The cutlery at Harafs doesn’t have elegant lines and reassuring weight: it’s a jumble of odds and sods in a canteen style plastic tray. There’s no written menu either, and you’ll probably end up eating with your fingers- there’s a basin by the kitchen if that bothers you- and drinking your soup straight from theRead More
Your starter for ten. No conferring, now. Do you know your ntaba from your nkwobi? Or your bobolo from your attiéké? If you do, you’re ahead of me. Not without a surreptitous under-table Google, anyway. And I’m still in two minds about the esi ewu. But in terms of an overdue education, a couple ofRead More