Abena A. Green

By Abena A. Green

Dr. M. and her daughters just left. What delightful new neighbours we have! It was fun listening to their travel stories and sharing my photos with them. I was so glad they were happy with the food. With Dr. M.  being a vegetarian, I was having a bit of a dilemma over what to make for a complete and enjoyable meal.

So I pulled out the vegetarian cookbook I found at my parents’ house and started flipping. There were some tasty looking dishes in there ranging from fruity breakfasts to couscous-centered entrees. But as soon as I tried reading the text, the words began to blur and my eyes started wandering down the page, across the page, through the other pages. Focus! I said to myself sharply. This has to be good. I flipped back to the first recipe I’d looked at. It was an acceptable compromise of a meal for vegetarians and omnivores. As I scanned the ingredients list, I immediately began thinking of how to substitute what was in my fridge for some of the ingredients it was calling for.  I wasn’t making another trip to the grocery store when I had perfectly useful food in the fridge and cupboard. Next I began summarizing the directions. What is she basically trying to tell me to do here?

When it comes to following recipes, I am all over the place. Blame it on my mama.

She almost never uses recipe books and when she does, she improvises as she goes along. Half the amount of sugar here, some of her favourite spices there, substitute for milk there. My mother’s culinary creations are the result of years of apprenticeship alongside the women in her family, the employment of her five senses, and creativity. My siblings and I cook like her:  we mix salad dressings to season meat, throw in vegetables where we see fitting, play with spices, and use the finger dip test to see if we’ve added enough of any given ingredient. Growing up, Gigi made us watch and help her cook. I remember often wanting to read instead. But I’m glad she didn’t always let me, because now I can cook. I ensure flavour while regulating salt and know how to prepare an entire salmon beginning with head, tails and fins intact. I use my finger to measure how much water to cook my rice with and I know the fundamental rules:

1) almost always begin with onions and 2) always, always cook your tomatoes properly.  There’s nothing more amateur than food that’s too tomato-ey.

So I know the rules of cooking without a recipe book, but here I was, trembling over a vegetarian meal and intimidated when the directions were written out for me. Family friends would ask my mother for a recipe of something she’d made and she’d laugh and tell them “There’s no recipe for this.” I think some of them thought she was just guarding a secret recipe, but really, she just didn’t have one – not a set one anyway. She either knew how to make dishes by heart though without exact measurements or timing, or she’d make recipes up as she went along. My mother knows how certain ingredients work together and what taste she’s was going for. She also isn’t afraid to try new things. Though a few should not be revisited, most of her creations are on point.  My mother in-law is Jamaican and cooks like this too. They can just tell when it’s right.

Yesterday my mother asked if my cooking was getting better. Was she trying to say I’m not a good cook?  I didn’t protest her question though. I know I’m not her mini-me when it comes to cooking; sister is.  About an hour before my company came, sister was coaching me on the phone. “You put the fish in the rice? You shoulda cooked it on the side!”

“How about the chicken?” I asked. She gave me more pointers.

I ended up making jollof rice, tilapia seasoned with garlic spice and raspberry vinaigrette dressing, steamed cabbage, and fried plantain. Dr. C. and her daughters told me they enjoyed the food and I know they meant it. Seconds? Check. No dejected mounds of food around the circumference of the plate? Check.  Success.

The vegetarian cookbook went back in the drawer. I’m sure I’ll pull it out again in the next week or so to look at the pretty pictures and perhaps impress my mother with a fancy new dish or two. Earlier this week I bought measuring cups. I also followed the directions on the cake box. That’s a start.

Abena A. Green is a freelance writer, poet, dancer and co-founder of Tempo Magazine, a publication that celebrates the contributions Africans of all backgrounds are making to re-define the future of the continent.

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