The food in this place is delicious. Koroga is a style of outdoor dining on Indian cuisine, which diners cook for themselves with chopped ingredients and spices provided by the establishment.
It’s an interesting concept – the rare time men want to try their hand at cooking – and it’s hard to go wrong with it, mostly.
For those who want to go through the motions of doing their own cooking, go right ahead, but I’ve always found that it’s better to leave the cooks to do what they do best. Why interfere?
Besides, if you’re so hell-bent on trying out your culinary skills, why not do it at home? Why pay someone to let you do all the work?
Eric is of the same mind, and so we leave it to the experts and are rewarded half an hour later. A dish of chicken is served with piping hot buttered naan, and Eric and I happily dig in.
Yes, absolutely delicious. My phone rings. It’s GG. Yes! The pressure from the online article must be too much for him. He’s caving in!
My hands are covered in brown gravy from the chicken and there’s little I can do but watch his number flash across my screen until it cuts off.
“What’s the matter? Is it someone important?” Eric asks.
“Very. But it can wait till after lunch,” I respond, licking my fingers.
I’m nervous. It’s all well and good to feel some bravado, but the reality is I have no idea what GG will say.
What if he insults me? Tells me to go jump off a cliff? I can’t assume he’ll just roll over and give me what I want. What did he say at the restaurant?
“I don’t know what you think you know about me, but I’m not the kind of guy you try and blackmail.”
And he sounded very convincing when he said it. Is it possible all this has simply changed? He even called my bluff when I threatened to tell his wife.
But I suppose it’s one thing to call someone’s bluff and something entirely different to see it in print. The words are imprinted in my brain.
A prominent Nairobi businessman with close ties to the First Family and married to a lady from one of the most powerful families in the country has knocked up a local girl. Our sources say that she is keeping the baby and a protracted legal battle will follow once the child is born to force him to assume parental responsibility. It is unclear at this time if his wife is aware of the unfolding situation. The girl has promised to release his name soon. Watch this space.
My phone rings. It’s him, again. I quickly wipe the gravy off my right index finger and hit the reject button. My phone gives me the option to respond via a standard text message and I choose this one: “I can’t talk at the moment. Please send a text message.”
Why sit here speculating about what he might say when I can simply ask him? Eric and I finish off the chicken between us quite easily. I use the lemon water placed in a bowl in front of me to finally get all the gravy off my hands. A lot of it has seeped under my acrylic nails and it’s a pain to get it all off, but I manage with the help of a toothpick.
“You have lovely nails,” Eric says.
They are indeed. I pay Sh4,000 for tips that look good 24-7. It all works out pretty well, except for days when one is eating chicken and gravy without cutlery. But this is the only true way of eating koroga.
A text message comes in. It’s GG. Well, then. It’s the moment of truth.