Strange queues for stranger things

A Queue for Inquiry

Everywhere you go in Manchester, there are queues. I am often tempted to ask someone in one of them what they are waiting for.

When it is for entrance to clubs or entertainment venues, you do wonder what event has attracted such interest or who is playing at the venue, but my curiosity does not go as far as learning the truth.

However, the stranger queues are those for people wanting to access a restaurant, or for when a product is launched and people queue up overnight to be the first to get into the shop. One finds oneself sneering about the need for some people to have a bit more purpose, but then, maybe that constitutes purpose.

Food Queues Are Not It

One rather peculiar queue was for a doughnut shop in the Victoria and Alfred Waterfront mall in Cape Town, Krispy Kreme, I think it was called. We surmised, Brian and I, that there was something in the doughnuts that was attracting the patrons: an elixir, a drug, a potion that suggested virility, or something of the sort.

I have nothing but suspicion and paranoia about such arrangements. If food attracts people like flies to faeces, to the point that they need to join long queues instead of going elsewhere, can there really be so many people so led by their stomachs?

Having no answer to that question, and possibly no full insight into the motivations of such people, imagine my surprise when I stepped out of my apartment block and saw a queue across the road. It extended beyond the front of two apartment blocks, all for a Japanese fluffy pancake meal.

The restaurant in question has already gone through one name change, and its opening hours were changed the other day. How I notice these things, I cannot tell, but they are there to be observed. It is not that I have been tempted to venture in for anything; it exists literally beside another Japanese restaurant that I once visited over eight years ago, though they are divided by a street.

The Queue Is Inviolable

As an Englishman, I like the orderliness of queues and detest queue-jumpers to the point of withstanding them at the risk of harm to myself, as was once the case in a Dutch venue. The principle, however, cannot be violated: you take your turn on a first-come, first-served basis.

I will queue for the bus, to enter an entertainment venue, at the airport, or to pay at the till. For the other kinds of queues, however, I have neither the patience nor the time to waste being a poster boy for indolence. All right, let’s not castigate them. They have a purpose for being there; I just happen to have more purposeful things to do.

A rather surly place owner

Shit hot shit people

There are people quite talented in what they do and that is all they have to show. In business, they probably employ staff who are marshalled into a unit to perform with excellence on the force of the personality of one.

I walked into a restaurant this afternoon and saw one such boss, for she was not a leader, the banter between her and two of her staff was like an offcut of a Nollywood film, laden with abuse and invective, the staff progressively belittled that if it were a shrinking game, they would have been the size of ants in the space of a minute.

Suffering smiling staff

When I was noticed, I tried to put in an order and when it did not seem to be a big one, she became surly and truculent at the point of doing the same thing she did with her staff. That she then stopped addressing me directly even though she could face me, and she delivered her diatribe and belittlement through another of her staff.

All this because we were putting an order in for food even though we had bought foodstuff there the day before and had the pleasure of being served by friendlier staff. Rather than run the gauntlet of the nasty woman tomorrow, I went back this evening, thankfully long after she had left for the day and again found beautiful and helpful people to fulfil my order.

The staff saved that place of a nasty review, of the boss, no words, but the staff will perform better if they were treated better, with courtesy, respect, and dignity.

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.

A Restaurant Review: How you sink your business

Just the little things

There are some very fundamental things anyone who runs a business should be doing to be on the pathway to success. Whilst, I will not necessarily dish out business thots, what you put into a business is almost always a reflection of who you are.

If you run a restaurant business, it goes without saying that impressions matter, service is paramount and the setup is more than a revelation. Up in Edinburgh this afternoon, I had checked on the Trip Advisor website searching out African restaurants. I think 9 came up from all parts of Africa and two were particularly of West African cuisine.

Trust but verify

Now, anytime I visit a new place, I do try to search out a restaurant that serves some Nigerian cuisine and I hope it is good.

On Trip Advisor, there were 16 reviews of the African Flavour Restaurant of which 4 rated it terribly, 9 were excellent and 4 with a very good rating. It does concern me when I look at restaurant reviews and 25% of the respondents had a rotten experience, yet, I decided to give it the benefit of the doubt.

