I post this, long overdue……from Sunderland, in the northeast of England where I’m putting my feet up, enjoying single-digit temperatures and reveling in the stunning views of the North sea. —–00000—– To say I brought back evidence of my trip to Songhai Farms would be right. Evidence in photos, and in food. I brought back...
She was beautiful. Silver-haired, petite and with the finest English accent to boot. We sat next to each other on two silver benches, side by side, watching other beautiful people and the world inside the George bush airport, Houston go by.
For when you can’t eat. Two pains I cannot fathom or explain – heartbreak and toothache. Are they really necessary for life, growth, healing? I wonder. I had an impacted wisdom tooth extracted last Monday. It’s not something I’d like to repeat. Or wish on my worst enemy. Now I understand what my friend Joy...
Travel by Plate is a series exploring food, culture and travel, from Nigeria to South America and beyond. Please welcome my friend, the wonderful Adetoun of Finding Uhuru who wrote this post. A few weeks ago, I cried out on Twitter, desperately seeking someone, anyone who’d been to Saminaka in my yaji-craze, someone who had experienced the piping hot...
The road to Saminaka is paved with memories None of which are mine Memories borrowed from friends. Of family holidays Friends like Femi, @kinffeosi, @asamsu, @micaleel and @alkayy Of Junction towns where women fry chicken Tales of cross-country journeys Of petticoat yam and crumbled yaji-spiced chicken skin Of Roadkill Of native chicken, cheap as chips...
Embrace the ittars, the exotic scents of the Levant In tendrils of steam from the hammams of Turkey Rosewater. Orange Blossom. Jasmine Fragrances captured and essences preserved by ancient methods that go back to the Renaissance Experience the abundance of fragrances Get carried away with the heady notes and exotic dances of the Levant Captured...
Egusi soup, in which I channel my inner ‘Edo‘ girl. My ‘Igarra‘ heritage. For this is the soup by which we are woken up on many a morning, ladled into yellow enamel bowls, motiffed with green leaves and rimmed in red. Covers clanging, hiding the pungent, fried scents of une, what we call locust beans and...
A night-time conversation with D, my 6-year old has brought me here, to this point where I am writing an open letter to the world. To those who think Nigerian cuisine is no more than pepper. And I am not really on the offensive. Or defensive. I’m just in plain agreement as to how we...
Failure doesn’t faze me. Its nothing new. Jams that won’t set are ….mere vestiges of the past. I forge on….determined. This Zobo Jelly is an example in point. I went back to the drawing board and ended up with something that was and is worthy of any table.