has disappeared and the only seemingly classy restaurants are in London, but to London for a taste of home-cooking? I had better get my pans in line and turn the heat up.

Just up my straβe

As I got to Berlin, I asked Loomnie, a fellow blogger and Berliner but not a jam doughnut if Fifty-Fifty was still open because I was going to make a journey right across town to have some Nigerian fare.

On hearing of where my hotel was he said there was a restaurant just down the road from my place and that was the truth.

The Roots Afro-Caribbean Bar is in the centre of commercial and shopping street Berlin, not too far from Europacenter. You will be forgiven for thinking the prefix Afro- is a qualifier for Caribbean when in fact it does mean catering for African as well as Caribbean tastes.

The word is silence

It is unfortunate that many of these African restaurants seem to rely on the African advertisement culture of word-of-mouth when essentially a pervasive web presence is required.

A search of African restaurants in Berlin does not yield a list representative of the fact that there might be many more gems of exotic cuisine hidden in some back street almost content that they already have the clientele they require and the odd visitor is a bonus of sorts.

So, I walked up the road, crossed Kurfurstendamm and within a few blocks I was at bar which was half-bar half-restaurant seating and asked if I could have some African food, Nigerian in particular and I was given a few choices.

Menus in the head

I did not get to choose off a menu and since it was just soon after a Nigerian World Cup match there was the possibility what I really wanted might be out.

I had catfish pepper-soup, I still prefer the meat variety but that was out and then pounded-yam with egusi soup and assorted pieces of beef, all washed down with a malt drink.

The atmosphere was vibrant as it was showing the France-Mexico game and it did have quite a large proportion of German clientele which I do not find for many other ethnic restaurants I have been to.

The manager was friendly, welcoming and engaging; it was nice to be there even though I was eating alone.

Get the word out and book ahead

To think this restaurant had been there for 11 years and I have been visiting Berlin for 15 years, even Loomnie only discovered this haunt recently – I had a few words with the manager about the lack of marketing, the poor website and a few other things.

I will return to the restaurant but under advice that it is best to phone ahead so that preparations can be made to fulfil your preferences, even in this upmarket setting, the prices are reasonable, the service friendly and the rapport engaging – the food is delicious and really, what else can one wish for?

The Roots Afro-Caribbean Bar
Nürnbergerstraβe 17
Am Europacenter
10789 Berlin
http://www.afrobar.de
+493021968244

Spotting the English from afar

Roddy Rowdy English

The English have gotten themselves a reputation for raucous rowdiness and public nuisance. I was at the Diana Ross tribute entertainment put up by my hotel which was good enough entertainment with good dresses and acceptable voices.

After a few songs the performers decided to go through a list of countries to find out who was from where – after 10 or so countries with the mildest of responses, I had already responded to the call for those from the Netherlands, then England came up.

There were quite a few and they did make noise louder than every other grouping, but the performers were not convinced because they had that bad stereotype of the England that they first made that perspective clear indicating we are a noisy boisterous bunch and then they called out for England again.

The affected responded to type and that was England revealed and sealed in its doomed reputation – I could not cry for England anymore.

As English as Fish and Chips

However, dinner offers the choice of a buffet of entrées and either a la carte or a buffet plat principal – the variety of cuisines is extensive covering all the Mediterranean countries, North and South, the Asian continent, Southern American fare and the local boiled salted potatoes with mojo sauce – you just have to try something different each day.

Amidst this feast and a banquet of choices almost unlimited, the idea of being on holiday with a sense of adventure should have your plate radiant with colour and exquisite tastes – amazingly, I could see and identify the English from a long way off – can you believe they only had fish and chips on their plates?

This hotel restaurant does gourmet, it is not some all-you-can-eat Chinese joint in the middle of some tourist street, the salmon gets carved in front of you, the ham comes straight off the shank into your plate, the designs on the large vegetables would make Mexican paintings look like kindergarten finger-painting and they end up with fish and chips – Give me peace.

Ordering vodka by the pint

With the UEFA Champions League final being an all-English affair in Moscow, someone would be trying to convince me that you can separate sports from politics.

Relations between the UK and Russia are not at their most cosy and definitely there are issues between Europe and Russia even though the same Russia is represented in European football as it is in the EuroVision Song Contests.

It would be interesting to see how the Russians process 42,000 visas for the fans of Chelsea and Manchester United – the projection is there would not be enough flights to cart the troops and Moscow does not come cheap – but football does have a fanaticism that is more compelling that cult membership.