On reflection, I was too trusting, the website link for the restaurant from Trip Advisor was defunct but I pushed my luck and called a cab to the place. From the outside, you could see the place was not particularly cared for. On stepping in, two tables were occupied and the other two had not been cleared with leftovers and mess left on the tables.

Invisible for a while

The waiter was attending to two mothers with their kids who had come in to pick up their takeaways, nothing seemed to be done with despatch. I was there for probably 5 minutes before I was noticed and I told the waiter I had come for a meal. There was, however, an instinct to just walk out, but I stayed as he made to clear the tables without any panache and motioned to me to sit down.

Meanwhile, a monotonous cacophony called Nigerian music today was blaring from the television which was linked to YouTube videos. One of the customers who probably was a friend of the waiter was playing jukebox with a mobile phone calling up tracks that suited her listening, though later the volume was turned down. After the mothers had left, it probably would have been better to close the restaurant and having the waiter spend time with the other two customers who seemed to know their way around the place but were no helping hands.

Staff the place properly

I could not say if the man waiting the tables was also doing the cooking, but I suspect that was the case which would mean that adding one more member of staff to the coterie can improve things to ensure the tables are cleared before new customers come in and preferably whilst the customers who had those meals were still at the tables. Separating waiting tables from kitchen duties can make the greatest first impression of a place.

I was hungry and not too keen on going elsewhere, so I hope that the food served would be the redemption of the place. They did not have my choice of peppersoup and the gizzard and plantain combo would have been served without the plantain. Without making too much of a fuss I forgot the entrees and ordered the main course of pounded yam and ogbono soup.

A salvation of sorts

It arrived piping hot as I was informed to wash my hands at the wash basin with wonky taps, I would suspect the soup came out of a microwave oven because it was scalding hot, it could not have been served from a pot on a stove and be that hot.

In any case, I settled into the meal without suffering any life-changing burns and when I finished, I returned to the wash basin to wash my hands only to find the tissue roll dispenser was empty. I returned to my table and wiped my hands with one of the napkins before using sheets of I tissue handkerchiefs I had in my pocket to dry them properly and immediately asked for the bill. I had called my Uber and walked out to it soon after.

Doing the right thing matters

By comparison, the Uber cab was clean, the driver pleasant and the conversation enlightening, but contrast, the restaurant I had just left was dire, lacking in character and ambiance, with a redolent staff incapable of purpose with a slapdash business sense, that restaurant was a business in decline.

A business in decline not by reason of anything but the proprietor of the said business and the person should have no one to blame if that business fails. The Uber driver opined that the neighbourhood was not one of the more salubrious of Edinburgh, however, in my view that is no excuse for bad service of unkempt tables. Nothing stopping the proprietor converting that restaurant into a surprise location like a jewel in the dirt.

Work with what you’ve got

It takes a particular mindset to make the best of what you’ve got and where you are to attract custom. I posted a review on Trip Advisor that rated it average and by terms, it was a generous review. You rarely get a second chance to make a good first impression and in the case of the African Flavour Restaurant, the flavour was not fragrant or tasteless, it was the harbinger of retching nausea if the constitution of the stomach were of lesser resilience.

I endured it, but I would be ashamed and embarrassed to recommend it and if not for my craving and hunger, I should have given that place a miss, the moment I stepped in. It is shame when someone has an opportunity and out of being inconsiderate and incompetent, compounded by rank ineptitude, what could be a showcase restaurant is a rundown dive.

African Flavour Restaurant,
187 Great Junction Street,
Edinburgh
EH6 5LQ
+44 131 554 5537

Open daily from 16:00 to 22:00

South Africa: This humble customer is not a diva

Drop the stars and give me service

Why? I lamented, do I end up in places where I have to demand they raise standards? This is not my calling. When an expectation is set, I expect it to be exceeded, especially if a hospitality establishment dares to boast a 5-star rating.

It is important we understand what hotel ratings are and I am afraid, this hotel fails to breach the mark it has been assigned.

