No typical help wanted ad could have resulted in the server we encountered. The only explanation I have for how she could be so utterly clueless is that not only had she never worked as a waitress before, but that she’d never been to a restaurant. Surely if you’ve ever eaten out at any kind of table-service establishment you know that a waitperson doesn’t just turn around and walk away after one person in a party has ordered? That even if you don’t bring a glass to accompany a bottled beverage you at least open the bottle before placing it in front of a customer? That if a party has ordered multiple appetizers they shouldn’t all be placed in front of one person? Fortunately, the whole experience was so absurd that it was really rather entertaining, and I look forward to a return visit!

Several years ago there used to be a West African restaurant on University Ave. in St. Paul, called something like Dupsy’s. I ate there a few times and, although the experiences were inconsistent, on average it was above average and I was sorry when it closed. Since then I cannot recall any other source for this cuisine, so different from East African (as represented by the several Ethiopian restaurants in town anyway) and North African (another poorly represented culinary niche locally).

With the opening of Wazobia you can get fufu again, plus a host of other dishes that you won’t find on local menus. The main dishes are listed in three categories: rice with chicken, fish, or beef; beans with chicken, fish, or beef; and soups with chicken, fish, or beef. Some of the dishes are only available on certain days. Ingredients include some exotics such as ground melon seeds and jute leaves. Yam and plantains are available in several versions.

The appetizer menu (or "snacks" as they’re referred to) include beef, fish, and vegetable rolls and bean cake. We ordered a fish roll and a bean cake, or so we thought. By the time the snacks appeared (and the waitress placed both immediately in front of me as if B wasn’t supposed to get any) the fish roll had morphed into a beef roll and the bean cake into a kind of small fish soufflé. The roll was dry and had a minimal amount of beef in it. The soufflé, on the other hand, was moist and savory. It had pieces of some meat in it; they tasted like ham but since there isn’t any ham or pork on the menu I can’t be sure. In any case, be forewarned if you’re a vegetarian!

I am always intrigued by foods I’ve never had nor seen, and this made ordering my main dish a challenge. There’s the jollof rice (cooked with tomatoes and spices), egusi and efo (ground melon seeds and mustard greens cooked in tomato sauce and spices), asaro (yam porridge), and ewudh and okra (jute leaves and okra). B had the asaro with chicken. After hailing back the waitress, I ordered the ewudh and okra with beef. Even then it took some doing. Her first reaction was "That’s too heavy for breakfast." (She might have just woken up—a charitable explanation for her being so out of it.) But I persisted and she relented.

Both dishes were as exotic as they sounded. Mine was listed under soups but it was more of a stew, with the (I presume) jute leaves and okra liquefied into a viscous green base and the beef in a tomato and spices sauce ladled on top of it. There were three pieces of meat, a regular piece of beef, a piece of tripe, and a piece of cartilage. Perhaps some of you are reaching for the barf bag, but actually it was all quite tasty. The tripe was especially good, crunchy and meaty and with no hint of foulness—no need to ask for that lime quarter. The beef proper was overcooked and tough. The cartilage was soft and melting. The two sauces made for an interesting combination, resulting in something gumbolike, although the sliminess (no other word for it) imparted by the whipped okra made it hard to spoon up.

If that wave of nausea has passed, I should mention that you can also get the "soups" with fufu—a mound of starch that you tear pieces off and use as you might pieces of bread. The menu lists several types (iyan, amala, eba, and semolina); only iyan was available. A Web search identified it as pounded yam. This must be African yam, since it tasted like something made out of potato flour and not at all sweet.

Another story about our waitress. The beverage menu listed a "malt drink." I asked what it was and she said, "It’s from India." Very intrigued, I ordered it. It turned out to be an overly sweet nonalcoholic malt called "Malta India" from Puerto Rico, brewed under license in Wilkes Barre, Pa.!

Last story about our waitress. We asked if any dessert was available. She smiled coyly and said, "Depends on what you want." After we got her back on track, she admitted that they don’t have any.

