For immigrants, it is said, food is the last to go, custom-wise. Why styles of dress or accents fade more quickly, I offer only this supposition: tasting one's food can reveal much about a person. In a single bite, you may be transported to one's childhood, or fully understand the depth and breadth of one's creativity. Indeed, the very essence of one's past, present, and future can be ascertained in a simple stew. Perhaps that's too much, you say. Obviously, you're not a foodie.
Food was--and in someways still is--the great medium for my family. It is used to comfort, celebrate, and console. A single red plate was displayed by your seat on your birthday, it's inscription reading "You are special today." Eating off that plate was almost as good as not having to clean it: it was your birthday for crying out loud, you couldn't be bothered with washing dishes.
It was more than just calories and carbohydrates, though: I use the word medium purposefully. It was around that dinner table that the majority of our interaction took place. Sure, the occassional Braves' game took the show, but our meals were usually taken together and at that table. The meal gave way to clean-up, but eventually, the focus shifted back to the table. Sometimes dessert, most times coffee, this time was ours, and we eeked out every last second.
What began as a stiff, rectangular table with a clearly defined head, eventually turned into a relaxed, circular table as we got older, no doubt signifying our transition into the adult world. Our conversation more balanced, our interaction more democratic. No one seat was greater than the other. Unless you were closer to the chicken. This conveyed innumerable powers, selecting and distributing as you pleased. One for you, two for me...
Imagine my relief when I arrived in this country, greeted by multiple followers of this great tradition we call force-feeding. If full, don't clean your plate, my travel guide says, lest a heaping spoonful of food be put on your plate. Hospitality reigns in Kenya, and the preparing and serving of food is the premier way of displaying this act. In a land where portion sizes clearly outweighs the means to provide such a serving, it is especially poignant to be treated to a traditional Kenyan meal. By my count, I'm at 8. Dear God, please let there be more.
The fare here is hearty, and rarely in need of any extra seasoning: the quality of the produce alone imparts more flavor than imaginable. Fresh mango, papaya, bananas, passion fruit, pineapple, and oranges, each sampling better than the last, or so it seems. These would accompany a typical breakfast platter of mandazi (Kenyan beignets), spanish omelettes, or toast and jam. Other meals are a variation on some basic themes, but aren't slouches in their own right. Curries, stews, and stir-fry predominate, highlighting the tasty vegetables produced here: potatoes that rival yukon golds, the best cabbage I've eaten, and some tomatoes that remind me of home. These dishes are served with either rice, ugali (similar to corn grits), or chapati (unleavened flat bread). A cook here is first measured by his chapati. Add a little baking powder to the batter, and tah-dah, you have the makings for mandazi. So simple, so delicious.
Order a cup of tea in the states, and you're waiter might ask if you want lemon or milk with your tea. In Kenya, the answer to "Will you take tea?" should most certainly be a yes. Don't expect a dark brown liquid to be served in your cup, though. Tea with steaming-hot milk--lots of it--is the preferred route. If you're lucky, some ginger or rosemary will be thrown into the water before you are served. I haven't had a real cup of coffee in perhaps 4 weeks, but honestly, I haven't missed it.
We've enjoyed having a house to ourselves for the last week, and we have especially enjoyed having a kitchen in which to prepare meals. I've found a stalwart in Malia to cook with. Her knowledge of cooking techniques and recipes is impressive, and her generous use of butter won her instant legitimacy in my eyes. Our meals cost roughly 1200-1500 Kenyan shillings, which translates to 15-18 dollars. Not bad for feeding 7 people. And by feeding, I mean feeding. We've indulged in coconut curries, chocolate chip oatmeal cookies, and even deep dish pizza. For the Fourth, we celebrated with chicken pot pie (and, ahem, a homemade pie crust), cole slaw, baked beans, and a zesty potato salad. Our only fireworks were the ones created by the pan full of banana's foster, but trust me, they were sufficient.
To think we thought we were going to lose weight on this trip...sike.
SS
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