My mate Raf (Rafique Soyfoo) was a student nurse with me years ago at Brentry Hospital and we have stayed friends since.
We weren’t very good students, we were too interested in drinking and women but both of us eventually qualified and went on to become Charge Nurses which is quite an achievement.
Once whilst we were taking our written exams at Southmead Hospital we climbed out of the window and went to the canteen for breakfast. The Tutors who were supposed to be monitoring us were in there eating and didn’t seem to recognise that we were in the canteen when we should have been in the exam.
In our final Practical exams at Stoke Park Hospital ( now a housing estate for wealthy executives) we had to lay up different trolleys for different procedures. Bear in mind this was all stainless steel, re-usable stuff that had to be sterilised between each use.
Raf was asked to lay up a Lumbar Puncture tray and I had to lay up one for testing urine (i forget the exact name now). Then we had to talk the tutor through our tray and explain why we put out certain items and how they were used.
When my turn came I noticed a mysterious drinking straw had been put on my trolley by a now giggling Raf.
“And what do we use the drinking straw for”. Asked a very smarmy Tutor?
“Testing for Sugar” came my reply!
Raf was a great looking guy back in the day and the women used to love him. He had a sort of Elvis Presley look with his jet black hair and bushy sideburns and he was heavily into body building before he came to England.
His mate ‘Ali’ won the Mr Mauritius title one year and he came to Britain with Raf but worked in Indian Restaurants rather than going into nursing. I remember him well from an Indian in King Street, Bristol. He would stand outside the front door dressed in some fancy outfit with a Turban and a sash around his waist trying to encourage people into the restaurant.
His English wasn’t very good but he used to say.
“Very nice, Very Hot, Very Tasty” in answer to any query a customer might have.
Raf introduced me to the finer side of Indian food and taught me how to cook.
He used to make this dish with minced lamb, rice and cumin seeds that he put in a big metal pot, stuck in the oven and then left till we came back from the Pub and it was never burnt, it was always perfect.
I went back to Mauritius with him back in the 1970’s and the first thing his brother did was make him cut all his hair off.
We stayed with Raf older brother Rauf who was at that time ‘Head of The Family’ and owned a big house in Rose Hill, where the parents had a down stairs room.
Raf’s Mum complained constantly that Rauf’s wife wasn’t a good wife and couldn’t cook properly, though from what I saw she was spot on and the food was incredible.
They were trying to find Raf a wife all the time we were there and I would wake up to find no one left in the house, they had all gone out to visit another family who had a potentially suitable daughter.
As part of the strategy to get Raf married off to a Good Muslim Girl, they sent him into Port Louis to a Taylor where he was to have a suit made.
We got off the bus and went into a bar where we had a few drinks (Green Island Rum was a regular tipple) and met a Mauritian Guy there and for some reason we went off with him to Blue Bay where we carried on drinking. By the time we got back to Port Louis the Taylor was closed and we had spent all the money anyway.
Raf’s brother was mad as hell but not as angry as he was when we forgot the Video player.
At about this time VHS video was ‘The Thing’ it was the coolest bit of kit anyone could have and Raf’s brother kept writing to him and phoning asking him to bring a VHS player with him when we arrived.
He Kept talking about PAL/SECAM and we never really got our heads across this, it was too technical, so in the end we didn’t bother taking one.
When we disembarked the BA 747 and made our way to customs we were approached by two police officers who asked us to follow them. We were taken out of the queue and escorted right through immigration and out the other side where Raf’s Family were waiting to greet us.
There was lots of smiling and kissing and no one had a bigger smile on his face than Raf’s brother.
It seems the head of the Mauritian Police was a family friend and he had agreed to ensure we got through safely in exchange for being able to watch this new fangled video player.
Their happiness soon turned to dismay when they realised we hadn’t actually brought a VHS player with us and they had paid the local Plod to escort us through for nothing.
This minor blip was soon forgotten when we got out several bottles of duty free Whiskey later that evening. The Men were all keen to have a drink and they make this strange gesture, like a fist with the thumb stuck up with which they imitate pouring drink into their mouths
So that first evening we went to Raf’s Sisters house in the Police accommodation, in Rose Hill (she was married to a police officer) and after the food had been eaten we were whisked away up stairs so the men could drink neat Whiskey.
They drank it so quickly and in such volume that inevitably they were sick and I have this vision of them led on the floor in the toilet (bear in mind it was a squat down Loo with a hole in the floor) with their heads over the hole vomiting and saying how great whiskey was, all at the same time.
