ktravula - a travelogue! » food

My Bite Christmas

Kola — Mon, 27 Dec 2010 06:56:49 +0000

I spent Christmas day on the road to many places. In each of the places were food, drinks, gifts, people and nice conversations. Thousands of kilometres away from home, I was once again relishing the pleasures of American hospitality. At some point in the evening, expecting a profound answer, I asked the guests at the table what the most traditional American meal was. The answer was: The hamburger. I was surprised. I always thought that that belonged to the Germans.

There’s a long history behind the nation’s diet, all traceable to immigration. The New England Pilgrims brought and eventually grew wheat bread, with turkey and pheasants made into sausages, stews, pies and pastries. The Native Americans ate crabs and salmon among many other sea animals, Italian settlers came with their pasta and some seafood diet, the Spanish brought lamb, the Africans brought pork, the cornbread, and meals made out of potatoes and sweet potatoes, among others. Years after, what we have is a country whose gastronomical map is as diverse as its accents.

The diversity is not always a thing of joy for those from where the food originally came, however. None of my Indian friends ever like foods served in “Indian” restaurants in America. The burritos sold at Taco bell are hardly as authentically Mexican as the ones in Cuernavaca. Poundo yam sold in plastic bags don’t taste like the pounded yam sold at Mama Ope in Bodija, and neither are fortune cookies anymore Chinese than French fries are from France. All the food that cross the Atlantic inevitably lose their old self, and like the people themselves, evolve, sometimes becoming better, and sometimes not, but mostly always remaining delightful. Americana.

And so my Christmas dinner consisted of lots of lamb, stuffing, mashed potatoes, green beans, asparagus, salmon, capers, salad, bread, corn, chicken, carrots, cakes and perhaps more than I can now presently remember. One major absence however was any sausages, or hamburgers. I guess it’s not so traditional after all. As fast food, yes, but one wouldn’t expect to find them on a table set for a Christmas gathering? No. Yet, I became curious as to how a four inch roasted meat lying in-between two slices of bread (no entendres) came to acquire such fame across the world (and among Americans themselves) as America’s national food.

Away from this all however is my delight in the diversity that made the country what it is. Much like home faraway in Ibadan, the day ended as a thankful tribute to the warmth of friendships and human connection, and the significance of such a wonderful holiday.

The Pleasure of Swallowing

Kola — Sun, 19 Dec 2010 09:13:19 +0000

In the heart of the gastronomical art of the people south of the Sahara is the delight of swallowing. Around mounds of hot dough made out of yam, or rice, or potatoes, or corn, or even millet, bowls of soup lay spread on a mat in the middle of a salivating family. Dinner time is more than just the conversation that lubricates the passing of each balls of dough through the oesophagus into the waiting bellies, it is an appreciation of the craft behind the cooking, and the process of eating. Feeding is an art in itself. I see it now: bowls of pounded yam along with egusi soup, hot plates of amala on which ewedu and gbegiri compete for dominance, and all around the plate surrounding small reefs of fried beef. It is the pleasure to behold, and the pleasure to hold on the tongue before the final swallowing.

So a friend from Jamaica had encountered pounded yam for the very first time, and looked bewildered at the suggestion that each handful of a rounded ball of the dough already coated in soup had to be swallowed in entirety. “This is too large for my throat,” she said. I took another look at pounded yam today and discovered that she was right. Contrary to the suggestion that all you do is throw the ball of food in your mouth and swallow it, the process before the swallowing is actually a little more complicated. It starts with a swirling on the tongue of the food in order to separate what’s “food” and what’s “sauce”. A little teeth-work takes place afterwards to press whatever is necessary into the right shape for the throat. Everything else follows.

It is safer to say that whenever you get a delightful ball of Yoruba food (be it pounded yam, amala or semo) into your mouth along with accompanying spiced vegetables, you may just trust your tongue and teeth to sort out the rest of the job. It goes into the mouth as a ball of dough, but eventually relaxes into something smoother before a delightful passage into the warm embrace of the gut. The pleasure, eventually, is in the eating. Here therefore is a salute not just to the art of cooking and the long history of efforts behind it, but also to those who revel in its delightful consumption, especially across cultural lines. Feeding, after all is an artful exercise. (In other words, you could just say that I do terribly miss my pounded yam.)