The Sun newspaper that I had the misfortune of leafing through yesterday decided to get in on the game of helping the English get along in Moscow with an English-Russian guide that included the statement – Can I have two pints of vodka and a packet of crisps?

That, I would tell you, is the height of irresponsibility on a grand scale for a national newspaper, we have enough problems with the issue of English fans; keeping them sober is the beginning of peace and order – to advocate the serving of vodka by the pint does not serve this cause well at all, it is complete beneath contempt.

Anywhere you go, you will always spot the English, I suppose.

A London for yesterday

Not incapacitated by half

Londinium absorbs guests with interesting aplomb as one's hotel room on the eleventh floor beside the British Library is a completely enabling paradise - handle bars by the lavatory, a seat in the shower, a bench in the bath tub and red strings that activate alarms to call the SAS to the rescue.

All this for someone who just uses a cane? Must have another look in a full length mirror, must be missing something. However, it became clear that the obvious concealed a sinister message when one's check-out survey indicated one had left a day before one was ready to leave.

Not the way to San Jose

Leaving a gentlemen's club and that was not the Athenaeum, a horde of minicab drivers sought custom only to find that out of the 8 who swarmed only one really knew how to get from South of the River to the British Library or even King's Cross St. Pancras.

How anyone could enter a trade and be completely oblivious of the means, in this case directions to landmarks in a city where one plies hackneyed carriage escapes me - they were all Nigerian and more than half Yoruba, it was both alarming and saddening.

It makes Black cabs more a convenience than a luxury along with decent conversation about what really is happening in London.

To the butler, the bottle

Twice even, 805 received custom, with Chxta for pleasant company, the first time, however, the need for a butler and possibly a cook rather than a chef - in residence - is all too obvious as one desired that the waitress open a bottle of Perrier and this for the second time, one's grip of these physical twists fails all too frequently as they all had a brief laugh at one's expense.

This is an organisation that knows its trade and does excellently with friendly staff, prompt service and an accommodating ear, one is wont to tip quite generously, in ones opinion highly recommended and it is Nigerian owned, definitely impressed.

The oil of bergamot

Ah! To Fortnum & Mason on Piccadilly for teas mainly Earl Grey, jams as jelly and Dundee cake, a look in the Royal Academy where the courtyard exhibits non-art so metallic masquerading as large dinosaurs and more eye sores on Burlington Arcade and luxurious New Bond Street as doormen to all that glitters at great expense do up all the buttons on their single breasted jackets.

All but one had a top hat and more formal attire, the dumbing down of London continues apace as chavs blot the landscape with fashion that makes one want to sniff chloroform from a pocket square.

The bus stops hum with Polish and the buses blare out with Nigerians on the blower oblivious of others.

One would think London has a way of exposing the snob in many. Certainly not! Backhand to the titled forehead as one swoons into a business class seat. Bliss!

My Spanish Indecision - Easter in Madrid

Madrid for Easter

A long weekend and my thoughts were in overdrive about where I had never been before. I had the choice between Copenhagen and Madrid, I ended up with Madrid because it had hotels belonging to the Accor chain which Copenhagen did not, I had decided on a 4-star Sofitel smack bang in the centre.

This means, I have still not visited a Scandinavian country ever, sad, but I have till now resisted every attempt to get me off to Norway for official business, I have cried I am from tropics, do not send me to the North Pole, that grovelling supplication has kept me out of those lands all winter.

Then to learn that Madrid would be colder and wetter than Amsterdam over Easter, it would make one think the weather travelled with me.

My flight over was quite lovely and as we approached Madrid the cloud cover was not so bad that I even took pictures from the flight being able frame in the shadow of plane I was in.

Per hotel per issue

I seem to have my share of problems with hotels no matter how will appointed, this time with was first the LAN connection which got fixed after the receptionist lost me an important write-up, I should have kept him miles away from my laptop.

The next day, suddenly, the television would not recognise that there were 2 guests in my room and so would not provide a menu of other service options, just television channels and no LAN link.

When I called reception about the problem, the man was about to start with telling me the service is not a primary hotel facility, I cut him off with a terse - Don't give me that kind of line, it is unprofessional and annoying to guests. My requirement is a room with a full service of Internet access and television services, please arrange this as you will see in my reservation request.

