When we returned home last August, my older sister told me about strawberry season in Nigeria – January/winter to you in some parts of the world. I was convinced it was a joke. Till last Friday when I held a pack in hand.
Healthy 6am weekday conversations in our home are rare. As I guess they are in most households with children of any sort: pre-teen and post teens! Usually, moaning and grumbling tend to dampen the chit-chat of the blue tits and red robins; and even the cocks crowing-a dawn. The kids channel crackles with dragging feet and sniffling that has tears lurking close by.
As told by me. And in alphabetical order.
And yes, 11 days in a country makes me an expert. Of sorts.
Local names are written in italics and I’ve done my best to share the correct pronunciations.
Where available, I’ve included photographs – enjoy!
Read more…
- Treat myself with true & honest kindness – including the occasional manicure and pedicure. And also continue to swim, run, sleep and most of all eat right. Women, Food and God by Geneen Roth has shown me why this is important. Read more…
I grew up with Fruitcakes every Christmas, lovingly made by Mrs O, a friend of my mum’s. A master baker, she would start her preparations months before the cakes were delivered, gratefully received and devoured.
Calling all the New Yorkers out there. Before we moved from the Netherlands (I know I keep going back to those days….), I tried my hands at making bagels. And succeeded too. And because I promised you bagels and Nigerian stews (not served together mind you) – here it is.
See I feel that for my American experience to be complete, I have to go to certain places – New York City is one of them. A place I’ve long associated with fun, fashion and gastronomy. Whenever I think of New York, I think Blueberry muffins, hot dogs, bagels and a mean espresso. And though I haven’t quite made it that far yet, I was willing to search for the heady, fresh baked flavours of ‘New Amsterdam’.
I found gorgeous bagels at Bagel Alley in The Netherlands and quickly acquired a taste for them. This café celebrates the yeasty bread treat – a touch heavy and chewy with that distinct, light sour taste and shiny top. I was astonished at the variety of bagel recipes on the menu – everything from the standard cream cheese to a ‘pizza’ and a BLT (Bacon, Lettuce and Tomato).
His cries of ‘spice, spice’ herald new beginnings, but at only 4 years old…this little man knows it not. This is the first proper ‘thing’ to come out of our new kitchen ( long before our delicious churros which have been followed by cupcakes and pizza. I’m thankful I can still cook and bake!), or ‘shrine’ as my younger sister calls it. It could pass for one. Small, and walls bedecked with ‘oddities’ that might look like instruments of war…to the uninitiated – roasting needles, an old ice-cream scoop, whisks and a metal jug that some may consider fit for a rubbish heap. Not me.
I’m thankful for autumn and fall. For churros. For pumpkin puree. For pumpkin churros. For sugar, and chocolate and spice. For taste notes called toffee and caramel. For New England autumns, for deep-fried. Dough.
I’m thankful for new beginnings, for children that love freely, for hope, for joy. For life. And the occasional wave of pain.
I’m thankful for homecomings, imperfect as they sometimes are.