Roasted Plantain

Kola — Sat, 12 Jun 2010 13:04:34 +0000

Lagos, 3rd June 2010

Food, For Clarissa.

Kola — Sat, 05 Jun 2010 08:20:33 +0000

My initial plan was to not only put up pictures of food, but to write a recipe of making them as well. Now, the temptation is just to give you the pictures, and send the recipes later. Or how about I just tell you their names first, and we deal with the making them later?

From the top, clockwise, we have:

1. Fried fish, with cooked (salted) spinach and locust beans, and a morsel of amala. This kind of amala is made from yam powder.

2. Eko (the white solid paste) made from corn, ponmo (from cow skin), and some more cooked spinach.

3. Catfish in peppersoup.

4. Pounded yam in the making. (You peel the yam, cook it without salt, and pound it until fine and doughy, then eat with any soup or vegetable of choice.)

5. Suya. This is a typically Nigerian delicacy. It is cow meat roasted on an open fire with plenty spices, and eaten with cabbages, onions and some more spices.

6. White amala (made from cassava flour) in black-eyed peas soup (also called gbegiri), pepper sauce, and some beef.

7. No comments. This is an almost empty plate of fried rice and moinmoin. Moinmoin is made from blending black-eyed peas (we actually call it beans) together with pepper, and other spices, and cooking it with crayfish or shrimps until solid.

8. More suya. This one is cooked slightly differently from the one in #5. This is stacked on sticks and placed on the fire with the spices. In this picture are three different kinds: chicken, beef and chicken gizzards, all on sticks.

Alright, I’m done here. Ikhide Ikheloa, let me now formally invite you back to Nigeria.

Food

Kola — Sun, 23 May 2010 20:55:03 +0000

Alright, I’ve searched the calendars of all major religions of the world and found that no one is supposed to be fasting right now, so here is one of the major food pictures I’ve taken in the last couple of days. Salivate, then go make your own dinner.

Happy Sunday, and don’t forget to remember those who haven’t eaten.

PS: This post was supposed to have pictures of plenty food, including the very soft pounded yam I had a few hours ago. But my internet is really really not cooperating. What can I do?

La Casa Mexicana

Kola — Sat, 08 May 2010 20:10:16 +0000

How could I not have known that the best and the most affordable restaurant in Edwardsville was going to be a Mexican one? I had never eaten at a Mexican restaurant until yesterday. It was a get-together to say bye bye to Ellen who was retiring from Foreign Language teaching after about 42 years. Present at the event were all members of staff of my department (except the Head, who inevitably had to be absent). I had my first intimation with plenty Mexican dishes and drinks, including the famous jarritos (which is actually pronounced as harritos). There was margaritas, tortillas and chorizos. If your mouth is now sufficiently watered by just the thought of spicy delicious Mexican food, you can give me credit for it. Just go out now, and buy yourself a nice meal. I promise that you will thank me later.

The dinner was wonderful. What’s more, it was my (sorta ) final get-together with that wonderful crew that run the department of foreign language department.

After that, there was another get-together with teachers and students of language in the house of a different professor. Then at night, a hang-out with some friends over bottles of beer. Well, the goodbyes are done. The last supper? Maybe not. Next stop, an all-night drinking binge with somebody, somebody and somebody.

When? When? When?

Onion-Sage Stuffed Goose Recipe

Kola — Mon, 26 Apr 2010 08:15:19 +0000

As culled (or stolen) from Clarissa’s blog, by Paul C. I wonder why I didn’t think of this since a long time ago. Better late than never, right?

Before

Ingredients:

3 lbs of onions.
½ cup of butter.
½ cup of celery, chopped with leaves.
6 cups of soft breadcrumbs.
1 tablespoon of salt.
½ tablespoon of freshly ground black pepper.
1 tablespoon of dried sage.
1 teaspoon of dried savory.
½ teaspoon of dried marjoram.
¼ teaspoon of ground nutmeg.
1 goose, about 11 lb.
1 tablespoon of fresh lemon juice.
Salt and pepper.
2 chicken bouillon cubes.
Boiling water.

