When I decided to transition my life from California to Senegal, I was excited about a lot of things. But up at the top of my list was access to Sénégalais cuisine. Having been raised by a Gambian woman and spent considerable amounts of time in Africa, I was well aware of the phenomenal meals to come. Sénégalais staples are rooted in rice, fish and vegetables, ingredients that get expressed and remixed into tantalizing works of art.
Yet my desire for variety is always constant, which is why I recently found myself reaching for a few fresh eggs and potatoes: items that have infinite levels of versatility.
It was a Sunday, the universal day of rest and atonement, and I headed to that trusty standby, the place that is always there in times of need: the neighborhood boutique, also known as a corner store. There, one can purchase all of the basic necessities, such as gas canisters, onions, rice, and credit to place calls.
On my way there I pray the feral roosters will leave me be while pretending their presence doesn’t intimidate my very existence. I feel they sense my intentions with their unrealized spawn—or maybe it’s simply I’m yet another entity they seek to dominate. The oppressive heat of the sun is out, almost blinding me with sweat while the wind blows my foulard—headwrap—about my head. I calculate each step with precision, considering the faulty infrastructure and unpredictable sand (there is no dirt in Senegal, just sand). One minute the ground is solid; the next I just barely catch myself as I trip over a huge rock. The Sénégalais are too polite to laugh at such an occurrence; still, my heart races as I catch inconspicuous eyes looking me up and down. I manage to escape the near-fatal fall and possess a respite from public shame just moments before my grand entrance into the boutique. It sounds like a scene out of a Bugs Bunny cartoon, but I try to mimic the poise of the Sénégalaise woman: she’s never pressed, always graceful. Even—and especially—under pressure.
I headed to the boutique with intentions of pasta and garlic oil for lunch (lunch is the biggest meal of the day), but managed to catch the eggs on a side glance. Instantly I was transported back to my Rwanda days. I’d worked there as an executive chef turned culinary director, but, in typical fashion, I’d still been broke. When I ate outside of work, I ate on a budget, which meant I often atel’omelette et des frites—a staple on every dive restaurant’s menu that averaged about $1.15.
Remembering those unctuous, tasty meals, I selected a few eggs, potatoes, onions, mayonnaise, oil, and hot sauce. I was set to make arecette—“recipe”—that is delicious and, most important, easy. Perhaps best of all, my lunch would satisfy the age-old desire for the quintessential french fry: crispy on the outside, soft in the middle.
The key to pomme frites is to have a laissez-faire attitude about them. Turn on Netflix or blast your favorite song on Spotify and start peeling potatoes. I typically cut them into thick batons, but honestly, the shape doesn’t matter—it’s a free-for-all. Whatis重要的是马铃薯的漂白:你想要的to cook the potato all the way through, but not so much to where it turns into mush. Once you’ve achieved that successfully, pop your collar, take a sip of some Champagne, or do a happy dance in front of the sink—the hardest part is over. All that’s left to do is fry the potatoes in oil, which you’ll do knowing that, because you blanched the potatoes beforehand, there’s no chance they’ll be undercooked.
Now on to the omelet: What steals the show is the French-style rolling of the omelet, which telegraphs the message that you know what you’re doing and have technique. Thispliante—“folding”—of the omeletdoesrequire some practice, but once you master the wrist-pan coordination you’re set for life. And just like with the frites, I’ve worked in a move to ensure the omelet is never undercooked: a quick and simple flip of the omelet before it gets rolled.
If you have ready-madeaiolion hand by all means use that, but know that plain old-fashioned mayonnaise will also do (just doctor it up with lemon juice or vinegar and crushed garlic). The charred onions give this omelet a pop of color and savory oniongoût—“taste”—that isn’t overpowering but instead elegant. The hot sauce can be enjoyed on its own, but that day I mixed it into the mayo.
My lunch that day was so many things. It was a modest, practical expression of a classic African meal, yet also a rather chic and elegant dish. It was a lunch full of nostalgia, a meal that was authentic to an earlier period in my life, but that also brought me fully into the present. It felt like a warm hug. L’omelette et des frites had been with me in earlier days; now I knew it would be with me in my new life as well.
