Cote D'Ivoire: A Gastronomical Reflection

Despite my parent's objections and various state dept warnings about coup d'etats, rebels, thieves and corrupt police, I decided to spend my fall break in Cote D'Ivoire. Brenda, Alex, Daniella, Katey, Julia, Christina and I were originally going to wing the whole trip, buying our bus ticket the day before we left and planning nothing in terms of sleeping, eating or sightseeing. Essentially, the plan was to have no plan. We were even thinking of staying in a brothel, since we heard from a friend of a friend that it's pretty cheap, if you don't mind the, um, noises. 

Then, at literally the last minute, the woman who owns Tante Marie, the restaurant that hosts our meal plan heard we were going to Abidjan and hooked us up with friends of hers that have an amazing house and love guests. Well, thank god we did because there are no hostels in Abidjan and hotels cost like a million dollars a night. Although, I still maintain that it would have been cool to say we stayed in a brothel.

When we got there, these three boys, friends of an Ivorian waiter that works at Tante Marie, picked us up and took us Madame Kramo's house, where chic, friendly Ivorian women were waiting for us, armed with juice and one of the best meals I've ever had. I don't really like fish in Ghana,  or in general, but the tilapia was so fresh and so good that I could eat it plain or with this amazing spicy tomato sauce and cous cous. Thankfully, my 8 years of Millburn french (merci, Dr. Finnegan!) combined with the french Christina learned from her parents was more than enough to get us by. We also had interesting conversations with the boys, with Madame, and with Severine, her daughter in law, about politics, culture, their lives and their families. 

The rest of the week was spending drowning in delicious food. We ate fou tou (which has a similar composition and texture to play-dough, but is made from crushed plantains) with all these soups and spices, fresh avocado (which, no offense California, is the world's best), cous cous dishes, salads, baguettes and cheese. Every morning there was oatmeal, baguettes and coffee and every night Madame's housekeeper cooked us more Ivorian food, which, unlike Ghanian food, is not drenched in palm oil. My stomach and the toilet were thankful for this.

One night, we all cooked for them. Well, Daniella, Christina and Katey cooked while I watched french soap operas, but still. There was Daniella's goat cheese and onion quiche, Christina's pasta made with honey and roquefort and a ton of vegetables (basically, it was all over the place, not unlike the the chef herself), and Katey's chocolate mousse. It was phenomenal. 

We also spent two days at Madame's beach house, in Grand Bassam, a little fishing village about an hour outside of the city. The village center is busy, filled with women frying plantains and baking bread and artists yelling at you to viens, viens and buy their beads. The beach, though, is nothing short of paradise. It's beautiful and rich in color, not to mention empty besides the occasional line of fishermen pulling their giant nets from the sea.

Most of the week was spent immersed in Ivorian food and culture, getting to know the city and the people living in it. But, we are American, so we had to do some touristey things too. We prayed in St Paul's Cathedral and got attacked by chimps at an animal preserve, once again reaffirming my distrust in all things monkey. 

Anyway, after a 16 bus ride in which I consumed an entire block of cheese, a baguette and 3 apples (I am sooo french) and got into two fights with the bus driver to turn down the soccer game announcements or the melodramatic Nigerian movie, we arrived back in Accra. It's nice to be home, but not as nice as eating heaps of delicious free food and butchering a totally beautiful language with my American accent. Abidjan, Je t'aime.