Earl Grey, yes, Earl Grey

This morning, I arrived for breakfast and the standard should be once I am seated, I should be asked if I want tea or coffee. I was not asked until I had to go up to the waiters and ask for a pot of tea. I wanted Earl Grey tea. That is standard fare in any self-respecting place.

The waitress said, there was no Earl Grey tea and then asked if she could offer me another flavour of tea. No, you do not ask to change the desired taste of a customer except when you have something better to offer. I refused and insisted on being served Earl Grey tea, failing that, it should be available tomorrow morning.

She flipped back at me that there is no Earl Grey tea. At which point, there was no point wasting my time conversing with her as I made for the reception and put in a formal request to be served Earl Grey tea tomorrow morning. Soon, one of the managers came to me and promised that my request will be fulfilled.

I’m not signing what I shouldn’t

Then, this evening, again I paid a deposit at the reception and was asked to sign the slip when the receipt slip clearly stated “No customer signature is required.” Much as the Chef de Réception insisted my signature was for accounting purposes, I refused to offer a signature where it was not needed.

In fact, one of the two lifts has been out of commission since this morning and did I mention they seem to have allowed their television channel subscriptions to lapse since yesterday.

Not like the menu says

Then for the third time of being a masochist, I returned to the restaurant for dinner. I received the menu, scanned the options and asked for smoked salmon roulade for my starter and spaghetti Bolognese for my plat principal.

The waitress returned apologising that the salmon roulade was not available, to which I suggested they take it off the menu, because this was my third night of asking and it was not available. I then asked was the ‘Soup of the Day’ was, she responded, 'mushroom soup'. Well, I had that yesterday, so I offered another suggestion that they rename the menu item, ‘Soup of the Week’, we both laughed, but I was serious.

I ended up with a carpaccio of beef, it just about passed the muster, before my main course arrived. I put my fork in it, twisted and rolled the pasta and to my buccal cavity it went before I motioned to the waitress to bring me the menu to confirm what I ordered.

I checked and it said, spaghetti Bolognese cooked al dente. I was missing the al dente part, now if I were in a papier-mâché art class, the pasta would have been gooey enough to use as binder for paper. I was having none of it, so I first told her, what I was served was not what I had ordered and suggested she return it to the chef because the spaghetti was not al dente.

Amends made

A few minutes later, the chef came out to apologise and said he will make amends, then another chef came to chat to me, apologising again and promising I will get me spaghetti, the way it is supposed to be made. Suffice it to say, pasta should be the simplest of meals to make, but it is also one that betrays a lack of attention to detail of the very basic cuisine.

Ten minutes later, my meal arrived and yes, there was a bite in the spaghetti, it was al dente and I more or less cleared my plate. If I have been poisoned for my insistence on quality, I will have suffered nobly for the sake of what is right.

I decided there was no point ordering a dessert lest they come up short of what was needed. When the bill came, the chef said my meal was on the house. To be honest, like I have said many times before, I pay because I expect the service, I am not waiting to be compensated for what should have been there in the first place. I signed the bill and offered a gratuity too.

I fear, my situation makes it appear as if I am a diva, but nothing could be further from the truth. I am not a vexatious customer, I am a humble customer with simple requirements that I appear to expect to be met. Surely, there is nothing wrong with that or with the expectation that a 5-star hotel should aspire to be what it says it is.

South Africa: My very first impressions, on a limited scope

Erm, I’m an Englishman

“Honesty is the best policy,” he told me as he came to chat to me about how much I liked my food. I had the prompt excuse of being an Englishman to be a little circumspect about my sometimes strong opinions.

I guess what was not said, revealed a lot more about what I thought of the entrée and the plat principal. I am not sure I will be trying those menu options again. None of what I was served was entirely lifted off the plate, though tactically, I took in enough not to have to suffer being questioned like I was in another hotel recently.

I had said, in a tweet, if I do get to write Trip Advisor review of this hotel, I would say, “A nice hotel seriously let down by its restaurant.” After our conversation and since this is only on my very first impression, I will reserve judgement on that for now.

