EATING OUT: Blood on a dinner plate

Very few high end lodges in Northern Kenya have managers who are actually from the local Maasai community. Waiters, chefs, drivers and guides are aplenty, but often, the manager is never from the local community.

I’m neither making any profound political statements nor trying to get anyone riled up, I’m simply stating facts. All I know is that my reaction upon meeting the manager at Saruni Lodge in Sera Conservancy was one of utmost glee. I swear I could have burst out into song and dance as if I were an aunty at a Kenyan wedding reception.

We arrived right in time for lunch and because we were absolutely famished after a long drive, were mercifully ushered right into the mess tent rather than being derailed by small talk in the way that staff sometimes do at these boutique places.

Speaking of mess area, I used to think that it was a rather unsavoury name to give to a place where people eat, unless used in jest in the way uninvited guests do when they only showed up to eat. “Leo tumekuja kuchafua!” I however recently found out that it comes from the old French word ‘mes’ meaning ‘portion of food’, the original phrase loosely translating to ‘a meal course placed on a table’, which makes more sense.

DISAPPOINTED

For lunch we ordered steaks. Red meat is actually my least favourite, but I figure if I’m going to indulge in it anywhere, it better be at a luxury camp in Northern Kenya with a Maasai as the manager. There’s no way you can expect them to ‘mess’ it up!

I ordered mine medium, which is how I always take it. Seared on the outside and about only 25 per cent pink on the inside. The meat served was however so rare that I bet a good vet could have easily brought it back to life. There was blood coming out of it, which stained my white plate and vegetables.

My companion had asked for his well done, but both were served at the same level of doneness, almost like they had run out of gas. It took me back to campus days when I would be so broke trying to cook instant noodles and the cooking gas ran out, and I just soaked then ate them anyway.

When my companion turned to me and smiled and I saw his blood stained teeth after the first bite, that was it. We returned both to the kitchen requesting that they be put in direct fire until they were as black as the bottom of a sufuria on a jiko.

The next morning, the lodge redeemed itself. We set off for an early morning game drive where we spotted some hyenas feasting on a carcass, and that mildly brought on unpleasant memories from the night before (I must admit it has been three weeks and I am still unable to eat steak).

The bush breakfast was however a rather lovely spread of freshly made jams and marmalades coupled with pancakes, fresh fruit and the full English.