Zimbabwe Standard (Harare)
Dusty Miller
27 June 2009
column
I phoned charming Eltah Nengomasha, group corporate communications manager Rainbow Tourism Group last week, chasing copy or pictures for a hotel conferencing and leisure supplement in our sister paper Zimbabwe Independent.
I still wait for text and/or artwork! but Eltah invited me to lunch the next day at one of my favourite eateries: Komba Hari Grillroom at Rainbow Towers, which, ignoring pressing deadlines, I accepted with alacrity.
It was a bonsella that her colleague Janet Mwalalimo, RTG's group marketing manager, whom I first met when she was enthusiastically selling wine for Cairns, joined us.
Komba Hari has joined the majority of Zimbabwean restaurants which -- since dollarisation -- have introduced affordable three-course table d'hote lunches. Theirs is $16: surely a bargain in a 5-star restaurant?
From the a la carte however, I'd already helped myself to a range of crisp, crunchy dew-fresh salads from a buffet and a couple of excellent little rolls and butter which, ungallantly, I began nibbling before my hostesses arrived, as tyrannical deadlines wouldn't allow me too long from my desk half a kilometre away.
Judging by the ladies' elegant, willowy figures, that's the sort of stuff they routinely dine on: lettuce and raw carrot, multi-coloured peppers, beetroot, onions, but Janet decided my wonderfully thick flavour-rich cream of mushroom soup -- thick with fungi and a masterpiece, smelt so good she joined me in a plateful. Soups are $2.
I rarely eat beef as despite loving it, it detests me, but T-bone steak (with -- unusually -- much nyama on the fillet side) looked so good I had to try it and keep a Peroxycam handy!
Janet had the hake fillets I would usually eat; Eltah a rump, which looked even better than my medium-griddled T-bone. Waitress, Memory, and Martha, who cooks on a griddle in a hollow-square configuration, plumb in front of diners were so visibly disappointed I ordered chips instead of their "famous fried rice" that I relented and asked for half of each.
Good choice! The fried rice was the sort of side dish in Zimbabwe which is a meal on its own in many countries: a type of egg foo yong, which also incorporated a generous portion of finely shredded and then re-chopped minced steak and a wide range of cubed young veg.
I declined offered "baby chilies" which Janet took. The dish also came with conventional stir-fried julienne vegetables.
There was a choice of pepper or mushroom sauce. I went for the latter. Candidly it is difficult to believe such a spread was only $11.
Janet left for a 2 o'clock. I had a couple of tiny fruit-packed individual apple strudels with a drizzle of cream and, as we were intrigued by the name, Eltah ordered "Egyptian holima", which looked suspiciously like good old Pommie bread-and-butter pud to me.
I didn't know whether to be amused, or horrified that Memory had put bottled Pilseners into an ice-filled, napkin-draped, silver ice-bucket. There were certainly more than the sensible, conservative, grizzle-haired hack could polish off in a 90 minute lunch break. But this one tried his best!
When I thought everyone would have heard enough of the pirate attack on the MV Melody on which I cruised from Durban to Italy, the prestigious Advertising & Publicity Club invited me to give them further and better particulars at a recent lunch at Bronte Hotel, The Avenues. I had no time to prepare a talk thanks to tyrannical deadlines and frequent power cuts; speaking off the cuff, showing pix on my laptop for anyone close enough to see.
The talk seemed to go down spiffingly: I'd two more invitations from similar groups and the meal wasn't too bad: beef bourguignon which, candidly, I thought pricey for members at $10. They battled to find me a cold beer. (At Thursday lunch?)
At least they laughed when I thought they may. I've occasionally spoken to a Rotary Club breakfast meeting, perish the thought. The same speech given a week or so earlier which brought the house down with the audience suitably lubricated with tinctures of a moderately alcoholic nature is a different story altogether when the punters listen after a strictly portion-controlled plate of egg, bacon and baked beans if they're lucky, washed down with over-diluted juice and stewed tea!
As I have a little space, a tip for Air Zim passengers with time to kill at Gatwick: the Frankie & Benny's chain Restaurant on the first floor is infinitely better than the JD Wetherspoon operated Gatwick Village nearby.
It's like stepping back into a New York-Italian 1950ish outlet with the framed monochrome sporting prints on the wall and music to go with it.
DON'T make the mistake of verbally praising the music: Sinatra, Perry Como, Dean Martin, etc or waiters will immediately pester you to buy a boxed four CD set at £20.
Just enjoy the tunes, excellent grub: pasta, pizza, steak, chops, fish etc, great range of draught beers or wines and wonderful people watching.
If you have plenty of time before checking in at 3:30 for the evening flight, why not pop down to Brighton, only half an hour away and get some real sea air before returning to landlocked Zim.
At Heathrow's spanking brand new (but much criticised) Terminal 5, I decided against eating at Gordon Ramsay's ultra-pricey Plane Food (caviar starter £45 a pop!), spurned the Wagamaga outlet, as I despise them, but had an excellent steak, kidney and ale pie with a mountain of chips and a pile of veg at the 5 Tuns for £7. It also has a great range of beers including several real ales.
My daughter dragged me away from overtly licensed premises on my penultimate day in the Disunited Kingdom. Elegant wiry ladies who lunch were crammed into the naff-sounding Nosebag Restaurant in St Michael's, Street Oxford.
The half-timbered building must have been of venerable years when Oliver Cromwell was a spoilsport. Adele and my three year old grand-daughter shared quiche with three salads (perm any three from around 15!) and I was full with soup (thick veg) and a couple of doorstep-style wedges of still warm cottage loaf about the thickness of a British MPs expenses packet.
An agreeable lunch for three was £15,65 of which £3,30 was for my 500 ml bottle of Sheppy's dry organic cider.
Buying Siena-Rose (3) and myself two take away ice-cream cornets in Thornton's, as a "keep quiet" bribe while mummy tried on six dozen Primark frocks for her confirmation by the Bishop of Oxford two nights later, was almost as dear.
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