Fatwa Towers

After a couple of months sunning myself in Goa, my mobile rang the other morning and the Editor of The Clarion was begging me to come back to work. It turns out the Johnny they’d got in to cover for me during my sabbatical had gone to the extreme of reviewing restaurants OUTSIDE of London! I jest not my little friends! He had finally tested the editor’s patience once too often after going abroad for a restaurant review – Wales no less!

Filly appears to have slipped completely off the radar lately. Her last sighting was at a Tesco Metro Store near Green Park where she was spied buying vast amounts of disposable nappies in the company of a large chap wearing a baseball cap with the name “Dave” on it. One can only assume it was not David Cameron.

My Goan experience had tempted my palate to the flavours and dishes of Asia and the sub-continent. A cousin of mine recommended a new themed restaurant near Regents Park called “Fatwa Towers” run by a tall gentleman by the name of Baz-il Fahwl-ti. I was called to my table by a muezzin and escorted over by a waitress. At least I think it was a waitress as she was dressed head to foot in a jet black burkha so it might have been a chap. There was a very happy atmosphere in the dining area where a large birthday party group were playing pass the parcel – the parcel containing a clock by the sound of the loud ticking! You have never seen pass the parcel played so amazingly quickly. Olympic standard no doubt. The choices on the menu were very exotic and creative. You could start with an Allah Salad or a Prophet Cocktail. Main courses extended from Jihad Chicken (prepared by kidnapping a free range chicken, issue demands that you enjoy the meal thoroughly before beheading the chicken with a sword and serving it with chips and mange tout) through to a delightful Martyr’s Pie, which was more of a bombe really. The birthday party on the table next to me was now in full swing and their celebrations were joined with the staff and chefs who brought out one of the waitresses in her burkha and covered in sparklers. I called out that this would make the evening go with a bang when a few people panicked and made a run for the door. For pudding I was treated to an Abu Hamza Crumble, which you eat with hooks rather than a spoon and can prove a tad tricky to get rid of if you spill it down your shirt. My picture above shows one of the happy sous chefs.

The meal was a delight and everyone seemed very happy, but the evening ended on a sour note when I tried to have a bit of a joke with the waitress and did her a small doodled cartoon of the Prophet Mohammed asking that if he could get a virgin in the afterlife, for chefs would there be “EXTRA” virgins (get it?). When I showed her the picture she screamed and ran into the kitchen. I was soon being chased across Regents Park by two sword wielding kitchen staff threatening to behead me. I don’t think they understood the subtlety of my joke.

So if you can think of a fun place to eat that doesn’t have a medieval armoury and outlook, then drop me a line to gileslondongetsstuffed@yahoo.co.uk and let’s go out for a meal together! Bon appetite!