Nando’s and Nan-don’ts at Piri Piri Flaming Chicken

COCONUTS CRITIC’S TABLE – Pssst. I’m going to tell you a secret. Bangkok is full of –  I glance around warily as I type this – fake stuff. DVDs, watches, bags, phones. Razor-like noses. Degrees from “Harbard University.” I probably shouldn’t be saying this, obviously. I’ll only get myself in trouble. Just ask Lady Gaga – vilified for coming to Bangkok and tweeting to her “50,000 screaming Thai monsters” that she wanted to buy a fake Rolex. To the offended, this was like being welcomed into someone’s home, then calling a radio show to enthuse about their porn collection. Gaga, the rule is this: You can enjoy Thailand’s naughty bits, but never, ever point out publicly that they exist.*

In fact, the imitation extends beyond consumer electronics, swanky Italian couture and college bona fides. In the case of Piri Piri Flaming Chicken, which has branches in various malls around the city, someone’s copied a whole goddamned restaurant. Now I realize the owners will probably be displeased with me calling their labor of love a knock-off. But if PPFC, as it shall henceforth be known, isn’t a pretty shameless clone of Nando’s, I will eat my Rolex. (Don’t worry, there’s more where that came from.)

For the uninitiated, Nando’s is a multinational chain of spicy-chicken emporia from South Africa. Nando’s inspires a level of devotion in its fans – best referred to, I feel, as “Nandistas” – that is rare for a fast-food chain. For a Nandista, there is only one place to eat on the high street, and it ain’t the Golden Arches. A true Nandista would sell their right kidney for a “Black Card”, a near-mythical talisman bestowing unlimited Nando’s on the bearer and up to five friends. As the writer of this somewhat obsessive Black Card website says, “I do not know one person on this earth who would not want to possess it (and those who don’t I don’t wish to know!).”

Celebrities and kids love Nando’s. While in South Africa, Oprah Winfrey apparently scoffed the stuff “almost every evening.” Ricky Gervais wants to buy Buckingham Palace and “turn it into a huge Nando’s.” Just last week, the preposterously curvy Nicki Minaj blew out Man City’s Mario Balotelli in favor of a Nando’s feast. Clearly, there is something in that flame-grilled chicken. But what?

Peri-peri**, that’s what. The spicy marinade, invented by Portuguese settlers in Africa many moons ago, is made with chillis, cayenne pepper and various other herbs and condiments. Nando’s soaks its chicken in the stuff for at least 24 hours. You can choose how spicy you want it – mild, hot or extra-hot – but know this: your decision will be broadcast to the entire restaurant via small color-coded flags planted in your chicken. This adds an element of competitive machismo to the proceedings. (Men! Impress your friends! Choose a sauce two notches spicier than you’d secretly prefer!)

The decor eschews the get-em-in-and-drive-em-out garishness usually associated with fast food. There is nothing particularly arcane about the order procedure but when you arrive at the counter the staff will, without fail, ask you: “Have you been to Nando’s before?” As my friend Matt – a card-carrying Nandista – points out, you feel a strange sense of pride when you can answer “Yes.” This, I think, is the pride of the no-longer-virgin. Only way, way lamer.

So I’ll admit it: I too am a Nandista. When I saw Piri Piri Flaming Chicken, the similarities to Nando’s were striking: the big, pseudo-hand-painted red letters that announce the name; the cartoon chicken; the vaguely rustic feel. The message was loud and clear: “Come hither, weary Nando’s lover.” So last month I set out with a band of Bangkok-based Nandistas to the Terminal 21 branch. We wanted to answer a pressing question. Was PPFC a cheeky but pleasingly accurate rip-off? Or the restaurant equivalent of a dodgy iPhone: superficially similar to the real deal, but ultimately shoddy?

In truth, an attorney defending PPFC against plagiarism charges would have a few arguments at hand. For a start, PPFC offers a much larger range of dishes than Nando’s. A slogan, almost poignantly aspirational, “Famous, not only for our chicken!”, even appears on the crockery. Alas, for the purposes of this article, I’m going to ignore all the hamburgers, steaks, sandwiches and pasta dishes. No sane person would go to a peri-peri chicken joint and order spaghetti bolognese. Surely?

Let’s cut to the fowl. Perhaps unwisely, PPFC dispenses with the choose-your-spice-level gimmick that serves Nando’s so well (and which sanuk-loving Thai consumers would surely go mad for). Instead the sauces are differentiated by their ingredients. The peri-peri approximated that of Nando’s pretty well. The Thai salsa, advertised as “not for the faint-hearted”, was so sparingly present it was hard to detect what was even in it. The lemon and herb was tart and garlic-heavy. The problem was the chicken meat itself, which, while nicely tender, had almost no flavor.

Now, obviously, we weren’t expecting heirloom-breed corn-fed free-range birds. You don’t get that at Nando’s and you don’t get that here. But if they couldn’t source chicken that tastes like chicken, they could at least have given the birds a lengthy marinade, like any Isarn kai yaang vendor worth their salt. It didn’t taste as if that had happened. We made the best of it, drowning our chicken in the bottled peri-peri sauce provided. Normally, a condiment should be a complement, not a refuge, though I suppose this need not apply in a restaurant named after said condiment.

Sides. Absent was the mix-and-match you get at Nando’s, where you choose any two from a list including the likes of fries, rice, coleslaw and corn. At PPFC, you get fries and a balsamic-dressed leafy salad, no ifs, no buts. You can add “brusetta” or garlic bread, but do not bother with the latter – it was wretchedly hard and dry. The fries are of the frozen variety (Nando’s commits the same crime, though at least they perk theirs up with a dusting of spice mix.) Happily, you can order a range of milkshakes and beers, both good for putting out oral fires. Soft drinks are not unlimited. I’m no soda fan, but to some of my diabetes-chasing dining partners, this was disappointing.

In general, one shouldn’t condemn something for not being what it isn’t. That rule of thumb can be discarded when the something in question is obviously imitating something else. Aside from the flavorless chicken, PPFC fails to excite because it leaves out many of the things that make Nando’s that little bit more fun than your average fast-food chain: the mix-and-match sides, the multiple spice levels, the all-you-can drink soda and so on. PPFC is not bad, just yawn-inducingly middle of the road. Nando’s, if you’re reading: Thailand needs you. And by the way… Black Card? The kidney is in the post.

* COWARDLY DISCLAIMER: Comments intended for humorous purposes only. Fakes constitute only a small proportion of the Thai economy. In no way does Coconuts Bangkok see the city as a Mecca for prostitutes, ladyboys, fake Rolexes and all-night ya bah parties. In our view, a much more accurate summation of the essence of the city is as follows: “Bangkok, glorious as if created by angels, the administration centre, beautiful temples, glittering palaces, the capital of Thailand.” Snappy, no?

** Deriving, fact fans, from pili-pili, Swahili for “pepper pepper”. Note, it can be spelt with an ‘e’ or an ‘i’. I will be spelling it peri-peri when not quoting the name of the restaurant. The anally retentive part of me had to get that off my chest.

Coconut’s Critic’s Table reviews are written based on unannounced visits by our writers and paid for by Coconuts Bangkok. No freebies here.

Follow Dan Waites on Twitter: @DanWaites




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