Mogador

What a mighty name for a restaurant. Mogador sounds like a baddy from Lord of the rings, played by an 18 foot hammer-fisted Brian Blessed on PCP. Mogador eats cats, smokes children, and does very unpleasant things to those naughty Hobbits.

A swift google reveals that Mogador is many things:

• The Portuguese name for the south west coastal region of Morocco
• An ancient Phoenician fort in Morocco
• A small hamlet near Margery Wood (would she?) in Surrey, UK.

The Mogador in Dakar is a fine dining establishment with a snow white interior and some neat outdoor furniture for the summer. I'm told that the ladies loos are 'the most luxurious in Dakar'. So make sure you spend a penny.

The menu sticks to very creative French stylings with none of the miserable ethnic diversions common to Dakar fine dining. While the wine list offers the usual suspects at not too outrageous prices. We stick with the usual suspects - beers and Beaujolais - and I make another mental note to remember to bother to learn more about wine.

Amuses are a delicate diversion from the usual mini-crostini type annoyances, but nowt special. Mrs jiffler's potato gratine starter disappears quickly, although the truffle oil didn't really assert itself. My starter demonstrates that some creative thinking is going on in the kitchen. A neat pastry feuillette comes bursting with smooth melted Bresse Bleu, accompanied by a camembert ice cream. The competing yet strangely complementary flavours and temperatures of these two cheesy components form a whole far greater than the sum of it's parts. A slightly odd bush of salad on the side appears irrelevant at first, before it's intended purpose as a bitter mop for the unctuous bleu presents itself. My word. In Dakar.

We could have continued on this creative trajectory through main courses and desserts, but decided to test the chef's hand with straightforward steak frites. Over poncification of steak frites spells disaster, but Mogador serves it straight up and smoky, rare as requested, and hung like a horse. A five pepper sauce, and proper chips are simple perfection.

No dessert. That steak will take some digesting. Petits Fours Secs are made in-house and amuse Mrs Jiffler over good coffee.

Two courses, a beer, water, bottle of brouilly, coffee comes to 51,000Fcfa for two. Not cheap, but better value than most upmarket places in Dakar. We're not talking molecular gastronomy here, but I'm glad somebody in Dakar is taking things a little further than the usual French school dinners with a token selection of mediocre sushi. I await the day when the chef at Mogador gets hold of a sous vide cooker. Then those pesky Hobbits had better watch out.

More from Dakar at Dakar Restaurant Reviews

Dakar. The Vegetable Lady

The vegetable lady has gone. I never knew her name, which is an appalling oversight on my part, we simply addressed each other as 'Monsieur' and 'Madame'.

She was a large lady, of advanced years, and was a formidable presence among the vegetable ladies of Boulevard de l'est. Her stall was always the neatest of the eight or so that sit in a shambolic little row, and she always kept the perkiest selection of fresh parsley.

Our relationship developed over a period of several months, beginning furtively with a few pleasantries, the exchange of too much money for poor quality vegetables, cautious stilted Franco-Wolof conversation. Over time her attitude to me softened; realising my repeat custom was worthwhile, the prices dropped, the best stuff started to appear in my bag, along with the occasional "cadeau" of a scotch bonnet, or a lime. I introduced her to my 'wife', and she glowed with matriachal approval. One afternoon, she even delighted me with a brave 'Good Monning Sah'.

But now she is gone. I saw her earlier in the week while on the way home from the bank, sitting stall-less under a vast bou bou by the side of the road. She waved enthusiastically and greeted me with a smile. I waved back and gave her a wink: "Prochaine fois, Madame". But there wasn't going to be a next time.

Her quick replacement, a younger, hard-faced lady, has already started with the old tricks. Fiddling me out of my change. Sneaking in the odd manky onion. The whole process will have to start all over again.

Oranges

Back in Dakar, the tree in our backyard is bulging with oranges. Not the sort of oranges you'd want to eat, all pithy and thich, but the sort of oranges you might make into orange juice, if you could be bothered. Say you had Friday afternoon off work. And a four metre wooden curtain rail just lying around.

The technique is simple; stand on the roof of the flat and thwack away at the oranges with the wooden pole. Half an hour and 100 or so oranges later and you have this:


They're a bit grubby perhaps, but will do for juice. A few are even good enough for marmalade.


Much squeezing later, et voila: My first glass of juice made from Point E oranges.


Very satisfying. I can't wait for mango season.

