Last Monday, kama kawaida, I sanitised my email inbox and found myself with a few minutes to spare before I endeavoured to sanitise media items on my WhatsApp account. So I clicked on the Nyama Mama link and, if it wasn't for the fact that in recent weeks I'd had reason to schlep the one hundred and fifty-six stairs to the eighth floor, I think I would have passed out in my office. Damn, those people know how to photograph meat!
As some of you know, I hate mobile phones. The only reason why I even bother to keep one is because sometimes I really do need to find the right provision in the right law of the right vintage in order to totally dominate an argument. So, I ignored Nyama Mama's handy mobile number and sent an email seeking a reservation for that Friday at seven in the evening. A nice lady called Joyce replied and confirmed my reservation.
The Nyama Mama at Delta Tower is a wonderful space; big enough to make money sense, small enough to not get crowded and super-loud like the annoying Buddha Bar upstairs full of scantily-clad twenty-one year old girls, muscle-y forty year old boy-racers and shady looking ex-Sov-Bloc biznismen. Save for the windy front room, it is wonderful. And the meat?! Lawdy! Those people can cook their meat!
When we were done with the mguu ya mbuzi, I can honestly say that She and I were well and truly done for the night, especially as their ice-cold beers were, indeed, ice-cold. I'd love to go back but even I am aware that you can't catch lightning in a bottle twice. Some awesome experiences are awesome once only. Which is a pity because the Delta Towers Nyama Mama is an awesome place, has awesome service and is relaxingly intimate and not loud. I loved every one of the two hours were there.