Heidi Elkholy

To say they opened only 7 months ago, Soul n Surf on Great Ancoats street is already causing  quite the stir. You’d be forgiven for thinking their Instagram account is shared by two different venues, as they go from chilled brunch to serious club scenes. It’s a vibe and it’s all down to  partners Titi, Ayo and Ben – not to mention the brains behind the brunch, manager Billie. 

I sat down with Billie and Titi – who’s head chef, as well as co-founder.  We friggin LOVE a woman in charge so it was great to hear about her journey and how the fusion of West African and Soul Food from America’s deep south, came to be.  

Titi, who – “I started over lockdown doing catering from my home, serving seafood on a tray.” I  realised that there was a demand for this kind of food and people were surprised, saying ‘I didn’t  know you could have Jollof rice and lobster’ so it was different.

The concept, Titi explains, is that you can have traditional Nigerian food, “and it doesn’t have to be native, but it can be modern. Anyone that walks in can enjoy our food. It’s for everybody.” 

When I tell you the way Soul n Surf is multi-faceted, what they’ve done with the limited space they have is a madness. The site now occupies what used to be Soul Coffee, but you wouldn’t know it. 

Thev’ve added a bar, social seating and a huge mural celebrating black excellence – from Wizkid to  Whitney, Anthony Joshua to Aretha – and a less-melanated Aitch makes an appearance, in homage  to Manchester’s greats. Titi says, “it represents us – my age group, my race.” It’s a place that is vibrant, welcoming – and above all, proud. And that shit’s infectious, you guys. 

Now on the food. Demand for Titi’s cooking means she quit her full time job in customer service in  banking – so only a slight change. Billie has been in the tight-knit hospitality community since uni,  honing in on a love for all things brunch – which is why they hit both mealtimes so well.  

Among the waffles and full breakfasts served by day, the Frenchie is a brunch dish that stands out.  

Pillowy, thick slices of fried brioche with a sugared crust that is just 👌🏾 this slab of perfection is then  drizzled with caramel sauce, biscoff, strawberries and blueberries, golden syrup, and vanilla mascarpone. Beaut. 

If you’re okay with eating two meals in one venue with a five-figure combined calorie count, then stay on for the Soul platter, where you’ll be greeted with all the gifts: crispy chicken wings and king  prawns that are sweet and spicy; buttery, garlicky lobster tail; your choice of fried rice or jollof rice (which Titi makes with veggie stock so you’re good) and sides like mac ‘n’ cheese. Holy hell.

Billie describes soul food as, “food that makes you feel warm, full and happy. It’s not particularly  healthy-” -but literally, who cares? This is a place to indulge in every sense. Undo your belt, let loose and  join the party. Soul n Surf are the neighbours we all wish we had.

Go down and show them some love.

HEIDI’S NOTE:

The expression “soul food” originated in the mid-1960s, when “soul” was a common word used to describe black American culture. It came about after the Great Migration of 1920s when black communities uprooted and left their homes in the south due to the rise of racial intolerance moving to North and West-America.

Adrian E. Miller, who wrote Soul Food: The Surprising Story of an American Cuisine, One Plate at  a Time, discusses the origins of soul food in this Epicurious article. It’s 2022 and surface tokenism won’t fly; if we’re going to enjoy the food – we have a responsibility to educate ourselves on the culture and what came before, right?

People say, ‘do what you love’. For me, that equates to spending a Tuesday evening with Shab and the team at the iconic Bonani takeaway in Cheadle, open since 1984. Between the phone answering, coordination with the kitchen where his brother Mohamad Kofi is head chef, and bants with the many, many regulars – we chatted about Bonani’s story. 

“So this was opened by Dad and uncle in 1984. Dad’s been a chef since the 1960s in the UK and they opened up here. They had it for a few years, then Dad fell ill and uncle wasn’t too good either, so my brother and myself took over and we’ve been here since ’89.  

[Worth mentioning that Shab started when he was 16 so it’s safe to say his first job’s going pretty well.] With the food scene in Manchester exploding in recent years, why has Bonani been around and so popular for so long? 

“Consistency. Hard work, looking after people. A lot of customers are more like friends. So, people whose dads started eating there in the 1980s, they’ve grown up with this food, and now their kids are coming in. It’s just an all-round family business I suppose, isn’t it?” 

Being open for 37 years means Bonani has seen through the food fads of your parents’ youth. When their regulars started to request groundbreaking items such as Doner kebabs  – ‘give us one of those little babies you do’ – and pizzas, Shab was receptive to the community input and added Kebab and Pizza sections to the menu.

While they have a cult following in Cheadle, I’ll be honest: a takeaway menu of behemoth proportions as Bonani’s could be a bit of a red flag to a passer-by. Rest assured though, what you get when you order from Bonani’s original menu is what you got in its early years  – all in the name of consistency. 

“We maintain that tradition, we make the same curries over and over and over again, and people like that and they come back. Our madras is the same ingredients as when my dad started making them in the 1960s.” 

