This time for African food?

An African food festival can make for some racist conversation. On our way to Barbeque Nation, the Khar restaurant serving an African menu (named ‘Hakuna Matata’) for a brief period, a colleague and I cracked offensive jokes such as how an empty plate might be the most ‘authentic’ African experience. There was some gentle ribbing on my part for his limitations as a vegetarian. “In Africa, it’s considered rude to say no to food offered to you? They can kill you if you say no,” I said solemnly. My colleague mulled over this. “Let’s hope the restaurant doesn’t try to be too authentic,” he replied. Alas, his wish was about to come true.

The entrance to Barbecue Nation set the tone: we entered through the gaping mouth of a black mask. Our waiter was dressed in a leopard-print shirt. His face was painted with red, yellow and green triangles, and he had a cardboard replica of a feathered headset on his head. The walls were covered with ‘African’ art, seemingly epitomised by merry tribal people and splashes of red and yellow. The effect was however, slightly marred by the strains of a Taylor Swift song playing over the speakers.

With tucked napkins and forks at the ready, we intrepid foodies were all set to chow down some Dark Continent delicacies. I was particularly intrigued by the lure of emu meat — the PR person in charge had assured me that the meat of the second largest bird in the world would be available for consumption. “Is emu even African?” my colleague piped up. A quick google revealed that emu was in fact an Australian bird that ate charcoal for reasons “scientists have not been able to ascertain”. These enigmatic creatures maintained their mystery by refusing to show up on our table. A waiter was called to investigate its non-appearance — confused, he motioned towards the tribal dance scheduled for later. The kitchen went into panic about our unexpected question. Finally the cook came out. “I…don’t know…what emu is,” he said.

Putting the emu question aside, we dug into the food. While not all of it was African, it was delicious. The dips included the berbere, a key ingredient in the cuisines of Ethiopia, it is a spice mixture containing chilli peppers, garlic, ginger, dried basil, korarima, rue, white and black pepper and fenugreek. Another dip was harrissa, a Tunisian hot chilly sauce commonly eaten in North Africa.

I made my way through several chunks of spicy peri peri tangdi. We also tried mandazi, a sort of sweet bread that tasted suspiciously like banana bread. Meanwhile, my colleague took a generous helping of the vegetarian side of the barbeque — Fire-Fiery Soya Gluten, Waka Waka Skewer-E-Cocoyam and grilled vegetables with Ras-El-Hanout.

The buffet, while having some suspiciously non-African dishes like spring onion noodles and Alfredo pasta, did have some great African curries. One of these was the Doro Wat chicken, often referred to as Ethiopia’s national dish. The chicken was delicious and spicy and tasted of cayenne pepper and berbere paste. There was the African peanut soup, surprisingly delicious and made with sweet potatoes and bell peppers. The lamb and crab bhuna masala were mouth-watering but decidedly desi. My colleague gave up the endeavour of eating African food and instead attacked the noodles. I too gave in to this siren call — clearly the organisers foresaw diners’ vulnerability to the familiar.

“I understand that they have to cater to local tastes,” said my colleague philosophically. “But isn’t the point of an international food festival to introduce people to a new cuisine? Also, Waka Waka translates to ‘Do it’. So you want me to have a dish called ‘Do It Skewer’? What is soya gluten doing on the menu? Is it African?” The questions were endless.

The food tasted fantastic — but if you want a taste of African food, catching a flight to the continent might be better.

(With inputs from Krishna Rao)