Like local is good

When it came to the desert, I expected more, the cheese platter had names like Camembert (French) and cheddar (originally English) which are not essentially local South African cheeses. Reading the menu earlier, I struggled to find things that looked remotely South African cuisine, I guess it is the same experience I had in Bucharest last month.

Why certain hotel restaurants do not see the value to introducing guests to local cuisine really escapes me, it appears to be a lack of adventurousness with a pandering to the rudimentary, which is unfortunate.

Should I have paid up?

In my other blog, I said the hotel had arranged a chauffeur to pick me up at the airport, my understanding of that arrangement was that the shuttle service was free. However, that was not the case, when the chauffeur asked for money, I paid well over the odds for this service, because I had not South African currency on me. Besides, I was too tired to make a fuss of the situation so, I left it at that.

I did not know South Africa drives on the left as we do in the UK, though I instinctively made for the left passenger seat to the driver once my luggage was loaded in the boot.

Getting to my room, not particularly large for a presumably 5-star hotel, maybe I am viewing things with European eyes, I eventually got online and whilst wondering whether the tap water was potable, I found a medium sized fridge with a Brita water filter jug, suggesting I had better filter water before drinking it. However, when I browsed through the hotel directory, it stated, tap water is potable. I’ll use the Brita jug.

I have not done a walk around yet, and I am yet to see the gym or the swimming pool. The reviews of this hotel on Trip Advisor are not entirely glowing, but in general, it does have an acceptable standard.

Dropping stars fast

Before going to the restaurant, I asked for a charge to be put on my credit card so that things could be charged to my room. I was taken aback when I had to repeat myself to the waitress that I had done this as she wondered whether I had credit. That, in my view, is not the kind of question you get asked in a 5-star hotel, in fact, that is a good two stars off in my book.

A lack of attention to particular detail might be the undoing of this hotel, but it is early days yet. The reception should have informed the restaurant without me having to suffer any indignities and the concierge should have checked the receipt slip when I paid, because it clearly stated, “The customer’s signature is not required.” He had handed me a pen to sign when there was no requirement I sign the slip.

What makes a 5-star hotel is extraordinary service, attention to detail, exquisiteness, finesse and the absence of any need for a customer to quibble or to complain. I hope I can find elements of those in abundance over my 13-night stay.

Now, I have to prepare to be embarrassed in the morning, because I had a long interesting chat to the floor manager who had the initiative to engage me in conversation and as we parted, I had given him the address of my blog whilst I ended up with his email address and phone number.

If he ends up reading this, I would have been too honest for my liking. That an Englishman rarely says his mind having been steeped in the art of the understatement does not mean he minces his words in writing.

Customer Complaint II: Spices African Restaurant, Manchester, your spice is shit

Silly me

Smarting from my encounter with Currys PC World, as a glutton for more punishment I went online shopping again for food through Hungry House.

I typed in my postcode and I clicked on African cuisine and a list of 5 restaurants showed up, most of which serve Nigerian fare but only one of them was online, it was Spices African Restaurant and so I placed an order of various meals totalling £51 including delivery and I received a confirmation that my order was acknowledged and pending.

My order and confirmation

 

A few minutes later at 19:18, I received an email confirmation that my order would arrive anytime between 19:40 and 20:25, at which point, I began to salivate with Pavlovian expectation.

My hunger angered

At 20:18, an hour after my order was placed, I received a phone call; I almost jumped out of my seat to get my order from the door when the caller asked who he was calling. Quite strange since he would have had the order and that was where he got my phone number from.

I gave him my name as he asked if I have put an order to his restaurant through Hungry House, I replied in the affirmative and at that point he told me my order was to be cancelled because there was no one to deliver it. I was stunned.

I remonstrated that having confirmed my order, it meant they had what I ordered and were able to deliver it, but he was having none of it as he told me to call Hungry House to cancel my order and seek a refund.

Pissing me off

At which point I asked if that was how he did business, but he was nonchalant. Angered and frustrated, I offered that Spices African Restaurant would not get a good review for this, to which he replied something to the effect that I could go and do my worst.

