Page 1 of Made to Love Ya
TALIA RACHÈ “CHÈ” CAMPBELL
FIVE MONTHS EARLIER
Fendi,Cartier, Versace, Tiffany & Co, Tom Ford, Saint Laurent—Those are just a few of the names emblazoned on the sleek, elegant chrome and glass buildings at Phipps Plaza located in the heart of Atlanta’s prestigious Buckhead.
Get ready to add to that impressive list the name Nafsi because it aligns itself with an image of luxury, elegance, and class just as the stores mentioned above do. But there’s a major difference. It’s not just a store but the restaurant equivalent of those stores.
Nafsi translated loosely as “soul” or “spirit” in Swahili, is the perfect name for the restaurant. Because it spoke to, fed, and nourished my soul. From the welcome of the greeters who made you feel like family to the attentive servers focused on every detail, to the elegant but homey ambiance and friendly patrons, my experience was exceptional.
The food was by far the showstopper. The beef in the Nyama Choma was succulent and hearty. It was paired with a side of fragrant rice with aromatic sauces and flavorful, tender kidney beans. From the beginning to the end, everything was outstanding.
It is pricier, but that is to be expected in that neighborhood. I promise you it is well worth every dollar spent. The food is prepared, cooked, and served with passion and is quickly becoming the crown jewel of Phipps Plaza. For me, it rates five silver chef spoons.
Chef’s Kiss,
T.
“Seriously. Is it good?”
“Girl, come on. Are you kidding me? Any time your ass lays something down in the kitchen, it’s good. You can burn, ma,” Roshanda replied.
“Thanks. I just want Ricky to like it,” I explained, spooning the mushroom sauce over the chicken.
Roshanda hopped on the counter.
“Just make sure you save me some,” she stated as the doorbell rang, and she jumped off the counter. “I got it.”
“Ro, wait. That might be him.”
“Okay, so? I got it, sis,” she replied, turning her lips down, widening her eyes, and stretching her hands out at her sides.
“Aren’t you going to put on a little something…”
“A little something like what?” Roshanda asked, standing on the threshold between the kitchen and the living room.
She wore the tiniest cotton shorts with her ass cheeks literally hanging out. Not just the cuff of her cheeks but the whole apple bottom.
“More.” I finished my statement, holding the spoon aloft.
“Girl, please. Ricky done seen my ass more times than you can count.”
“That’s the problem, Ro!” I hollered as I set the spoon on the platter, wiped my hands, and ran behind her.
“He’s like a brother to me. You ain’t got shit to worry about, sis. That man loves your dirty drawers,” she quipped as she pulled the front door open.
“Hey. Both of y’all greeting me? Makes a nigga feel special. What’s going on?” Ricky asked as he stepped inside the doorway.
“Just telling your girl that you and I are like brother and sister. Ain’t that right, Ricky?”
My boyfriend shrugged and said, “I mean, yeah. Might wanna go throw clothes on, though, Ro.”
“Thank you,” I mumbled.
She looked at me, stuck out her tongue, and rolled her eyes before she marched away.
“Hey, baby. How’re you feeling?” I asked Ricky as he pulled me in for a hug.
“Tired. Hungry. What you got to eat?” he asked as he cupped my ass.