And oh, that madras. Watching the food as it’s freshly made, it’s easy to see why Bonani is such an institution. They don’t skimp on ingredients and everything smells insane – special shout-out to the 14/10 Jalfrezi, it’s just really really good. Shab relays orders from his regulars, adding the nuances like ‘extra coriander’ and ‘extra garlic’ and it’s clear he knows his crowd. 

But it doesn’t just stop at the menu requests. Due to super-popular demand (it sounds like the people of Cheadle really know how to get shit done) Bonani is open on Christmas Day and apparently it gets rammo. An order of fragrant Garlic Chicken Curry with generous cloves glistening like jewels – easily my favourite curry of the evening – does sound a bit more appetising than dry turkey tbf.

The curries are what you’d expect of a traditional curry house, but done to the highest standard. For me though, it has to be the succulent, spiced, and just very red skewered meats: lamb chops, lamb shashlik, mahoosive chicken wings and seekh kebab are served with bhajis in the Tandoori Mixed Grill. And the fresh naan bread that’s expertly rolled out and then slapped to the side of the clay oven, bubbling and browning – I can’t. All hail the tandoor. 

Hanging out in the takeaway was so much fun, and an insight into what makes this gem so popular. The food is great, and watching Shab interact on such a personal level with literally everyone who walked in is reminiscent of when you were a kid in the supermarket with your parents and they’d stop to chat with the whole neighbourhood doing their weekly  shop. 

Armed with a metric fucktonne of deliciousness, I employed the prescribed method of enjoying a meal from Bonani’s: at home with about 7 others, eating and sharing and talking over each other. 

It used to be that Bonani was only available to take out, but true to form, Shab is ready to  change things up again and says that Bonani will be available to order on Deliveroo. Don’t miss this.  

‘What is authenticity? For me, it was what my mum cooked, back in the 70s.’ 

Nila opened her Burmese kitchen 6 years ago after years of what-ifs and dormant plans. She grew  up in London, relocating from then-Burma when she was 5; moved to Manchester to study Geography at university, and worked in the civil service before packing it in to commit to fulfilling a niggling dream: to bless us all with her bomb food.  

‘I did it. I just thought, you know what – I’ve got to do it now, or never.’ 

I shudder to think where we’d be if she hadn’t. Nila trained in various cooking classes and did a Cordon Bleu course in London, but the food you’d be lucky enough to put into your face at Nila’s Burmese Kitchen is what she used to eat at home growing up.  

We sit in the super-inviting, super-colourful cafe to try the menu, which is available from 12-3pm, Monday to Friday. A country bordered by India, Bangladesh, China and Thailand, you can expect Burmese food to be a glorious marriage of all of these cultures. And you’d be right, friends: the  pork tamarind curry which you can also find in northern Thailand is so, so tender, tangy and flavoursome. This is a favourite of her regulars, and it’s easy to see why.

Curry number 2 is pure comfort and familiarity; a chicken and potato curry with lemongrass and  cardamom, this is a variation of the Bangladeshi aloo murghi (which everyone including my own non-Bangladeshi mother claims they have the perfect recipe for).  

Lastly, a delicious and hearty curry containing yellow split-pea, cauliflower, and potato vegan option, one of the few items on the menu that doesn’t contain fish sauce.  

For me though, the biggest shoutout goes to Nila’s zingy, light and stupidly-moreish laphet thohk salad made with fermented tea leaves, fresh tomatoes and chilli, and nuts. This is hard to come by  in the UK so if you have a chance to try it, do!

As we eat without pausing to inhale, Nila tells me about her childhood growing up in the 70s in London:  

‘There were six of us and my parents. I remember eating cornflakes for the first time thinking ‘what is this? Cold milk?!’ this was gross because we don’t really drink milk in Burma and it had gone all soggy.’  

She gestures at the ohno kaukswe [literally translated as coconut noodles] in front of us, which I’ve been trying and failing not to stare at as we talk. It’s a thing of beauty: chicken coconut noodle soup, thickened with toasted chickpea flour and garnished with boiled egg, fresh coriander, crispy onions and chilli. ‘There were a lot of ingredients you couldn’t get, you know, we kind of forget what it was like in the 70s. The food phenomenon here wasn’t as diverse…so my mum used to make noodle dishes with spaghetti’. 

While substituting noodles for spaghetti might sound like sacrilege in today’s age of super-convenience, it certainly tastes like nostalgia to Nila as she goes on to say it’s a variation she replicates at home on the regular. The subject of authenticity comes up again, and Nila ex plains that in a country with over 135 different confirmed ethnicities, ‘you’ve got the same ingredients, the same dish, but each dish can be so different from family to family.’  

‘All Burmese people – it’s not just me – are hugely passionate about food. They love cooking their food, even if they’re not ‘in’ it, you know, they don’t work in that profession. So there are some amazing Burmese home cooks.’  

Nila’s is situated on Third Avenue in Trafford Park, on a random-ass New York-style grid of streets which used to be a Ford factory car park. With covid and WFH rendering the surrounding business parks near-barren (and being next to a Gregg’s), the footfall just isn’t there.