So over the years Raf and I have keep in touch, even though our paths went in different directions, he stayed in Nursing where as I left and joined the Brigade.
Usually I drop in and see him, perhaps once a month, not often but enough that we don’t lose touch.
He’s a real foodie but in a very Organic, spiritual sort of way. He likes to eat food that is good for him, that has medicinal or healthy properties. He is always telling me to eat this or drink that because it is good for my Prostate or my Heart. He always seems to have a secret ingredient that he wants to share with me.
And when he cooks he seems to use ingredients that I wouldn’t think of using. Tinned Fish, dried Noodles or strange vegetables that can only be sourced from Indian or Chinese shops.
So for Christmas I took him out for lunch and we went to Jeans Bistro on Gloucester Rd, one of the best local Thai restaurants in Bristol.
The meal was good and we had so much to catch up on, I had been in Spain since September and in that time he had gone back to Maurice on his own for 5 week, leaving his wife and two daughters in the UK.
So we agreed to go out again this week.
I called at his house and picked him up and we planned to visit a vegetarian restaurant at the junction of Gloucester Rd /Ashley Down Rd, but try as I might I just couldn’t find a parking space within walking distance. So we drove further down Gloucester Rd and eventually found a space with an hours free parking.
We stopped right outside of a Greengrocers and they had Sharon Fruit for sale in wooden boxes outside on the pavement. I discovered Sharon Fruit in Spain though I didn’t know the English name, I knew them as Persimmon Fruit
The persimmon, sometimes called the sharon fruit (the slightly unfortunate name given to one of its varieties by Israeli growers) has much to commend it. Persimmons are high in beta carotine and minerals such as sodium, magnesium, calcium and iron, and studies have found that they also contain twice as much dietary fibre per 100g as apples, plus more of the phenolic compounds thought to ward off heart disease.
There was a nice looking Cafe on the other side of the road called The House Cafe so we decided to cut our losses and go in there.
It was nice inside, clean and warm and the tabes and seating looked inviting . The menu above the counter seemed to have all the right dishes so we ordered.
I chose a simple Bacon Sandwich (£3.30) and Raf, who doesn’t eat Bacon went for Scrambled Eggs (£4.00) which is a bit on the expensive side but as long as it was cooked nicely, presented well and good portions, it would be fine.
Sadly what they served us was pretty awful.
My Bacon sandwich was on white bread and it was dry, almost stale. the sort I would throw out for the birds in the morning. The Bacon was OK but it was only two slices and it really was underwhelming.
The Scrambled eggs were even worse. The toast was very dry and seemed to be toasted on one side only, the other side was almost white. But it was the taste of the eggs which let it down, it was very bland. Perhaps they added milk to their eggs to make them go further but this only dilutes the flavour and makes them rubbery and colourless, which these were.
The service was poor and no one sought to ask how our food was or if we wanted anything else.
We ate up and left quickly, as did the only other two customers who ordered one of the English breakfasts and I noticed they left more than I would have expected.
We decided to head for Stapleton Rd where a new Indian shop had opened and Raf was keen for me to try the vegetable Samosas ( 75 pence each) that they make daily, and they were pretty good.
So we parked under the M32 in New Stadium Road which is a forgotten part of Bristol as it has been almost completely isolated by the M32.
As we walked through to the Shop we passed the Shah Jalal Jame Mosque which is in the process of being extended, old car’s with TAXI signs on the roof and UBER on the doors. were being driven by old men with long white beards and Kaftans.
People were sat outside the Black Swan drinking in the weak winter sunshine. There was a smell of SKUNK in the air.
This is a very cosmopolitan area of Bristol with a rich mix of cultures and races and as such it attracts a lot of interesting shops.
You can buy a full Sari here and when Georgia was young we bought her one that she was very proud of.
There is food from around the world and its an education to walk around the shops with Raf who knows what these foods are and just how to cook them.
Once we had stocked up on Samosas I dropped him back at his home and rushed off to try a new dish using a tin of Black lentils, which are dropped onto fried onion, with a sprinkle of ground cumin and some sliced Chilli, some vegetable stock and I added some double cream just at the end. You then add, either pasta or in my case dried noodles which i had put in boiling water for 4 minutes and, Bobs your uncle, a great vegetarian dish made from next to nothing that tasted great.
Not a bad old day for two ageing Nurses.
In search of a great Breakfast 