Directions:

Peel and cut the onions into quarters, then put them in a large saucepan, and add just enough boiling water to cover, and simmer, covered, for about 15 minutes or until just tender.
Drain, cool, and coarsely chop the onions.
In a large heavy skillet, melt the butter.
Add the chopped celery and gently sauté for about 3 minutes, stirring frequently.
After
Add half the breadcrumbs and cook gently until lightly browned, stirring frequently to combine.
Place the remaining breadcrumbs in a large mixing bowl.
Add the salt, pepper, sage, savory, marjoram and nutmeg. Toss to combine the ingredients.
Add the prepared onions and the sautéed celery and breadcrumb mixture to the bowl and toss again to combine.
Allow to cool before stuffing the goose.
Preheat your oven to 400°F (205°C) degrees.
Rub the goose inside and out with lemon juice.
Generously sprinkle the inside of the goose with salt and pepper.
Stuff the neck cavity with some of the prepared stuffing and fasten the neck skin to the body of the goose with a skewer.
Stuff the body of the goose with the remaining stuffing, skewering and lacing the end closed.
Tie the legs and the wings to the body with butcher’s twine.
Prick the skin of the goose all over, to let the fat escape while roasting.
Place the goose, breast side, down on the rack of a large roasting pan.
Add the chicken bouillon cubes to the two cups boiling water and stir until dissolved, then pour the mixture over the goose.
Roast for 60 minutes, uncovered.
Pour off half the drippings and discard.
Turn the goose over and pour two cups of boiling water over the bird.
Continue roasting for another 60 minutes.
Pour off the drippings from the pan, again.
Prick the skin of the goose all over and continue roasting for about 90 minutes more, or until tender.
To serve, place the goose on a large platter; remove the twine and skewers to carve.

_________________

Pictures from:

http://farm1.static.flickr.com/35/92769658_1f6fab7580.jpg

http://www.ifood.tv/recipe/roasted_turkey_stuffed_with_sage_and_onion

Photos from the African Night Event

Kola — Tue, 23 Feb 2010 22:31:42 +0000

A night (on Sunday 20th February at the University) featuring dance, music, acting, comedy, fashion parade, and food.

Testimony Time

Kola — Thu, 11 Feb 2010 13:25:51 +0000

There is a reason why I usually never leave the kitchen whenever I am cooking there: I do not want to burn down the house by forgetting a pot of food on the hot cooking gas while I’m in my room reading or writing. I know myself. I think I have a very short attention span when it doesn’t have to do with something mentally stimulating. Food tops that list, and I have had to go hungry so many times because I would rather watch a movie, read an article or just stay in one spot thinking of the next mischief.

So on getting back from a long day of school yesterday, I didn’t bother to take off my back pack. I just went into the kitchen and started making pasta and soup on two of the four gas cookers there. In twenty minutes, I was done and the food was sizzling hot on the plate. But instead of sitting down in the living room to eat, I headed into my room, but not before putting the almost empty pot back on the gas cooker, and turning the knob to be sure that I had put off the fire and the gas.

Two minutes later, while in my room, and about to settle into my comfort zone of work, I became uncomfortable because I wasn’t sure whether or not I had refilled the water bottle in the fridge, so I dropped my food and the laptop, and went there just to be sure, only to find that the half empty pot of pasta was still on a burning hot cooker, almost burning itself out from excessive heat. What? I thought I switched this off. Apparently, I had turned it the wrong way, and instead of shutting off the fire, had only turned it up. Sigh. I then switched it off for good, refilled my water bottle, and went back indoors to enjoy my meal and work. It would have been a very fiery day in Cougar Village, and I can already imagine the headline: “Curious Foreign Language SKolar Roasts Self in Building Fire.”

That didn’t happen, and thus my testimony. Praise the Lord! Halleluyah! Amen!.

Offering time…!

Random Confessions

Kola — Fri, 08 Jan 2010 06:42:18 +0000

The successful outing of my My [State/Country] posts on this blog (after Texas and Saudi Arabia) is giving me many more great ideas. How many states will I be able to “visit” virtually and publicly thank before my time here is over? Who wants me in their area? I definitely would like to show here to you my readers all the relevant ktravula hot spots all around the world, just in case it ever occurs to anyone someday to organize a get-together/reunion party of all my blog readers, fans and commenters. But I can’t. Or so I think. Physically, I’ve now been to Providence RI, Washington DC, Boston MA, St. Louis MI, Edwardsville IL, Cahokia IL, Principia IL, Chicago IL and Olney MD, among a few other small places. But virtually, I’ve been in many more places I probably would never see. Here’s the plan, as time permits, I will go around the world from here. The traveller is coming to a location near you.