The television did not get fixed till the next morning, but I ended up with a free 24hr wireless LAN connection access, which was helpful but then some service-oriented businesses try to cop-out with a compensation offer rather than providing the service or ensuring the service is available.

Basically, I hate compensation, it cheapens the whole idea of expecting and receiving the service you have requested.

Doing Madrid

We have done a few things, good Spanish food but we have never been about to get a decent restaurant before 22:00 even when we got the reception who are slowly redeeming themselves to book a table in the restaurant that serves the best paella in Madrid. La Paella de la Reina 39 - reservations recommended.

The Royal Palace in Madrid has had my custom, a whole day spent looking through the opulence of Spanish royalty or possibly the rape of the people for the aggrandisement of the privileged few - sometimes visiting such places does tempt one to become republican.

After 4 hours of museum saunter, neck ache from looking up at frescos of megalomania and idolatry, masters by the hands of Goya, Valasquez and Caravaggio to name a few, my back ached like I had been given the Spanish Inquisition version of a back massage, thankfully, my cane did help in succouring the pain.

It definitely became clear why the Spaniards had the temerity to challenge England to many wars, many of which they lost, the Royal Armoury was quite a feast of weapons wrought to damage other fellow human-beings and how royal kids were groomed for a life of the savagery of war.

No flash photography was allowed within the palace walls which meant some rooms were too dark for photography to produce the best images, makes one wish for a camera that develop the real colour of the objects even in the dark, something like infra-red but more colour than green.

Another procession

As we returned to the open courtyard outside the palace, one long procession of religious relics, a guard of horse-riders, people in black and red hoods that could instil the terror of the inquisition, ladies in Spanish comb headdress looking almost too regal but definitely sophisticated - indeed, a Spain steeped in Roman Catholic rituals preserved in the formaldehyde of time - a sight to behold.

There is so much to do in Madrid, and we have hardly done anything, we sighted a cable car service (Teleférico) from the palace and went looking for the 2.5 kilometre ride the next day which was quite good - in all I have taken about 500 pictures, it is possible to suffer repetitive strain injury just clicking away with amateur paparazzi abandon?

Visit my Photo Album to see Madrid and Madrid Tour, I still need to give descriptions to most of the material and there are still about 400 pictures to upload.

My fingers - scalded to the bone

Back at WaZoBia

I find myself returning to the Nigerian restaurant (WaZoBia) in Antwerp even though it has never had the best of reviews from me. This is because, for now, it is the only restaurant I know serving that cuisine as a business.

The ones I hear of in the Netherlands are housed in seemingly ghettoised locations in people's homes and are completely out of the reach of food safety just in case something untoward happens.

I do like goat meat pepper soup, however, I have never been able to source meat properly for that recipe, I have been too supermarket trained to packed meat treated with carbon monoxide to keep its redness.

The cubes of beef and heart that would have been a good improvisation have now been dual-labelled human and pet food, I really cannot handle dual-purpose foods that cross the species barrier like that.

All meat is dog to me now

Then there is the unintended consequence of the dog meat story that the BBC ran about Nigeria during the week. I usually get lots of fried meat from the African store at the Amsterdam Central Station, but that and the meat that was in the pepper soup yesterday all tasted different.

I have never had dog or horse meat before, somehow and strangely, none of the meat seems to taste like beef, goat or lamb anymore, they all taste different, I suddenly feel I am going to bark - this is not good, I think I am going off meat for fish - this can take a long time to recover from. Now, some might say I am fussy, you bet, when it comes to food, you have not seen a fuss-pot yet.

I gave up on my fish and chips the other day when I saw an eyelash embedded in the batter of the fish; these company canteens sometimes go out of their way to poison us.

Some cow in the hide

Anyway, I picked out the cowhide (ponmon) and left everything else as the tripe and beef chunks, I would not know what horsehide or dog-hide is like, do not get me wrong, I am not accusing the restaurant of any untoward activity, it is my sensibilities that are a bit fragile.

Then, the main course arrived, pounded yam, melon stew and assorted pieces of meat, very good when the appetite is there. This restaurant always seems to mar the whole thing by heating the stew with the meat in the microwave oven at full power.

The result is like rock-climbing the mount Vesuvius, a rock comes loose as you clamber and you are faced with molten lava about to scald your whole being, you are almost about to face a death too hot to contemplate.

Scalding my fingers

In the many times I have been to that restaurant, I have only been able to touch the meat in the stew twice; most West African foods need to be served piping hot but definitely not scalding hot.

