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.

God and French Fries: Kumasi '09

So in case you weren't already aware of how much better my life is than yours (cough cough Jane and Michael), you should know that on Sunday, at the end of our trip to Kumasi, we met Almighty God. And it was good.

Okay, that was a little misleading. Almighty God is an artist whose real name is Kwame. His alias comes from his belief in the fact that when actual God paints, it is through Almighty's brush, and all of his works are of divine inspiration. After viewing each of his paintings, he would boisterously remind us, "this is creativity!" 

Almighty was just one of several characters we met this weekend, though, on our adventure to the capital of the Asante region. The Asantes used to be like the Romans of West Africa but now they are just known for awesome fabrics, the biggest market in the region and stools. When we went the craft village where stools were being carved, I must have been told 100 times, by pushy saleseman who all seemed to sell the same beaded necklaces and wooden fertility dolls, "no charge for looking!" as if I would have assumed otherwise...

On Saturday, we went to the palace of an old Ashante king where the obsessive-compulsive tour guide walked into every room and explained in ad nauseating detail that THIS is the fridge that the King used and THIS is the wine glass that the King drank from and THIS is a creepy Madame-Tussaudesish wax figure of the King. I'm not a fan of museum tours as it is--I like to explore and learn at my own pace. But this was just silly. I didn't need to know that the King touched THIS doorknob in 1953. 

On Saturday night, we went to vic baboo's, a restaurant that, despite being in the sketchiest part of Ghana I've seen so far, was amazing. The burgers tasted like burgers and the fries tasted like they were sprinkled with fairy dust. 

The drink menu was a whole other level of ridiculous. There were well over 100 drinks, from simple ones like a classic margarita to a milkshake with Baileys and whiskey and a Walk Me Down (get it, like walk me down the stairs cause I'm so wasted?), which had 5 different kinds of booze in it and some lime juice. Sorry Almighty Kwame, but I think these were the real works of God. 

Katey got a banana chocolate pina colada dream milkshake. I definitely just made up that name, but that's what it looked like. The boys got beers because they are boring and I was too exhausted/impoverished to drink. Aren't you proud, mom?

It's Yom Kippur and I'm blogging.

"Howbeit on the tenth day of this seventh month is the day of atonement; there shall be a holy convocation unto you, and ye shall afflict your souls; and ye shall bring an offering made by fire unto the LORD."

-Leviticus 23:27

The first Yom Kippur that I can recall was when I was maybe 4 or 5 and still went to an Orthodox Hebrew School. After the kids' morning service at the house/synagogue, we were led to the backyard, which I remember being barren of grass. We kids stood in a circle around our Rabbi who held in his arms...a live chicken. 

The Rabbi explained that a part of Judaic tradition (though, it's not widely practiced or popular or even that ethical) is something called Kaparot. Basically, the chicken is swung around your head while you say prayers and, later, meets his maker.  This poor foul supposedly dies for your sins. Kind of like Jesus, except he can't fly, much less walk on water.

Over the years, my days of atonement have become less rigid. There are 5 rules to Yom Kippur, I usually keep 3 or 4. And I usually don't involve chicken torture. 

Let's see how I did this year...

1. No eating or drinking (ken)

2. No wearing of leather shoes (ken)

3. No bathing (ken)

4. No perfumes/lotion/makeup (lo...but have you seen what I look like without eyeliner?)

5. No marital relations (ken but on a side note, how does the Torah feel about pre-marital relations?)

4 out of 5 isn't bad, though I've been washing my hands after I go to the bathroom because, I'd rather not get Hepatitis from the bathrooms at UG. 

The other one that I broke is probably the most important, since it comes straight from the Tenach. Yom Kippur is supposed to be a day of rest, so we can reflect on all the wicked things we've done, apologize to Hashem, torture ourselves with the thought of food and water and, by dusk, be able to say that we have truly repented. Today, I went to two classes and now I'm blogging. Happy holidays, everyone!

