Here’s what I don’t get: spicy food. I’m a fan of the spice and pretty darn manly with it. I go for Medium spice at Nando’s not Lemon and Herb like some lily-livered land lubbers I know. I’m pretty sure they’re the only two options a Nando’s. And on a cold winter’s evening in England, with the wind and driving rain forcing even the most ardent patriot to ask themselves why they don’t just move to the Costa Brava, the heat and spice of a Nando’s or a curry is perfect for warming the cockles (though they get very shirty when do you do that in the salad bar). But what about in hot places? Why are there also spicy foods in hot countries like India, Mexico and Africa? Now I know some people will say that it makes people sweat which encourages cooling down in hotter climates, but that doesn’t make sense. Surely people in hot countries should be sucking on Calippos or felating Magnums like they do on the telly. Hold a cogent argument together all people making that argument.
So I shouldn’t have been surprised when Torborgee was advertised as being very spicy, it being made with habenero peppers. It was quite spicy but could have been spicier. I didn’t sweat. Well, I didn’t sweat because of the Torborgee. I was self-lubricating quite considerably because me and Mrs Del Monte were in a church where the annual benefit concert for Liberia was being held (http://musicforliberia.com/). There were a series of classical, jazz and African musicians rocking the place out. Oh yes, I’m quite the polo-neck wearing, pipe smoking Guardian reader I think you’ll find, so I fitted right in. The excessive sweating aside. Let me tell you, these people did not like crowd surfing.
Now, I know certain people, who shall remain nameless (Mancake), are going to get shirty about this not being a proper restaurant and that I’m diluting the concept and yes, they’ve got me bang to rights. It’s not a restaurant. I found this out when I tried tipping the vicar. He refused politely, but it still doesn’t explain why he gave me his phone number. But my point is this: Screw you. Also, it’s Liberian cuisine. It’s bona fide, copper-bottomed, air-tight, hyphen-hyphened Liberian scran, and while I haven’t found a Liberian restaurant in London, I found the cuisine. Which I don’t think you’d come by easily in (A) the rest of the UK, (B) anywhere else that doesn’t have a sizeable Liberian diaspora. AND it’s an annual thing, so I can get Liberian food in London any time I want in June next year. On the day of the concert. If they offer catering again. Bite me Mancake.