When food is warmed in the microwave oven, the food needs to stand for a few minutes for the heat generated in the core of the food to properly dissipate through - better still, cook on medium-low power where the heating activity is better controlled.

I had a few bites of the meal such that the waiter was quite discouraged that so much as about to be thrown away, I could not help it, I had thoughts of dog meat on my mind and feelings of scalded fingers to contemplate, I was going no further.

All I had to endure

The drama however got interesting when another African "brother" walked in looking as if he had been drugged beyond a stupor, sat at my table in front of me aggressively spouting out incoherent babble about being a Gambian with a Nigerian girlfriend and the consequences of living in Belgium.

Half the time he was talking in some Reggae-ish genre, not helpful in a restaurant you are trying to feel comfortable in, so, the owner of the restaurant came round to eject him from the restaurant on the premise that he was not buying drinks not so much for the fact that he was a nuisance annoying other customers.

He even remonstrated at the waiter for not ensuring the man was buying something, and I did not get any notice for having to sit and listen to a drugged up person on a licensed premises - so much for service and ambience - we need some decent Nigerian restaurants on continental Europe, I hope there is more custom than myself to frequent the new places.

Surrogate Mum cooking @ 805

Accepting the ordinary

Eating at 805, 805 Old Kent Road, SE15 1NX

Having been called a snob a number of times when I have given objective reviews to things pertaining to Nigerian endeavours, it woud be remiss of me not to commend exceptions to what was looking like a rule.

I have always sought out restaurants that serve Nigerian cuisine, first in London and then on other cities around Europe. In fact, it is a bold initiative to set up a business that caters to particular tastes, however, there is still work to be done to burnish up these business to standards that would open them up to wider and sophisticated clientele.

In some cases, I have been tempted to invade the kitchen without the courtesy of asking for an apron to teach a few fundamentals about the food being served, however, the fear of walking into a place that might make a mockery of the Cholera Joints in Nigeria which consistute sheds of disease borne vermin nestling through the feet of the madam of the cauldron has restrained me.

Enduring the pain

I have in times past borne the pain of food poisoning with resolve and fortitude, the taste of home sometimes compels one to visit again, the need for competition cannot be overstated.

Years ago, Africana on Camberwell Road was the standard bearer, even recently, when offered a doggie-bag for what was left-over, I was indiscrete enough to suggest my dog would not sniff the food - it was that bad.

All Roads to 805

So, this day, I found that this restaurant was on Old Kent Road, number 805, it is no wonder that I never liked London buses and where I should have asked questions, I did not - so between London Bridge and my destination, I happened to ride on 4 buses that all turned off the road except the last.

I was not sure if the restaurant was open, but when I got in and asked, a friendly and courteous waitress ushered me to a seat and brought the menu.

The menu was beautifully designed, well laid out and properly assigned the entrees to the appropriate sections, I do prefer restaurants that defer to words better than Starter, but language does seek a common standard for general understanding.

The riot of tastes and imagination

Boiled Yam with tomato omelette and hints of pepper - well, that was once for breakfast at home when I was a kid, the pictures that formed in my imagination.

Ewa Aganyin - black eyed beans made to a special Aganyin (a Yoruba tribe stradling South-Western Nigerian and Eastern Benin Republic) - it was a pot pourri of delectable tastes, one was lost for choice.

I settled for the Goat Meat Pepper Soup - an entree, Pounded Yam with Edikan Ikan and assorted meats and Guiness Malt drink.

Hot! the pepper soup was, a sniffling nose after the first soup, sweat on my scalp by the second spoon, very palatable.

Exquisite service

Meanwhile, the service just improved as the pounded yam arrived, a bowl of warm water to wash my hands, as I finished, a bowl of soapy water to wash my hands again, after a rather sumptious and wonderfully prepared meal.

Before, I could ask, toothpicks to bring my dentures back to good looks, the only fault I could find was my not learning of the place and visiting before.

I was both suitable amused and impressed, a Nigeria business that had moved beyond the contempt of familiarity and the offering of the mediocre because we condone it, to providing service as one should expect.

If you are seeking authentic Nigeria cuisine in London, you should be making tracks to 805 and 805 Old Kent Road, SE15 1NX - Bus 21 would get you there from London Bridge and you will be overcome with the nostalgia of mother´s home-cooking, once again.