A Tribute to the Egg Sandwich Lady

Dear Lady Who Works in the Green Shop Around the Corner from Church Crescent and Makes the Best Egg Sandwiches Ever,

Last semester I was addicted to Dunkin Donuts egg white flatbreads, but your holy creations bring my eating experience to a whole new level. I don't know if it's the eggs you use-- so fresh that they taste like they were laid moments earlier from the chickens that run around your yard-- the generous handfuls of peppers and onions, the medieval charcoal burner used to fry our omelets, the inch-thick slices of Ghanian sugar bread. Maybe it's the 1 cedi we pay for all that goodness. Or maybe it's just the love. 

Whatever your secret is, you've got me under your spell. I can't walk to school without making a slight detour towards your little green shop. Even though it takes like a half hour to make each sandwich, and even though you're probably sick of seeing loud, hungry obrunis EVERY SINGLE DAY, I know that you need us as much as we need you. Like I said, it's true love.

Last weekend, we were sad to hear you were feeling a little under the weather. Caitlin and Holley and I got out of bed with the sole intention of paying you a visit. Imagine our shock when we found out that there weren't going to be any sandwiches. It was the worst day of our shallow, food-centered obruni lives. 

Anyway, we know you were traveling this week--and don't worry, even though the other egg sandwich lady has been filling in, you're still our number one girl. Come back soon, please. We're lost without you.

Love,

Your Obsessive Fan Base

rosh hashanah in accra/my friends are adorable

L'shana tova, everyone. I hope everyone--jewish or otherwise--is having a sweet and healthy new year. Last Rosh, I was in Kimmel. This year, I'm in Ghana. Next year, Jerusalem? A girl can dream. 

There aren't any synagogues in Accra, just a small but proud community of Jewish ex-pats. Most of them are children and their young parents, who work in amazing places like the World Bank, the American Embassy or a local international school. Some run NGOs all week and pause for Shabbat dinner. 

Meeting them was nothing short of bashert (that's yiddish for fate, for all you gentiles). I had to present my idea for the final documentary project in front of my film class and Parine, my teacher. I was deciding between Ghanian Jews and something loosely related to HIV/AIDS. Feeling a bit homesick and out-of-place among the hundreds of stores with Christian names like "Jesus Will Save Snack Shop" and "Blood and Body of Christ Hair Salon", I chose the former. I did a terrible job of explaining my topic, so it didn't get chosen, but Parine is wonderful and realized I was jewish and probably had no place to go for the high holidays. So, she hooked me up with some of her friends who were having a little service and dinner on Friday night.

I went with Sarah, who is the only other practicing jew on the trip, and we had the best time. The people are so welcoming, as jews tend to be, and the food was unbelievable. We had challah that was baked with slices of apple, two different kinds of chicken, cous cous, soup, apple crisp and four different kinds of honeycake. Why the excess of honeycake? Because it's one of the only good desserts you can make without milk. 

We had a short service where we sang the basic blessings and prayers. Afterwards, we helped the kids make rosh hashanah cards by dipping apples halves in glitter pants and stamping colorful construction paper, and writing all of the things they wish for. So cute. 

Like I said, there aren't any synagogues around here so I didn't go to services yesterday. Instead, I went to the pool at the hotel around the corner and tanned for 4 hours. I'm very religious, as you can tell. But then last night, in the spirit of togetherness, a bunch of my friends and I made dinner together. Holley made this sickkk pasta, with an eggplant-tomato-garlic sauce. Miranda made an amazing stir fry with vegetables and egg noodles. Katey made breadsticks, Caitlin and I made the best french toast ever, and Whitney made french fries. So it was a rather random assortment of foods but everything was beyond delicious and I ate until I was stuffed, then ate a little more.

For dessert, Miranda and the guys made apple pie. Tell me you're not jealous and that my friends here are not the cutest people alive. Joey made an excellent point, standing in the middle of everyone mixing and cooking and laughing: "If this is just another Saturday night, can you imagine what Thanksgiving is going to be like?" 

