Gumbo Is Not A Rich Man's Dish

Gumbo is not a rich man's dish. It's not even a poor man's dish to be honest. Gumbo, is straight up, without a doubt, a dish for the family. This communal entity couldn't be anything other than a dish for the people. (We'll temporarily ignore the fact that gumbo was very likely a meal that was created from scraps left from a less than benevolent owner/master/community - if you get my drift). When you add up all the ingredients needed to produce a truly delectable pot, you are guaranteed to spend a fair amount. Granted, "fair amount" varies depending on one's income, but baseline costs do not match that of a spaghetti bolognese recipe. According to Gallup, "those with incomes of $75,000 or more per year are averaging $180 per week, compared with $144 for those with incomes of $30,000 to $74,999." Spending upwards of $75 for one meal...that *you* have to do the work for, is not in budget for the average American family.  

Sure, gumbo, like fine wine, is made to get better with time. But, if you're anything like my family, you're lucky if the gumbo makes it to day 3. (Damn them heathens and their bigazz to-go-containers.) So yes, to make enough for a family to last a few days, it's a huge communal effort of epic proportions. 

Picture it. A family. A large fictional family lives near a bayou. No. Lives near the woods. (Just go with it, I'm creating a mood here.) It's the middle of the summer. A Louisiana backdrop. The children are hungry. The adults are hungry. Everybody's hungry. Two days ago someone mentioned gumbo and ever since, the house has had dreams of succulent ingredients seasoning a pot of delicious broth. 

The children are all sent out to gather ingredients to add to this imagined pot. It must feed the family for days. One person is sent to find crabs; the cleverest and sharpest kids of the bunch are tasked with this effort. Quick and nimble they are. Another is sent to get sausage. Yet another is off to the store for a thickening agent, most-likely cornmeal or flour. And yet another finds okra that's in season. As they return, one by one, they toss it in a humongous pot, a pot that was likely a source of great fear for the youngest child who was teased with tales of witches boiling misbehaving children in the pot. (I've got an avid imagination.)

I was hungry when I wrote this.

Some of this is anthropologically sound and historically fact; the rest of this conjuring shall live in the realm of folklore because a good story is a good story - especially when it involves food.

Every culture has some version of "throw-it-in-a-pot-and-add-water" food. How can a culture not? But those who fall at the bottom make do. I type this words with a reverence for their/our creativity and ingenuity. I'm one of 6 so feeding a large family when options are limited, is a laudable undertaking that I respect. That's what gumbo is. A dish intended for the family. A dish that requires contribution from everyone.

All that to say, when someone is cooking for you, don't be an asshole. Help cut a veg, clean a dish, or purchase an herb or two. Food is love. Also, iPhones have a new "meal" emoji that looks kinda like gumbo so ... there's always that. 

Jollof is Bae - Haiku #1

Jollof Haiku #1

Birthdays and Weddings

Celebrations and Goodbyes

Jollof, you were there.

Home. Every culture has a handful of culinary delights that evoke the most palpable, romantic images of home. Home-cooking is sacred. The term is uttered with a smile that's capsulized the experience of warmth, comfort and safety. It's in this place where we consumed during our highest of highs, lowest of lows, and on on our most average of days. Just the hint of fried onions, plantain, or tomatoes and chilis takes me to those largely communal spaces filled with laughter and tears, but ultimately support. 

In college, I took an anthropology course on "Food & Culture." My final paper? A piece titled "Food & Sex." The research unearthed the similarities with how both are consumed, primally and to satisfy a need. No longer life imitating art imitating life. Rather, food begets sex begets food and so on. Fortunately, globalism allows us all to have a nuanced palette! ;)

To accompany life's momentous events and rites of passage, we now have an expansive menu of solid requirements. For Nigerians (and those in the diaspora), that will always be Jollof Rice. Diaspora be damned, if you're having an event, somber or celebratory, if there's no jollof, you will be shamed. Publicly and privately. Nigerians don't do "nice-eties. They ... educate, ruthlessly with the sliver of the tongue leaving a mark so painful, you shan't make the same mistake - the lack of jollof rice - twice. Whether it's at a wedding of a cousin, of an uncle, who's brother is getting married, or I'm in London and the cafe down the street has take-away jollof, I'm getting my culinary jollies on, okay?! So while this simple haiku does have... "intense bits" ultimately, it's an acknowledgement of the love I have for home and a "happy place." #JollofIsBae.

Orgasmic Creation

Orgasmic. Is that what living in your purpose feels like? That sensation of constantly increasing excitement while doing (your) work? Waiting hungrily for the next moment of (revolutionary) ideas, thoughts, and content, until you reach a euphoric release at the moment of completion?

I'm gonna say... yeah. To be fair, I apologize about that intro paragraph. I really wanted to write about what an orgasm feels like....And mommy if you are reading this, I mean what I think an orgasm feels like. I'm just guessing, I promise. I'm still a chaste woman. (Now that I've written that, I'm thinking, can you still be considered "chaste" and "womanly" at the same time?" I mean, unless you are some type of nun?)

Anyway, I haven't had the best of years as of late. But I'm sure everyone feels that way. Even typing this post highlights my fortune. I have fingers to write/type this. But it's been tough. That being said, I'm living in a moment of orgasmic creativity. Not only am I in a show that's running and selling out where I play a badass goddess, but I'm actively developing my passion for writing and producing.

I recently had a reading of a play I wrote. I was scared shitless. I mean, the level of public ridicule that could occur and I advertised it! Where they do that at?! I emailed friends and colleagues, numerous of whom were unaware that I'd been writing extensively for the past few years. I put myself out there (in my own little way). That feeling when you invite someone to a party and remind them about it... you can't really take it back.

I was NOT, however, bold enough to invite EVERYONE. Sue me

you know what....

It rocked! People actually enjoyed themselves. I mean I'd even made a night of it with an awesome spread to dull the senses by warming their bellies. Made sure to somewhat be self-deprecating (c'mon...be honest. that works for everyone. A little self-loathing goes a long way)

And I got honest, critical, and positive feedback. "You like me, you really like me!" (Congratulations Sally Field for being immortalized in the American entertainment canon for years to come with that quote. Girl, you certainly knew how to milk that moment.)

Sally Fields LIVING!

Best thing about it, it's in the world. And I have notes to make this bad boy more evocative, powerful, inspiring, and I'm now working on other pieces that I've been scared to work on. In part because of judgement, but also because I'm discussing issues that are dangerous and there are even closer to my heart.

So yay to orgasmic productivity, creation, and development. Whether it be the next hot app, movie, or medical innovation, I'm all for it.

#YASSSS