But don’t let these stories stop you from venturing to Wazobia. The presumed owner also came to our table and was gracious and friendly; the place is neat and clean—certainly nothing like the hole-in-the-wall that Dupsy’s was; and I would guess that the food is quite authentic. If you get some free entertainment along with a reasonably priced and unique meal, well that’s another reason to check it out.

Wazobia is located on Lyndale next to the moribund Three Muses (the news of whose [pending] demise are never greatly exaggerated). It sits in a smallish newly whitewashed space and the coral green tabletops lend it a suitably African ambiance, which is also aided by a TV set tuned to a Nigerian channel. African knickknacks and expatriates complete a very ethnically satisfying locale. There is a small advertising board where business cards are displayed and I was given a lesson in how ethnic economics works. There are Nigerian realtors who can find a house for you which can then be financed by a Nigerian mortgage broker and you can no doubt be advised by a Nigerian lawyer.

We were served by a waitress who one can assume was debuting in the profession on that day because she didn’t have a clue. The restaurant, like most in this niche, is family owned, and the sister who had just arrived on the most recent boat from Lagos served us. The other sister, a large friendly woman, came over and asked us if everything was OK as she had to leave for a bit. This, at the time, was a great mystery. Why such solicitous concern? It all became clear the minute we had to deal with our waitress! It is not often that A is lost for words but I think our waitress stumped him when his choice for lunch was declared a bit too heavy for breakfast! A had to insist that he was having lunch and not breakfast. She carried nothing to take down the orders in and in consequence would comeback repeatedly asking what we had ordered. The whole order taking was a farcical event that wouldn’t have been out of place in a Monty Python skit.

Our order of appetizers—listed under snacks on the menu—was badly mixed up. We had—or at least we thought we had—ordered a fish roll and a moi-moi (bean cake). Instead of the fish roll we got either a beef pie or a beef roll, which regardless of what it was proved to be one tough, chewy customer. The bean cake undoubtedly has some beans in it but it also had pieces of ham and other unidentifiable meat products so if you’re a vegetarian look out!

The drink choices are limited to soft-drinks and juices. No beer and wine license yet. I chose the intriguingly named naked juice (the label claims one pound of fresh fruit goes into each bottle) whilst A had a malt drink. The malt drink reminded me of a combination of Horlicks and Ovaltine (the British Empire was built on a cup of tea in the morning and Horlicks with milk before going to bed) stirred into tap water. A bravely soldiered on with his malt drink but I don’t think he finished it.

The menu is very exotic. It is divided into three sections:

Rice with chicken, fish or beef with rice choices being jollof, fried or steamed. All this can be served with fried plantain, beans and an undescribed stew.

Beans with the afore mentioned chicken, fish or beef. A standout dish is the asaro (yam porridge). Again the optional side is the fried plantain.

Soups with—and you’ve guessed it—chicken, fish or beef. But here the sides are much more exotic: ground melon seeds, dried mango seeds, jute leaves, and okra. There are additional meats that can be had: tripe, cartilage, goat cow leg, etc. Perhaps not for the lily-livered Minnesotan but I would have thought this was A’s country through and through.

I ordered the asaro, which was served with miniscule amount of rice and no beans that I could identify. There was plenty of dry yam (think leftovers from last years Thanksgiving dinner) and two assorted pieces of chicken. The yam had been cooked in some long-ago evaporated tomato sauce. It was the sort of dish where you enjoy the first couple of bites and then push it back in distaste. A ordered the soup with its various accompaniments. The way to eat the soup isn’t the traditional soupspoon. The soup is supposed to be sopped up with a doughy maize like product, a bit like eating South Asian curry with a chappati. We were rank amateurs at this. I realized this when I saw another patron, probably a former resident of an ECOMOG country, deftly rolling the maize into a ball and soaking up the soup with it.

There are no desserts on the menu but I, perhaps unwisely, engaged the waitress on this subject.

B: Do you have any desserts?

Waitress: No…Just a minute…Depends upon what you consider dessert.

Now in her defense it could be that there are certain items on the menu that might well be considered dessert in another country. Tripe anyone?