There might be a brief hiatus in posting as I'm off on a short job to an unusual place where I'm not quite sure there will be much in the way of internet access. Will do my best to get one or two posts out. More to come from Dakar, plus three (!) new countries.

'Ta-daaaah' in a sort of Sino-Dutch way

I don't know, you write a couple of blog-posts about eating out Netherlands style and the next thing you know you're invited to a Dutch dinner in Dakar. Based on a sample size of two, I can now infer that Dutch men know how to cook. My friend's potato and garlic soup was that perfect combination of velvet-smooth soup with al dente nuggets of garlic. Lekker.

New Peking / Niuw Peking, Ede.

I thought I'd managed to block out the memory of eating at the New Peking restaurant in Ede, but I'm going to have to get it out of my system here on jifflings instead. Being a somewhat conservative town, Ede shuts down at about 8pm and everyone goes home for a spot of self flagellation, or to watch the telly. whatever. Anyhow, the New Peking looked inviting; we could order a set-banquet from the Dutch-language-only menu and be assured of eating something recognisable, and it was a 25 minute walk through the snow to the next restaurant. We had cold feet. It was a no brainer.

It started reasonably well. The chicken soup came with crystal clear broth and shredded pieces of proper poultry. Spring rolls and other deep-fried things were springy, and you know, deep fried. Nothing worth getting the trumpets out for, but solid, neighbourhood chinese restaurant cooking all the same. Our feet had started to thaw by this point as well. Things were looking good.

Rather too soon after clearing away the detritus of our starters, the owner arrived pushing a trolley and proudly presented us with a platter of main course dishes. when I say proudly, I mean she made a noise as if to say 'Ta-daaaah' in a sort of Sino-Dutch way. Raising an eyebrow each, we peered at our wagonwheel sized tray of mixed dishes and made that peculiar gurning noise that British people do in restaurants when they are trying to convey enthusiasm and satisfaction, when really they are thinking "What the fooking hell is that supposed to be?".

Some chicken, in sweet and sour sauce. Some vegetables, also in sweet and sour sauce. Onions and some shredded bits of cow ringpiece (in blackbean sauce, phew). Deep fried balls of... stuff, bobbing miserably in a polluted lake of sweet and sour sauce with half a tin of watery cocktail fruits emptied nonchalantly over the top, and finally a herb omelette in, er, sweet and sour sauce.

We actually ate some of it. To be honest, I couldn't wait to try the omelette. I knew already that it would be a total disgrace, but I thought it would make Mrs Jiffler laugh. The sweet and sour sauce wasn't even a passable attempt (and since it seemed to be the house speciality, one might expect something half decent), but appeared to be made from equal portions of tinned tomato soup and white vinegar. Seriously.

At least we could laugh about it, and pick at a few bits of meat and rice. We didn't bother with dessert though. The cold weather outside seemed more appealing.

Le Lodge, Dakar

Dinerfinophobia - Fear of fine dining in Dakar.

I get the fear before eating out at some of Dakar's fine dining establishments. Too many times I've stuffed my wallet and put on one of my best shirts only to end up a bit disappointed. La Fourchette can be inconsistent. Cozy is like a more pretentious, pisspoor facsimile of La Fourchette. Lagon I's prices don't justify the average cooking, not to mention the kind of tawdry decor that would be laughed at in Blackpool, while the chef at Sokhoman thinks that combining incongruous ingredients is the way forward, when really it's just odd. Rabbit with earwax anyone?

So while I got suited up for Mrs Jiffler's birthday treat at Le Lodge in Almadies, I was suitably nervous. I'm pleased to say though that I think Le Lodge might be a genuinely decent upmarket restaurant. Halle-bloody-orchestra.

We were late for our table, which meant we didn't get the best table for two in the house. Our fault, but they didn't make a fuss. Service was efficent to start off with, not necessarily friendly, but I'd sooner have sharp than shoddy. Aperitifs were reasonably priced - beers for 1500 CFA and cocktails 3500-4000CFA, and we certainly didn't feel rushed as we perused the menu. Amuse-bouche were a little boring, mediterranean veg on a spoon, but at least they weren't the ubiquitous stale mini-bruschetta.

It was pleasing to see that Le Lodge play to their strengths. The menu wasn't padded out with the usual half-arsed sushi and Mexican street food, it sticks mainly to traditional French cooking, with the occasional polite nod to neighbouring Belgium and Italy. The menu has three 3-course set suggestions, at a bargainous 8500, 12500, and 18000 CFA respectively, as well as a pick and mix a la carte selection. While I was impressed with the unpretentious pricing structure, and the quality of what was on offer on the cheaper menus, I made a beeline for the top end. It was a special occasion after all.

