Kenyan Classic: Beef Pilau & A Bit of Swahili History

Serves 8

Pilau Masala
1 tablespoon cumin
2 teaspoons black pepper
2 teaspoons ground cardamom
1 teaspoon cloves
1 teaspoon paprika
1 cinnamon stick, broken into three parts

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Pilau
¼ cup vegetable oil
2 medium onions, thinly sliced
4 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons fresh ginger, minced
1 chile, finally chopped (I use scotch bonnets because I enjoy heat but you can use serrano chiles)
2 tablespoons pilau masala
2 bay leaves
2 beef stock cubes
¼ cup fresh cilantro, roughly chopped
1 lb beef, cubed
4 plum tomatoes, diced
4 medium-size tomatoes, finely diced (I prefer to use plum tomatoes because they don’t add too much moisture)
4 cups water
2 cups basmati rice
Salt to taste

You usually would serve pilau alongside kacumbari, a simple and light tomato-onion salad. Here’s a recipe.

  1. Combine the ingredients for the pilau masala then set aside.

  2. Heat oil in a large pot over medium-high heat, and sauté onions for 10 minutes or until they begin to brown.

  3. Add the pilau masala as well as the ginger, garlic, bay leaves, chile, beef stock cubes, and cilantro. Stir continuously to ensure the spices are well-distributed and fragrant.

  4. Add the beef and let it cook fo 5 minutes until browned to preserve tenderness.

  5. Add the tomatoes and cook until they have softened then add the potatoes and water before bringing to a boil and cooking for 10 minutes.

  6. Once the water is boiling, add washed rice and stir it to ensure it is even distributed then add a pinch of salt to taste.

  7. Cover the pot, reduce the heat and cook it over medium-low flame. After 8 minutes has passed, stir the rice to ensure it is cooking evenly and does not stick to the bottom of the pot. Continue to for 20 minutes until all liquid is fully absorbed.

  8. Garnish with cilantro, serve, and enjoy. Best served alongside kachumbari (a traditional Kenyan salad of diced tomatoes, onions, and cilantro with a hint of lime juice)

As you can tell by my name, I’m Kenyan — from an East African country of 43 tribes and nearly 50 million people. Kenya is a remarkably diverse country, and its cuisine is likewise shaped by its history as a major trading region over the centuries as Indians, Arabs, and, most recently, Chinese, have arrived on its shores. The influence of these diverse groups can be seen perhaps most vividly in foods that have made their way into everyday Kenyan life: chapatis, samosas, and, of course, pilau, one of the signature dishes of the Swahili coast.

Swahili (or Waswahili) refers to people living along the coast of East Africa, primarily in Kenya and Tanzania, whose native language is Kiswahili, a language now spoken by over 200 million people within Africa in Tanzania, Kenya, Uganda, Democratic Republic of Congo, Rwanda, Burundi, Mozambique, Zambia and Malawi. With its roots in the Bantu language, Kiswahili became more widely spoken when Arab traders began arriving in Kenya during the 2nd century. Swahili is derived from Arabic word Sawāhil سواحل, meaning coasts, and thus unsurprisingly shares many similarities with the Arabic language. Some other examples of Swahili words of Arabic-origin: safari (trip), mahali (place), kahawa (coffee), among others.

While East African food isn’t necessarily known for its spices, Swahili food is very flavorful as it is well-known for its use of coconut, cloves, cumin, and other aromatics. Zanzibar in Tanzania was the centre of the Swahili spice trade and once known as the “Spice Islands” due to its former status as the world’s largest exporter of cloves as well as a large producer of other crops such as nutmeg and cinnamon. These spices are also common in the Swahili cuisine found today in Kenyan coastal cities such as Mombasa and Lamu. In this recipe, you’ll find plentiful Arab influences as well as Indian ones — one might describe pilau as similar to India’s famous biriyani. The main difference between the two is that in pilau the rice and the meat are cooked together in one pot, and rice and meat in biriyani are cooked separately and combined at the end.

Chocolate Chin-Chin Cheesecake

Inspiration: Nigeria meets American South

Growing up, I had many Nigerian-American friends. As the largest African immigrant population in the United States, you'll find Nigerians in all corners of the country from New York to DC to even Alaska, where my best friend from college, Ifeoma, is from. Whenever I visited my Nigerian friends at home, I delighted in the delicious snack foods from akara to meat pies to puff puff. One of my favorite tasty treats is chin chin (also called achimon in Ghana, where I moved post-Yale), which is made from basic combination of flour, milk, sugar, eggs, and nutmeg. This cheesecake recipe is an homage to all the aunties that let me eat my weight in chin chin (literally) growing up. Enjoy!