A really exciting solution to the absence of her loyal return customers – at least while we navigate  new working lives – may be in the form of intimate supperclubs and cooking classes (a thousand times yes). Her amazing curries are also condensed into pastes and her chilli-garlic dipping sauce is bottled and available for people to order, supporting this hidden gem during this bastard pandemic.

Watch this space – we’ll see you on 3rd Avenue. 

This is part of a series by Heidi Elkholy called ‘At The Table’ for EATMCR that highlights Manchester’s rich and diverse neighbourhoods, celebrating food, culture and community.

With roots in Benin, Henry has been manning family-owned HQ in Fallowfield for the last three years, and he has a lot to say about the under-representation about one of the most flavourful, most musical cuisines. I’m prone to hyperbole, sure, but that suya spice mix makes my tongue sing. If you haven’t tried Nigerian food, you’re probably in the majority, as there are only a handful of outlets in Manchester, but HQ – and Henry’s infectious enthusiasm – is the perfect place to begin your education. 

‘We’re at a point where Nigerian food – African food in general, is just getting discovered.’ 

As we sit to eat the most intensely-fragrant, delicious spread, including suya (grilled beef or lamb – or both, please!) super-silky pounded yam and Egusi soup (not a soup that you  might recognise, this has a hearty texture and gets its name from the dried and ground  melon and gourd seeds that are used in many West African dishes). An enemy of bland food, every bite packs a punch – even the more unassuming dishes like boli (easy-peasy  roasted plantain) come with a sauce that’s so fire you could drink it by the jugful. For those wary of spice, I should stress that while the food is definitely spicy, there are so many other elements that dance in this flavour profile than a flat, one-tone scorching heat. The chilli kicks you in the face, but you’re then rewarded with moreish savoury tastes and a building sweetness that rounds this unreal experience off. 

So if the food is so ridiculously good – this is fact, I’m afraid – why haven’t we seen more of it? 

‘I don’t know why it shouldn’t be in the mainstream – so who’s not looking there? Because other cuisines like asian food, they all have a market… maybe because you eat with your eyes, and that’s where we’re unlucky’ 

And there it is: the fear of the ‘unknown’. An unfamiliar-looking dish with interesting textures and a foreign name will put some people off before they try it. Sad but so true, though Henry has the solution for this: 

‘I think [people have] not been educated about the ‘other’ side of food. It’s like, before you get anyone to try something, you would bring them to a point where they’re comfortable. It’s a lot of work.’ 

He’s not wrong, but Henry is confident that Nigerian food will win you over when you try it  (Amen!) It’s at this point that he brings out an ‘easier’ () dish of chicken and beef spring  rolls. So far, so beige, but that symphony of seasoning in the meat hits like no spring roll I’ve ever tried before. You ain’t ready for the pure joy in that uber-flaky crispy filo pastry.  

The idea of ‘eating with your eyes’ plays so much into Eurocentric standards of what is considered ‘normal’, ‘palatable’ and familiar. Any child of immigrants in the UK will tell you that Primary school lunch times could be a minefield to navigate, with children expressing  disgust at ‘foreign’ looking and smelling food. This is a very simplified comparison to describe the alienation of certain cuisines, and in time with education and increased representation, this can change. That said, the rise of the ‘ugly-delicious’ and David Chang’s Netflix show is also a great thing for world foods.

‘We need to get [Nigerian food] out there because if you lined up a Nigerian Jollof Rice (Ghanaians, stand by) with a burger, it would beat a burger every. single. time.’ The only thing that Henry says gives the burger an edge is the visual, ‘If you use the right picture, you’d be getting both the visual and the taste. Because any burger that you have out there by comparison is TASTELESS.’ Cue irreverent cackling.  

We go down to the kitchen and sample some of the spice mixes. Most of the dishes on HQ’s menu, while usually containing meat, can be adapted to cater for vegetarians and  vegans when informed in advance. This is because most dishes are a long-ass labour of  love; slow-cooked tender meat adds both protein and a rich depth to the sauces, like the  simmering tomato stew with the softest beef that might bring a tear to your eye. Nigerian  food is first and foremost a source of sustenance, eaten to ensure you’re able to graft, but  none of that sad ‘food is fuel’ BS, our tastebuds deserve better:  

‘The sweetest thing about it is that Nigerians type of cooking has nothing to do with a specific food, it works with every single raw material, that has to do with food out there, just making it different – spicing it up giving it that Nigerian feel.’ 

With all this said, Henry’s already looking to what the future holds for Nigerian cuisine:  ‘Let’s take the burger again … once we’re done with all our traditional dishes, we’ll start to do fusion. We’ll take a burger or a Chinese dish, and make it Nigerian. So there’s a  serious market that’s trying to get started and it’s in its engine stages. Now I just got to put the mirrors on.’  

He completely loses me at this point because I’ve fallen down a rabbit hole imagining just how insanely delicious that crossover would be. 

Head down to HQ on weekdays for lunch or dinner and visit the website for a visual of what to expect when you order. It’ll blow your mind.