Freedom food
My grandmother always led the way in the kitchen. I grew up in London surrounded by Sierra Leonean food: stews, rice, soup, cassava, rich leafy-green sauces, plantain, dressed whole salmon, fried rice, jollof rice, of course – and so many other dishes that I couldn’t possibly name in one go.
For my grandmother – and her friends – cooking was an integral part of the day. She would cook for me, my parents, cousins, and, if we were full, she would ladle leftovers into ice-cream containers to load into the freezer, just in case someone came round and needed food. There have been many moments when I have opened a tub of Wall’s vanilla ice cream to find last Tuesday’s okra soup.
Ingredients were everywhere in that house. On occasion the kitchen tiles were lined all the way to the cooker with jugs of palm oil, mountains of tripe and pig-foot in bowls from Lewisham market, baskets of plantain and bundles of newspaper filled with smoked fish; huge plastic containers piled with food spilled outside into the back yard, until it was their turn for a dip in the silver pot, which would take up all four gas hobs.
These early experiences of food filled not only my belly but also my mind with the notion and practices of nourishment as being an important part of life. It has set me on a path to learn more about ingredients and food cultures from Africa, which is home to so many different ways of gathering, preserving and preparing food. My guides on this journey of discovery are four chefs – living between East and