Wine list was equally good value, again heavy on French wine, but with a few new world and Italian classics thrown in. An agreeable 'all rounder' bottle of 2006 Brouilly Beaujolais was brought without fuss and uninvited topping up was kept to a minimum.

Mrs Jiffler roamed the a la carte menu and chose filo envelopes of fried goats cheese to start with, which benefitted from a sweet salad dressing. The cheese was smooth and soft and thankfully didn't burst from the envelopes like molten lava. This was a good starter but was somewhat overshadowed by my mighty foie gras ravioli (a slight deviation from France there, at a 2000CFA supplement to the set menu). While the Ravioli had that slight sense of dryness to it that my own homemade attempts have suffered from, the foie gras was generous, and the accompanying veal reduction was bold. Mushrooms are always a problem in Dakar, but the reconstituted mushrooms accompanying this dish were of the better kind, and their strong flavour held its own against the foie gras.

Mains came quickly, and Mrs Jiffler's filet was very young, almost veal, and a touch overdone for medium, but was a tasty piece of meat nonetheless. Three cheese sauce was a strong and unusual departure for Mrs Jiffler, but was met with much approval. My Magret de Canard came cooked medium as requested with a sweet jus and a short tower of parsnips. I refused to believe they were parsnips at first, since I have never seen parsnips on sale in West Africa. Parsnips they were though, and although just a minute away from being overdone, they were a remarkably good foil for the succulent duck.

Something that most up-market places in Dakar do get right are the puddings. In this case Le Lodge let us down slightly. While our puddings were generally good, they didn't quite live up to La Fourchette's benchmark. Mrs Jiffler's fondant chocolat was great, but came without the high quality vanilla ice cream and slicks of marmalade which make La Fourchette's version so sublime. My Tiramisu was surprisingly light, but came in a Muslim friendly version which lacked the desired boozy kick.

The final bill came to about 25000CFA less than we have paid at similar places, which is a big enough saving to pay for a decent lunch the day after, or another bottle of decent wine. We'll certainly go back to Le Lodge - I'd like to see if the cheaper menus are as satisfying. So far this is my favourite of Dakar's upmarket restaurants; service is efficent and unpretentious, the menu is consistent yet still creative, and the wine list is great value.

The Mountain in Labour

Cozy, Rue Parent, Plateau.

Visiting Cozy reminded me of going to see Star Wars Episode I (The Phantom Menace) on the day of release in the summer of 1999. we were a bunch of lads in our twenties - old enough to have obsessed over the original trilogy as boys - who'd taken the day off from whatever we were doing to pile into an airconditioned box in the midlands, knees jiggling with the excitement.

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away... and the heroic, Wagner-esque John Williams theme tune starts up. A head rush of excitement. Five grown men grinning like fools...

But it turned out to be a load of old bollocks.

Cozy, one of Dakar's so called 'fine dining' restaurants aims to impress from the moment you step through the door. Smart staff welcome you to a long, stylish, well stocked bar. The first impression is that somebody has spent some serious money on this place, and it would only be right to spend some serious money on some serious food. The main eating area features oversized chairs and white downlit floor to ceiling curtains which impress at first but, like the CGI effects in the Phantom Menace, end up looking like a cheap interior design. Maximum style for minimum cost.

I'm not sure why the Maitre d' attempted to sit all of the females in our mixed party along one side of the table, with all the boys lined up along the other side. Perhaps he was thinking les anglophones might want to start morris dancing at some point during the meal. we ignored him in any case, but Cozy continued to reinforce the sexist agenda by handing out menus without prices on to the ladies (all of whom were the principal earners in Dakar, the rest of us being 'trailing spouses'). I've seen this kind of disgustingly chauvanistic behaviour in France before, and I'm not sure, in this day and age, what kind of woman is impressed by this, and what kind of pathetic man thinks it's impressive.

One of the challenges for the producers of the Phantom Menace was how to keep the old audience of grown ups interested, while also hooking into the new toy-hungry market of 7 year old boys. What we ended up with was a confusing mish mash of tedious politics and a 'comedy' animated jester. I think Cozy faces the same problem with its mix of pasta, risotto, sushi and French cuisine on the menu. Surely it's wiser to play to your strengths? Just give us some spectacular interstellar dogfights, and maybe a wookie, and we'll love it.

