PUB REVIEW: Noisy Hacienda offers lacklustre Kenyan fare

I took a few bites of the goat meat, with cold, hard ugali made in the shape of a smooth round pebble. The meat was soft and tasty—what else is there to say about nyama choma? PHOTO| FILE| NATION MEDIA GROUP

What you need to know:

  • Lots of clean, little light-coloured Japanese cars, the kinds favoured by working-class Nairobians who mistakenly think of themselves as “middle-class”.
  • Ample outdoor sitting areas: on one side tables and chairs under the shades of leafy trees, and on the other, more furniture under gazebos. We wanted a gazebo, but we couldn’t get one—each was either occupied or reserved.
  • We proceeded upstairs. We saw several unoccupied tables beyond the bar area and planted ourselves at one.

I had heard about Hacienda Sports Bar & Grill many times. Not bad reviews, but not glowing appraisals either. Just a name that came up in casual chatter. It’s on Ngara Road, just north of downtown Nairobi. If you are adventurous, you can walk there from the city centre. My co-workers and I took a rickety matatu from what I thought was Murang’a Road.

The Spanish word, which means a large estate with a house, is emblazoned on the top girder of the gate. It felt like we were entering someone’s suburban compound, except that the security guard confiscated my co-worker’s partially empty water bottle. There is plenty of front-yard parking space, and it looked full to the crannies when we visited on Saturday. It was month-end—fat wallets.

MISTAKEN MIDDLE-CLASS

Lots of clean, little light-coloured Japanese cars, the kinds favoured by working-class Nairobians who mistakenly think of themselves as “middle-class”. Ample outdoor sitting areas: on one side tables and chairs under the shades of leafy trees, and on the other, more furniture under gazebos. We wanted a gazebo, but we couldn’t get one—each was either already occupied or reserved.

We proceeded upstairs. We saw several unoccupied tables beyond the bar area and planted ourselves at one. But, alas, it was one of several reserved for a group that was yet to arrive (the tables would remain empty for more than two hours). The waiters chose to set up a place for us in a corner nearby.

I wanted a pizza snack before the real business of imbibing began. The Kenyan men accompanying me looked at me as though I were an alien. Pizza? Real Kenyan men don’t eat pizza. They eat nyama choma. One man warned me to think again about my choice. I ignored him—no man was going to tell me what to eat.

SOMETHING LIKE A PIZZA

I ordered something with a Latinate name with tuna and an extra topping of mushrooms. It arrived in less time than it takes to cover five flights of stairs on foot. That worried me. Probably a ready-made frozen pizza thrown in an oven or microwave for five minutes, I thought.

I should have listened to my co-worker. The phony pizza looked like it had been made by a so-so culinary student for her practical exams. It didn’t look like it was made with passion by a competent cook. Besides, it was cold and everything on it—cheese, tuna, mushrooms—was spare, thrown on the thin crust merely as decorations. (Why keep an item on the menu that you can’t cook well?)

But we were hungry, and even my fellow carnivores waiting for their nyama choma helped themselves to slices of the bad, cold pizza. They didn’t say it, but I’m sure they were glad they partook of it. Their nyama chama didn’t arrive for more than two hours. Why? It was a busy night, we were told.

I took a few bites of the goat meat, with cold, hard ugali made in the shape of a smooth round pebble. The meat was soft and tasty—what else is there to say about nyama choma?

As the evening wore on, the music got progressively noisier, until it became so loud that I couldn’t understand what the people sitting next to me were saying. Thank the stars for smartphones. People can bury their faces in the gadgets as they down the gross liquid inside those crude bottles.

For that’s all you get at Hacienda—mass-produced Kenyan beers with no distinctive taste. Don’t waste your time asking for, say, a European ale. A what? The young waiters didn’t even know what an ale is?

So Hacienda is just a clean, spacious neighbourhood bar that meets the minimum expectations of its usual clientele—nyama choma and Kenyan beers. It doesn’t feel the need to stretch its reach.