Ingredients:

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CRUST
2 cups crushed chin chin (recipe here)
3 tablespoons sugar
1/3 cup butter, melted

FILLING:
24 oz soft cheese
1/2 cup sugar
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 eggs

CHOCOLATE SAUCE:
1 bar of chocolate
1 can (5 ounces) evaporated milk

Directions:

  1. Preheat oven to 375° then butter and line a 23cm loose-bottomed tin with baking parchment.

  2. Put the chin chin in a plastic food bag and crush to crumbs using a rolling pin. Transfer the crumbs to a bowl, then pour over the melted butter over the crumbs. Mix thoroughly until the crumbs are completely coated. Tip them into the prepared tin and press firmly down into the base to create an even layer. Chill in the fridge for 1 hr to set firmly.

  3. In a large bowl, beat cream cheese and sugar until smooth. Add the flour, vanilla, and eggs then beat until blended. Pour into the prepared crust.

  4. Bake 30 minutes or until center is almost set then cool on a wire rack 10 minutes. Remove the sides from the pan and then cool for an additional hour.

  5. In a large heavy saucepan, melt the chocolate with the evaporated milk over low heat; stir until smooth and then spread on top of the cheesecake.

  6. Refrigerate the cheesecake overnight, and then serve!

 

 

Plantain Cacao Bread

Inspiration: West Africa meets America

My guilty pleasure is definitely making breads that should really be called cakes. In the last few months, I've spent a lot of time mastering recipes by great chefs like Deb Perelman and Yotam Ottolenghi. In the process, it's renewed my desire to experiment once again. With that, here is my recipe for plantain cacao bread. 

While plantain is a food that I grew up eating regularly, I've only recently been introduced to cacao.  Cacao (pronounced "cu-COW") refers to the Theobroma cacao tree from which cocoa is derived, and is used when referring to unprocessed versions of the cacao bean. Cacao is the purest form of chocolate, and it is much less processed than cocoa powder or chocolate bars, and contains a large amount of antioxidants like flavanols. 

In this recipe, I used overripe plantain, which is quite sweet, and balanced it with the slightly bitter, rich cacao. The result: one of the most delicious breakfasts (or, let's be honest, desserts...) that I've made in a while. I used applesauce and vegetable oil instead of butter so that I could pretend I was being healthier. Enjoy! 

Plantain Cacao Bread

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Yield: 1 8 x 4-inch loaf

Ingredients:
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon
2 large eggs
1/4 cup vegetable oil
1/4 cup applesauce
1 tsp pure vanilla extract
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/4 cup brown sugar
3 over-ripe plantains, mashed
1 cup raw cacao nibs
1 tbsp brown sugar mixed with 1 tsp cinnamon for topping and slivered almonds (for topping, optional)

Directions:

  1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. In a medium bowl, mix the flour, baking soda, salt, cinnamon and nutmeg together, and set aside.

  2. In a separate bowl or stand mixer, whisk eggs then add oil, applesauce and vanilla. Mix until combined. Add sugars and continue to mix until smooth.

  3. Add the flour mixture in batches to make it easier to mix. Fold in the mashed plantains and cacao nibs, and pour into a lightly greased 8 x 4-inch loaf pan.

  4. Optional: Top batter with sugar/cinnamon/slivered almond topping.

Bake for about 30 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. 

Stuffed Plantain

Inspiration: the Dominican Republic meets West Africa

It’s been a while since my last post! Between moving from Accra to DC to London, I’ve been traveling a lot in the last few months, and cooking has unfortunately taken a backseat to research papers; however, I hope to update Jikoni more periodically. 

While most people from West Africa and the Caribbean are well-acquainted with plantains, here’s a crash course on plantains vs. bananas for those who may be unfamiliar. Plantains are a member of the banana family, but they’re starchy and can’t be eaten raw. They’re typically fried or baked, and the older they are (i.e. the more black spots), the sweeter the taste. 

In West Africa, plantains are typically cut, fried, and served as a snack or side dish. In The Gambia, where my mother is from, they’re usually served hot off the fire. In Ghana, the local take is called kelewele, and they're seasoned with dry chili peppers, ginger, and a whole host of delicious spices. 

In the spirit of kelewele, which I greatly miss from my Accra days, I’ve been reflecting on how to integrate sweet plantain with something savory. I decided I would roast some plantain and stuff it with meat and vegetables. 

Turns out that I’m not as original as I thought. In Puerto Rico and the Dominican Republic, which have large numbers of Afro-Latino people, stuffed plantains are called canoas de platanos maduros, or “canoes of sweet plantains.” 

Instead of frying the plantains whole, I took the advice of Jannese of Delish D’Lites and baked the plantains for a lighter twist without sacrificing the sweetness. For this recipe, I used plantains that were yellow with lots of black spots. As she warns, using plantains that are completely black will result in a mushy mess. 