Most of us skip the overpriced starters, and roam the four corners of the earth with our main courses. While service is mostly quick, one of our mains gets forgotten in the kitchen, and there is that terrible habit of topping up the wine, which extended to topping up my water glass with white. They fail the jiffler fish-knife test by surreptitiously swapping my tableknife for a pointless fishknife. Too blunt to stab a waiter in the leg unfortunately.

They should have given me a steak knife, such was the toughness of my overcooked, undersized planche of turbot. Pommes sautes are rubbery, and the accompanying 'paste' of avocado and hibiscus leaves tastes of nothing. Like a mouthful of emptiness. The others seem moderately pleased with their various gnocci and sushi plates, but nobody gets out of their seat to rave about anything. Half of Mrs Jiffler's sashimi selection is appropriately robust and fishy, while the salmon tastes like my avocado paste.

The only thing you can rely on at these upmarket joints in Dakar are the desserts. Sticking firmly in the French style, desserts come in large portions, with all the creative swirls and splats that you could wish for. Cozy passes the Jiffler creme brulee test with flying colours, presenting three separate flavours (vanilla, pistachio and bergamot) in three cups, complete with dipping biscuit and an appropriately unnecessary frizz of thick pink candy floss hovering on the plate like a psychedelic barbed wire fence.

To finish, Nescafe, barmen with highly gelled coiffs spinning glasses, and badly dressed Toubabs clapping like seals to bad techno. More village of the Ewoks than attack on the Death Star.

Like the Phantom Menace, its easy to switch off the quality control and sit through an enjoyable meal, with enjoyable company. But with expectations set high, I left with a sense of disappointment. Right now the best and most consistent cooking in Dakar is coming from the upper-mid-range places - New Africa, Farid, Jardin Thailandais, for example,while the likes of Cozy seem to get by simply by charging high prices and having a shiny bar.

There is more from Dakar at Dakar Restaurant Reviews. Next post I'll be back in Asia.

You got the money, I got Le Seoul

Surely a contender for one of Dakar's strangest restaurants is 'Le Seoul' on Rue Amadou Assane Ndoye in Plateau. If the old estate agent's adage about 'location, location, location' were to be believed, then Le Seoul should be doing a roaring trade. As it is, they don't have many punters, don't want many punters, and would prefer it the punters all buggered off home now please. I wonder if its a front for something more sinister? There's a lot of it about.

Its a nice peaceful spot as well, a little courtyard haven with a pool and nicely made furniture. the Senegalese staff were friendly, if slightly bewildered by our large group of foreign wannabe karaoke performers. The food was nice too, as long as you eat what you're given.

Perhaps Le Seoul is a misnomer. Le Pyongyang would be more appropriate, what with the 11pm curfew, no menu-just buffet stylings. Its a good buffet mind you, leaning more towards Vietnamese than Korean I'd guess. For some reason I enjoyed deep fried fish goujons. Octopus sashimi was good, but they weren't generous with these so I had to be quick. Other sushi bites lacked flavour, but were enjoyed by the crowd nonetheless. Fresh spring rolls seem to be everywhere lately, which is a good thing.

Karaoke-wise you get your own little room and karaoke set so you can croon to your heart's content without disturbing the other customers (hang on, what other customers?). the selection is a little weird, and the lift style muzak backing tracks are a bit insipid. But what the hell does that matter? Just get some beer down your neck and start shouting.

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If I'm a selt then you're a sunt.

Le Celtic, Rue 6, Point E.
The owner is a quarter Irish, or something, which explains the name. There is no annoying Irish memorabilia about the place, apart from the odd Guinness beer towels, so bring your own bodhran.

Its another empty place, but this time they're eager to please. The bar area is comfortable and drinks are reasonably priced, with changing cocktail offers lit up on a neon board. You can also see into the nice clean kitchen and give the chef a wink.

Food is European grills and steaks and the odd bit of pasta. Our group were all pleased with their food, although some reported the vegetables to be 'a bit garlicky'. At one point the staff emerged from the kitchen with a large plate full of spare pommes sautes and distributed them around the table. Ironically the last place anything like that happened was in Dublin, in late 2002, and involved a fried egg and a black pudding (you don't get that kind of service in Bewley's mind).

Please come and spend your money here in Le Celtic, its my new local and I'd hate to see it struggle.