I called Hungry House to complain since they are acting as the portal and escrow service to Spices African Restaurant and they were none too pleased. I was given a £5 voucher towards y next Hungry House order and my money would be refunded within the next 3 working days – a rotten inconvenience, but I am not finished with Spices African Restaurant yet.

Closed for business

For the moment their account has been suspended on Hungry House like the other African Restaurants that might have been involved in sharp business practices as Spices African Restaurant, except for Tae’s Tavern which is currently undergoing refurbishment.

Why are they all offline? Spices African Restaurant was put offline after my complaint

Suffice it to say that Spices African Restaurant has probably gotten away with such rotten service without consequence or repercussion because no one pursues the matter beyond the exchanges on the phone, but I am having none of it.

Bad business mien

It saddens me that many ethnic businesses take a lax attitude to customer service and handle the importance of first impressions with levity, almost oblivious and unconcerned of the damage it can cause the reputation of their business and the loss of custom.

As the business begins to fail, they attribute their difficulties to external factors when the problem is principally their attitude to cultivating respectful and considerate customer relationships. This is the stuff vendettas are made of, especially one that leaves a hungry man too angry to think of food until the blog is completed.

Spices African Restaurant, you crossed the wrong man and you have not begun to pay dearly for this. Your spices are rotten, your Africanness is suspect and your service as a restaurant is a disgrace.

Berlin: They brought their 'Big-Man' Complex with them

To the lettered in Berlin

Many years ago, I was through a relation of mine, a guest of the Nigerian Ambassador to Germany, the experience was a complete culture shock to me. I was picked up from my hotel and as we accessed the consulate everyone; the staff and some other visitors were genuflecting with insipid subservience, it was too sickening for words. I had entered a big-man time capsule that I do not think was encouraged by the ambassador himself.

I was respectful but quite dignified as someone suggested I should only speak when spoken to, not where I particularly come from or how I was brought up, I’m afraid. The ambassador was welcoming, friendly, without airs and engaging.

It was clear that he craved the company of fellow countrymen who could hold a decent conversation without the excesses of the fawning we call ‘respect’, nor was I there for some quid pro quo activity or politics, so we spoke freely as if we were old friends, it was such a pleasure to meet him.

Of the feted in Berlin

In another place and setting in Berlin, one can only imagine a restaurateur encounters this problem more frequently than most, but it got a good few of us quite irked as we tried to restore some order.

Running a restaurant is hard enough and having returning customers must speak for quality and service, at least in my case, both do matter and there are times where the absence of good service has informed whether I can really overlook that for the quality.

They booked a table for 10 for 4:00PM but did not arrive until 90 minutes later; you may call it African time, but surely not in Germany, they arrived without as much as informing the restaurant that they’ll be running late and when they did arrive it was just 6 of them.

Distributed Denial of Service

This inadvertently is a like an Internet Denial of Service attack, because reservations mean the tables cannot be allocated to other customers and depending on the demand, the proprietor stands to lose income if those who booked the reservation arrive late or never show up.

In the hotel business, at least, they have the option to charge the first night of a reservation if there is a no-show and then allocate the room to new custom for the next night, but that does not apply to restaurants.

Without apology, they sat and began to throw their weight around, expecting obsequiousness and fawning like they were accustomed to in Nigeria, they began to reconfigure the a la carte menu to their particular tastes as the co-owner waitress patiently accommodated their indecisive and indulgent needs as my irritation at their demeanour began to rise.

Whine on wine

When they finished their meal, they ordered wine, as if that should come after meals, but that is beside the point, being moneyed does not necessarily mean being cultured. As the bottle was presented by another waitress they called out the co-owner waitress-manager and complained that the waitress was not smiling whilst serving them, somehow they felt they were not being fussed over enough.

I had joined some gentlemen at another table as we were watching a football match and we thought amongst ourselves that that was the very wrong way to express displeasure at service if ever it was bad service. As long term customers going back years, we have never had reason to complain about service at this restaurant, but there goes.

Typically incalcitrant

Now, I had overheard the restaurateur inform them when they arrived that he had another reservation for 12 guests from 7:00PM, they also arrived a bit late, but he had forewarned the seated party that they might have to move tables when the larger group arrives.