For my take on the plantains, I followed Jannese’s recipe, and brushed the whole plantains with ghee, wrapped them in their peels, and baked them inside the peels for 30 minutes at 375 degrees Fahrenheit in order to keep them moist. 

For the filling:

2/3 pound ground lean beef
2 chopped bell peppers
3 tablespoons tomato sauce
1 onion
2 cloves finely chopped garlic
3 tablespoons tomato sauce
1/4 teaspoon oregano
Dash of salt and cayenne pepper
1 bay leaf
Optional: provolone cheese

  1. Heat a large skillet over low-medium heat. Add onions and garlic, and cook until translucent (about 5 minutes). Add bell peppers and cook until tender. Add tomato sauce and ground beef, which you should cook until browned.

  2. Season with salt, pepper, and oregano to taste.

  3. Add bay leaf (discard before serving).

  4. Fill the baked plantain with the meat and vegetable mixture.

  5. Optional: drizzle cheese on top

Serve alongside some Spanish rice (or jollof, for those who feel like taking it one step further)!

 

Gambian Classic: Chakery

Growing up, I always loved rice pudding. As the ultimate comfort food, it can be found in almost every culture. The Lebanese call it moghli and add anise and ginger. In India, rice pudding goes by the name kheer and is flavored with cardamom and a rich array of toppings ranging from raisins, cashews to pistachios and almonds. In The Gambia, the twist on rice pudding is a little different — a delicious mix of couscous or millet with sour cream and yogurt known simply as chakery. 

Elsewhere in West Africa, the dessert (which sometimes substitutes wheat couscous for millet) goes by different names ranging from burkina in Ghana to dege in Francophone West Africa. I'm partial to the couscous because it cleanly delivers the flavor of the base mixture while adding some rich texture. 

As most African cuisines tend to focus on umami, sourness and saltiness, chakery is a rare sweet dish in a culture dominated by all things savory. The name chakery derives from the traditionally millet couscous base. Some suspect that the modern rendition of chakery derives from a similar unsweetened dish that has since evolved from a main course to a dessert. 

Chakery

2 cups of plain or vanilla yogurt
1 cup of sour cream
Cup of berries
Vanilla extract (if using unsweetened yogurt)
Couscous
Optional: Fresh mint leaves for garnish

  1. Cook the couscous separately with water, and allow to cool.

  2. Mix the sour cream, yogurt, and vanilla extract together, then add the cool cooked couscous.

  3. Top with fruit and enjoy!

 

An Everyman's Drink Descended from Royal Libations

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During a recent trip to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, I sampled tej, a honey wine that Ethiopians call their national drink and wrote about the experience for Roads and Kingdoms. You can take a peek here or read the full article below.

Tej in Addis Ababa

To the outside world, Ethiopia’s national drink is coffee, but, as my taxi driver tells me on my first day in Addis Ababa, the most popular local drink is tej.

In traditional lore, honey wine was the drink of Ethiopian nobility; legend has it that the Queen of Sheba presented it as a gift to King Solomon. But despite these noble beginnings, today tej is the drink of the everyman, and is particularly popular during festivals and celebrations.

Everyone has their own take on tej, which differs around the country, but a tour guide tells me that the best place to sample the drink is a tejbet, a small bar specializing in tej. At the tejbet, you’ll find the honey wine in mild, medium, and strong. Buyer beware: the stronger the tej, the more you’ll be left wondering if your head is swimming due to the altitude or the alcohol (which can reach up to 16 percent by volume).

Unlike beer or wine, which are becoming more popular due to the range of breweries that have set up shop in Ethiopia over the last decade, tej doesn’t require much equipment. Gesho, a local herb often called “Ethiopian hops,” water, and honey, one of Ethiopia’s largest exports, will do the trick.

If you’re really old-school, you’ll consume tej in an animal horn, in the way of the ancestors. But nowadays, you’ll most commonly find it served in a spherical glass beaker called a berele.

I sample the sweet honey wine for the first time at the tourist-friendly Yod Abysinnia Cultural Center, an Addis restaurant that locals recommend as one of the best places to sample injera and indulge in shiro, a delicious chickpea-and-white bean dish that makes my mouth water.

The Abyssinian mead, which dates back to the 4th century, has the texture of dessert wine, but a hint of spice. With its yellow-orange hue, it could easily be mistaken for mango juice.

Though Yod Abysinnia’s vibrant dancers and excellent food will draw me back in the future, its tej’s musky undertones will not. I resolve to keep an open mind about the varieties of tej, so I table my opinion as I go off in search of a local tejbet.