School resumes on Monday. I have not yet confirmed whether classes resume too. If so, then I will use this weekend to plan my class schedule for the year. It’s the hardest (I think) part of the work. When the plans are set, it not so hard to follow through in class, even though there usually occurs along the way some things never before planned, like public holidays, snow storms, and other engagements. But I like to have a plan. It helps to keep me focused. The last time I checked, I will now have sixteen students. That’s a higher number than the last nine who, like they told me on the last day of class, must have told their friends to sign up for that foreign language class where you could get an A (if you work really hard for it) and have fun all at the same time. Talking about As, all my last students but one got As. The person that didn’t get an A got a B, deservedly. She wasn’t as punctual as she should have been. And she did really poorly in the mid-term test. As for my own Linguistics class, I have not yet seen my results. Next week, maybe.

How did I spend my Christmas? I went to the house of my Professor A., originally from Nigeria, who was spending Christmas in town for the last time. He had resigned from this university and was moving into government work in the capital (Springfield). The most memorable part of the very beautiful evening was the “lucky dip” where everyone was asked to pick choice presents from a whole lot gathered in the living room. I got a wall clock. Now I can see what time it is while sitting on my bed without first having to pick up my phone or computer. However, there was not much Nigerian food at the table, surprisingly. There was mostly American foods, which I enjoyed. And there was moi-moi. It was a very memorable and enjoyable evening in company of people of different nationalities, behaviour and beliefs. I met his young children and their friends. One of his children’s young cousins in attendance had attended St. Patrick’s school, Bashorun Ibadan before relocating to the States. Our discussions brought back memories of truancy in secondary school days when we snuck out of our school premises to attend Christmas parades in the compound of the Broadcasting House just across the road…

New year’s eve. This one was a story with a k-leg, because Chris from class who had checked with me many times about our earlier plan to spend the eve together at his house partying, playing, reminiscing and flirting around with American girls suddenly had a work schedule! Oopsie. (Sorry Chris. I know you might not believe it, but not all of us from that side of the world play around with firecrackers around festive periods. ) In any case, I believe(d) him and stayed indoors since Ben also had suddenly disappeared earlier in the day to go to his folks at St. Louis. I fell asleep at nine, and woke up barely at a quarter to twelve, so I slept again, hoping my some miracle to wake up before twelve. The next time I opened those eyes, it was 1pm and I had two messages on my cell phone, from Nigeria. Happy New Year, they said. There were no fireworks like it would have been at New York’s Times Square, or back home in Nigeria (yes, we use fireworks too. Note to Chris: They are festive fireworks, not explosive firecrackers). I went back to sleep a few hours later, consoling myself that in some other parts of the world – in California, for example – they were still in 2009 by a few minutes.

I broke my first and major new year resolution on the third day of the year. I ordered a $24 pizza from Papa John’s! And as guilty as I felt after placing the order, I enjoyed it. It was coming after a few gruesome days of needed abstinence. Thankfully I didn’t have to eat it alone. But on the (not altogether so) bright side of this matter, a freak error/mixup of communication between me and woman at the housing office on Monday when I went to make payments for my housing rent has cleared my bank account/card of ALL available funds. The situation, as she apologetically promised afterwards, is now being rectified. Five days later, it has not, and I’m mad! One week, and perhaps more, is a very long time to wait. This means of course that there would be no more Papa Johns, even if I crave it. And as soon as my supplies of food run out, which they will, very soon, I will be very screwed , not literally. So, sigh, wish me luck people, or send relief, or remember me in your prayers. But whatever you decide to do, when you eat your nice meal of turkey, moi-moi, amala, potato salad, stuffing, egusi, pounded yam, broccoli, jollof/fried rice, ogufe, or whatever else you have on your plate on your side of the world tonight, please remember this American child that is now surviving on less than a dollar a day. Don’t look for any paradoxical punch-lines to this. There are none!

ktravula - a travelogue! » food

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