Port Harcourt Epistles: Butchers, bread and a braai

As I settle in here adjusting to life which is quite simple and at times, particularly when not working a little boring.

Not being one to moan I have resolved to spend time in the kitchen, the heart and soul of any good hotel and to pass on my skills to those that are interested. Of most importance is my desire to lift the standard of the food offered.

They say 100 days is the honeymoon period, observe, listen and make notes, only then start implementing changes.
Living in has sped that process up and by now I am keen to start on the food offering. Guest feedback has over time been negative, could be better, more variety and so on. I know that we can do better.

The chef is local, a chief too and a good man who is keen to learn and realises his shortcomings. The last expatriate chef was fired from here several years ago for throwing his toys. This did not go down well with the owner and a decision was made – no more expat chefs.

And so our man has soldiered on, using the skills that he was last taught then. Classic dishes become mutated from the original as ingredients are forgotten, techniques abandoned and a general lack of knowledge or inspiration.
The main meals here are buffet – divided into Local and Continental, Salads and Starters, a la Carte, In Room Dining and of course Breakfast. My focus will be on all except local, I have no expertise there.
T Bone steak is on the menu but never available, why I ask?
We cannot get the quality we require, what we have is sourced locally, apparently imports are discouraged. Port Harcourt is severely challenged for product compared to the larger cities.
Most of the cows die on the doorway outside the butchery.

I need to find this out for myself and ask the Chef to take me to the local butchers.
So off the two of us go with the usual escort, take me to your meat suppliers and let’s see what they have.
Not far from the hotel we arrive at the Meat Market, a small stand alone building with off street parking. We enter, no sound of band saws slicing away, just a few cold counters chilling their offering which I study closely. It looks pretty clean and hygienic up front, I can’t see out back. In some ways it reminded me of a platteland butchery although they would have more on offer.
A young girl greets us, her mouth full of chewing gum as she offers assistance –is the owner here we enquire? No she responded as she chewed on.

I examine the offering; some tripe in this tray, cooked tongue in that, some chunks of meat in another and other nondescript pieces of flesh in others. On the other side rests a lonely goats head – I smiled and thought to myself – a smiley as we would call it. Looking forlorn it still managed a grin.
No T Bone here so we departed and sought out the next one.

After some calls to direct us we came upon the next one, no signs, just a steel gate. I wondered what lay beyond.
We entered and the Chef was recognized as we were welcomed. Our purpose explained, a price list offered but no imported meat, in fact no meat on display, they must wholesale only. It is all local and organically fed I am told. I hate to think what that meant. Explaining our quest – aged meat worthy of a 5 star hotel with guest satisfaction, what could they offer?
It should be noted here their vehicles looked new and clean, access to the processing plant restricted, hopefully for health reasons.

The cattle are small here, every muscle works, including the fillet. Toughness comes to mind, what about sirloins, do you have rump? Currently the kitchen minces local fillet for burgers, doesn’t say much for the fillet quality and we offer fillet steak on the menu.

No rumps, I have yet to figure out why – there must be a good reason but none forthcoming.
Do you age your meat I enquire?
Ten days they respond, I say that it is not enough. We can age for 21 days or 14 if you wish – would you like some samples?
Of course I agree, let’s see what transpires. I am waiting for the samples with baited breath.
I’m tired after this, this project is going nowhere, a plan B to be activated.

And back to the kitchen, I had suggested a braai after the Springbok game on Saturday to my new found Scots friends who are long stayers at the hotel together with their guests. A new experience to them it will be.
Some shopping at the local Spar, no boerewors to be had this day, pork sausage will have to do.
Into the kitchen, my objective to bake some nutty wheat bread but the flour is not available here so I purchased a substitute. On the menu for dinner I planned Sirloin steak with green peppercorn sauce, sausage, garlic bread, potato salad and nutty wheat bread with cheese.

As I proceeded to prepare these dishes the staff eagerly gathered around, listening intently as I explained and demonstrated what I was doing, note pads out, questions asked. All came out well, the bread dough performed as expected, green peppercorns substituted with black as the look on their faces told me they were alien, garlic bread a novelty and a classic English potato salad new to them.

I was pleased with their response to this new learning and as I left the kitchen they inquired when I would be back.
That night as we entertained outside, glass of red in my hand, tongs in the other I enjoyed my first braai in Nigeria.
There will be more.