ARE YOU KIDDING ME

So remember that time my room got broken into? Well, it happened again. Except this time it was at night, while Caitlin and I were there, sleeping. Nothing major was taken-- just our cell phones, a few dollars, my alarm clock and a book of poetry that was in my otherwise empty purse. I'm most upset about the moleskin, because Dana gave it to me and it had the only two decent poems I've written all year in it.

Actually, I take that back. I'm most upset about the fact that we were in there. I can handle someone coming into my room when I'm not there but  when I was a kid, I would get up in the middle of the night, maybe 3 or 4 times, and check to make sure the alarm was on and the doors were closed. It sounds crazy, but the idea of such things is what kept me up. And here it's even worse because theft is such a big deal that if a robber sees you and knows you've seen them, they'll kill you. I just feel blessed that when I heard a crash, I assumed it was my alarm clock fallen off the bed and didn't get up to check anything. 

For now they're switching our rooms and installing more security cameras, not to mention getting rid of all the access points. Like this shed in the neighbor's yard that's as high as the fence. You would think this all would have been taken care of the FIRST TIME, but then again this isn't New York. 

The good news is that Caitlin and I will probably stay roommates, which is great because we work perfectly together. But we're losing our extended family, Brenda and Krissy, to another house. It's so unfair. We share our bread! No one else shares bread. It became clear to me last night, when they woke up and stayed with us, that the 4 of us really are a little sisterhood and we take care of each other. Which, I think, is worth more to me than a cell phone and 10 cedi.

whitney leaves, everything fun happens

...just kidding, whit(n)ey.

But in all seriousness, a ton of stuff happened this week while my friend Whitney was in London visiting friends. We went to a world cup qualifier for three dollars, toured the Cape Coast slave castles, FINALLY HAD A QUIET DAY ON THE BEACH at coconut grove, and attempted to throw a house party at Solomon's (one of the two residences) which ended up being a total failure because, like every house party I've ever been to in New Jersey, we ran out of refreshments less than an hour in. See, that's what I love about Accra-- one day you feel like you're living in some sort of dreamworld mystical paradise opposite universe where people are nice and your skin is tan...and then something will happen and it will just bring you back to earth and remind you that you're just another obruni who looks ridiculous dancing to hiplife.

I had one of those moments today when a girl approached me, Ivy, Katey and Kalin at UGhana to tell us that we had an appointment with the Lord on Saturday and that we should give her our cell phone numbers so she could text us and remind us. 

Me: I ran out of phone credit, sorry.

Kalin: Uhh how about I just take your number?

Ivy: I'm just not comfortable with that. Thanks for understanding.

The moral of the story is when faced with religious confrontation, most Americans are awkward. 

I got more dresses made by Marjorie, our favorite seamstress. One is cotton, in this pretty teal pattern, with a sweetheart top and thin straps and a bubble bottom. The other is just a simple style, with a high waist and a flowy skirt and one inch straps, but the fabric is really shiny and colorful. I'm probably doing a terrible job describing them, so I'll just put pictures up later. Good thing I'm trying to be a writer. 

This weekend was amazing, especially reading by the beach. While everyone was swimming or tanning, I was sitting in a pavilion, doing homework and wearing a sweatshirt. Typical. But it was really nice to be by the shore free from harassment, music and belligerent high tides. 

I'm proud to say that I went to a world cup qualifying game but honestly I had NO idea what was going on 100% of the time. I don't watch soccer. Plus, we were in the very first row and I know you're probably thinking, "first row seats for three dollars? Balllerrrr." And yeah, saying it does sound pretty awesome, but being there was actually the opposite of awesome. Our view was blocked by this stupid fence and guards who would purposely stand in front of you just because they can. All I knew is that when everyone started yelling and cheering, I assumed something good was happening and screamed something generically encouraging like "GO TEAM" or "YAY GHANA".

All in all, it's been a pretty excellent week. Even the sick kids (2 with malaria, 3 with bacteria related illnesses and one with sliced-oped hand) are recovering well. I mean, it's not good that they all went to the hospital but I'm counting it as a victory seeing as no one died or had to go home. NYU: 1, Disease: 0.