By this time, they had more or less settled in, rearranged chairs and comfortably reclined to their wine watching the game. The restaurateur then approached them to say his booking had arrived and they would have to move, the number that was supposed to be 10 had now whittled down to 4 occupying the space for 12.

At the very least in a small seating restaurant, one would have expected them to be considerate, rather they decided they were being treated shabbily and without respect, abruptly demanded the bill.

The restaurateur tried hard to reason with them and placate them to no avail that we in my group got involved, offering them our seats as we readied to move to another part of the restaurant.

I don’t really care who you are

Then that supercilious Nigerian statement was made, “Do you know who we are?” I was having none of it, who were they? I later learnt, one of the number was supposedly a major general in Nigeria, but we are in Germany.

Typical Nigerian ‘Bigmanism’ an inability to moderate the delusions of grandeur and inflated sense of worth that associates with position and means in Nigeria once they have left Nigeria for other countries, especially European countries.

Opinion - Bigmanism in Nigeria - Vanguard News

Much as I can be a reserved Englishman, I can well be a rather obstreperous Nigerian too as I told them off one at time in Yoruba, inferring the Yoruba saying that they were like kids whose first taste of stew had it spilling all over their clothes.

Adjusting to the situation

At which point, they realised that ‘Bigman’ card was not going to work in this restaurant, the other gentlemen with me half placated all of us as they tactfully reprimanded them. We live in Europe not cowering and fearful of people and this was not the place to be intimidated, regardless of what rank or means they had in Nigeria.

They moved and settled down before one of their number came to chat to me and I simply said, whatever their grievance, we were customers too and it was important they realised they were in an international setting that just happens to be serving Nigerian cuisine. There was a need to temper their need for fawning with some appreciation of time, manner and place.

He acquiesced, as we conversed in Yoruba, which meant he fully understood everything I said and it probably hit home, we cracked a few jokes, they paid up and left. We sighed with relief and much as one might have wanted to put some fault at the door of the restaurateur, we realised he must run the gauntlet of such nonsense, probably daily, some customers just need to be put in their place.

For this lot, all they deserved was good service and good food, which I believed they received, they’ll have to travel back to Nigeria to be waited on like royalty.

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

A sense of morbid anxiety

Peanuts in service terms

The other day, I was out with a friend to the Ghanaian restaurant in The Hague called Swingin’ Safari and it was quite an experience we would never want to repeat.

For the first time ever, we found that the service could be appalling and that was not just for us but to others too, it appeared the waitresses felt they were doing us favours by taking our orders and messing the orders with without apologising for their mistakes and more.

When it came to the bill, the brazen effrontery of it all was evident when one of them demanded a tip with the statement everyone gives tips when they pay.

I am probably generous to fault when it comes to tips but these people deserved nothing, weaknesses in the system were exposed very much compared the brigandage of the African Kitchen restaurant that we had long deserted in Amsterdam for a 50-mile journey to The Hague.

A present market space

These exotic places are watering holes for ethnically diverse groups from Africa and West Africa in particular, so it was with a sense of mirth that I picked up a leaflet advertising Multicultural funeral insurance – Yes, it would have translated to that.

Even after life there are ways I suppose we want our bodies to be treated and somehow it is best that matter is taken care of before someone else is landed with unexpected responsibilities, but in most cases, these events are unexpected.

The bill for a friend’s burial came to just under 3,000 Euros and that did not include the reception afterwards – a place for a memorial basically does not come cheap.

A background feeling

It is hard enough having medically-induced vivid dreams that cast one as the gatekeeper to the afterlife, but I have tried as much as possible until today not to observe closely the advertisement hoardings that hang on the pillars of the Amsterdam Central Station.

Some company is trying to persuade us all to prepare for our funerals, they are drumming up business in ways that made it look like one were preparing for holidays.

Do not forget your travel insurance it seemed to say, the travel insurance to the great beyond and suddenly you have a sense of morbid anxiety, hopefully not accompanied with a last laugh for untimely foreboding.