More Dakar nonsense on Dakar Restaurant Reviews.

Dakar Restaurant Reviews

Dakar Restaurant Reviews is now online.

The first post features a few of my local eateries, all within staggering distance of the new Chez Jiffler in Point E. There is more to come though - with posts on Plateau, Yoff-Ngor-Almadies, cafes and patisseries, Goree Island, St Louis and Saly coming soon.

La Fourchette

La Fourchette, Rue Parent, Plateau, Dakar.

Its anniversary time Chez Jiffler, so a slap-up meal at somewhere fancy is in order. Mrs Jiffler and I scrub up well, despite having to get dressed for the evening in the dark thanks to the useless so called 'electricity company'. I've started enjoying wearing nice suits these days as well. Perhaps its a sign of growing up.

La Fourchette (The Fork) is one of the classier joints in Dakar. Putting the bland chain hotel dining rooms aside, there are only a handful of properly upmarket places to go in town; notably Le Lodge, Farid, Cosi, Sokhomon, and the surreal, yet ultimately disappointing Lagon II. La Forchette is the one with the real reputation for fine dining though, and I've heard good things about it here and there.

Front of house is smart enough, and we're shown to a decent table. The bar area looks like the sort of place I could knock back a bit of rum, and the restaurant is stylishly decorated (thankfully they didn't go with a forchette theme). Its something of a windowless box though, and although the A/C keeps us cool enough, the place quickly fills up with smoke as the French pile in with their Gitanes. More of the Frenchies later.

The menu is a little bit overwhelming as there appear to be multiple-personalities at work in the kitchen. You have a range of French-style starters and mains to get through, plus a selection of Mexican dishes, Japanese sushi and tempura, Italian platters, and the daily specials. The wine list is more trim, mostly French with a couple of Moroccan, New World and Spanish plonks thrown in to keep the prices down.

Mrs Jiffler recommends the sushi, and so we opt for a 'pirogue' of mixed sashimi to share as a starter. It comes presented on a wooden pirogue (Mrs Jiffler likes this kind of novelty) and looks quite smart. Capitaine and tuna are fresh and flavoursome, but the salmon is a cold tasteless lump. Wasabi is fresh and zingy and soya sauce is decent quality, but the rice just falls to bits in our chopsticks. Messy. I spot a few other more conventional sashimi options coming out of the kitchen, which in fairness look better held together than the pirogue, perhaps the boat was a touch too experimental.

Mains then, and the t-bone I ordered from the specials is unavailable. The waitress is gracious and witty about her error and recommends the Entrecote. This comes rare, as requested and tastes like a steak that has been left to hang for a while, unusual in Dakar. Unfortunately its a bit of a stringy cut, and I have to wrestle the knobbly bits out of my teeth. Vegetable sides are nicely al dente and carefully presented. Mrs Jiffler's Pork comes in an oriental style, with the odd surprising nugget of chilli. Her bucketload of rice could have been cut with a few veg to keep things interesting though.

So far, so inconsistent.

Its a treat, so we decide to squeeze in some puds. La Fourchette is famous for its puds, and I've been watching plate after plate of Roti au Chocolat coming out of the kitchen to the obvious delight of assorted French ladies. Mrs Jiffler leaps at the chance to try one, while I attempt the Creme Brulee en Coque, mainly to find out what they mean by en coque. After a few minutes our plates arrive, and the inconsistencies earlier in the meal are immediately forgiven. The baked chocolate is sublime, coming with a scoop of dreamy vanilla ice cream and a little smudge of marmalade. "En Coque" means your creme brulee comes served in three neatly opened egg shells (making the most of leftovers I see). Normally I not so impressed with this kind of gimick, but I concede it has some wit, and the creme brulee is outstanding. A neat crunch, followed by more of that lovely vanilla kick, the custard so smooth that I have the childish urge to lick the shells out.

During the course of the meal We chug through a good bottle of Beaujolais, a half bottle of OK Cote De Rhone, and some fizzy water. The final bill comes to something in the region of UK restaurant prices, which is becoming less of a surprise in this town. For a treat in Dakar, its worthwhile now and again, despite the inconsistencies. Certainly its popular with the French and Lebanese of all ages, who pack out the restaurant, with virtually no Senegalese in sight. I wonder if the lack of Senegalese customers is because, or in spite of this. Maybe La Fourchette is no longer fashionable with the Dakar glitterati, or perhaps even the Dakar-riche are feeling the crunch.