Childhood spot disappoints

Going to Tarboush Restaurant was mostly upon my insistence, although my friend was quick to let me know that it was nothing like this charming little spot with the most authentic Swahili food that I had built it up to be over the years.

This was largely because as a teenager, I remember coming to Mombasa with my family and my dad decided to swing by Tarboush where we had the most amazing shawarmas ever.

It was also around that time that my parents were trying to teach my then shy self to be more assertive, and my dad devised a plan whereby the more assertive I was during that holiday, the higher my chances would be of getting another shawarma from Tarboush.

On arrival, a waiter promptly presented us with a menu and while I was indeed excited to be back, you know a restaurant is iffy when you second guess whether you should play it safe and get bottled water or be brave and actually get fresh juices handled from somewhere out back when the state of the front doesn’t instill much trust.

I settled on tamarind juice which turned out to have too much sugar and way too little tamarind, hence felt like I was drinking sugared water which is certainly not palatable, while my friend went with passion juice which was done just right.

Much like with the rest of the space, there haven’t been any major changes to the menu in the past decade. They offer various shawarmas, naan, fish, burgers, grilled meat, fries, biryani, curries and bitings. I ordered a mutton curry (Sh380) with butter naan (Sh90) while my companion got chicken and masala chips (Sh420).

The mutton curry turned out to be one big bowl of soup with a piece of bone sitting in the middle like Migingo Island, and the meat on it tasted like it had been boiled way too long. It was almost as if the soup and meat were both made separately then thrown together upon order. When I pointed this out to the waiter, he gave me some flimsy excuse about how women always came in and ate very little and so they decided to reduce their portions altogether. Had it been a kibanda, and – Tarboush was starting to feel more like one – I would have likely walked up to the sufuria and added more meat myself (although when I told my friend this, he pointed out that I clearly haven’t eaten at enough kibandas). They didn’t have butter naan so the waiter came with plain naan which was big, white, round and dry and I wasn’t sure whether to eat it or wipe my face with it.

The grilled chicken was also dry and there was no accompanying lemon to save it from itself. The only good dish turned out to be the masala fries, and I decided not to get a shawarma to go: I’m an idealist who would rather keep my childhood memories intact.