Start with coco bread and grilled tiger prawns. This bread will rock your world. Soft, pillowy, white rolls enriched with coconut milk. Coconut haters need not fear. The coconut flavour almost entirely disappears. The milk goes in to add richness and texture. You will want to greedily wolf down the whole order as soon as it arrives, but it reaches its true glory mopping up the sauce in which the spiced prawns are swimming. Lamb merguez sausages with a chipotle mayonnaise were our other starter, and were almost as memorable.
I moved on to Roasted Octopus with pickled shallots, radish & cucumber salad, burnt scotch bonnet oil and saffron aioli. You’d think the scotch bonnet would overwhelm the saffron and be fiery hot. But the chefs clearly have a handle on how to balance spice; the sauce and accompaniments combined to sing in your mouth but not overpower. The star of the show, however, was unquestionably that octopus. I don’t know how they managed it, but in a blind tasting, I suspect 80% of the general population would think they were eating buttery lobster.
Another at our table had Papa G’s lamb cutlets, which looked delicate and well-spiced enough to tempt even this lamb-hater. Our sides of cassava fries and Ma’s Benachin Rice were excellent accompaniments. Though full, we opted for a single “PAPA-LOVA” with Ugandan vanilla cream, fruit coulis and fresh strawberries and mint with three spoons, because we couldn’t bear to walk away without trying what such an assured kitchen did with desserts. And this seemed fairly virtuous. It was delicious, with a proper punch of vanilla, but I suspect a good deal lighter than what appear to be the trademark desserts here. Rum cake is clearly calling for my next visit.
We did not stumble upon these dishes by accident. If, as we were, you are unfamiliar with the cuisine, give yourselves over to the recommendations of the staff. I have only been to southern Africa twice, and both trips left an indelible impression of infectiously cheerful and kind people who wrap you in joyful hospitality. That feeling is alive and well here, doled out generously to everyone but I suspect our northern European skin tones and studious puzzling over the menu earned us extra assistance. I’m not sure I’d even bother with a menu next time. This is the kind of place you could just ask for whatever the chef thinks is best today and come away extremely happy.
Papa G’s is a crowd pleaser. It’s exotic enough to tempt even the most jaded palates with something new and fresh. But the balance of spices, the beautiful presentation, and the reassuring celebration of familiar proteins at the centre of most plates will reassure those more comfortable with safe, northern European menus. And the location on Jermyn Street, just a stone’s throw from Piccadilly Circus, is a central point for people coming from all over. The compromise in flavours is thanks to head chef Lawrence Gomez’ track record. Born in Gambia, he spent more than a decade in the traditional bastion that is the original Ivy, rising to become head chef of the private dining room before moving on to the trendy Sexy Fish on Berkeley Square. His eponymous restaurant hasn’t moved far physically, but is light years away from the traditional cottage pie that pulls the punters in at the Ivy. I, frankly, would rather let Gomez rip with whatever he wants to feed me from his childhood influences, refined by his working life in London.
Check it out.
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