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I hope you're feeling hungry and adventurous, because today, you get a crash course in the fine art of Senegalese dining! Be forewarned: "low-carb" has not yet found its way into Wolof culinary vocabulary.

My eating adventures start out each day in my bedroom, when Khadi, the maid, serves breakfast to me on a platter after my morning shower. Once, I had eggs. The very first day. Ever since then, it has unfailingly consisted of a baguette, slightly stale.


At least its contents vary. Sometimes, my baguette is covered on the inside with Chocoleca, a chocolate-peanut spread. It is the Senegalese equivalent (dare I make such a comparison?!) to my time-honored favorite, Nutella. Other times, a vitamin-A fortified margarine spread adorns its soft, refined-flour innards. Maybe once or twice I've discovered "La vache qui rit" (Laughing Cow) cheesey spread. Breakfast is the only meal in Senegal that is accompanied with a beverage- a mixture of instant Nescafe, powdered milk, lots of sugar and hot water. As my roommates in Denver all know (and have eventually come to accept), I am not a coffee drinker. As far as I'm concerned, my daily consumption of Nescafe-flavored sugar-milk does little to threaten this standing.

Lunch is served around two or three in the afternoon, and dinner comes between eight and ten at night. Besides the time of day they are served, though, there are no distinguishing characteristics between the two meals that I have detected. Either can consist of the Senegalese standard favorites, including onion-based yassa, mafe with veggies and palm-oil and the highly favored national dish, ceebujen (literally translated, "fish of rice").

For meals, a woven mat is unrolled for people to sit on. A dented metal platter with a diameter of about eighteen inches is placed in the middle, within everyone's right-hand reach. Shoes are removed before we sit, some on the floor and some on little stools. Sometimes there are spoons, and sometimes we just eat with our hands (as you spaghetti-lovers might recall). More often, there are pieces of baguette that each person takes and tears into morsels to use as utensils. (Mom, Dad, remember how you used to yell at me for picking at my dinner rolls all the time? Turns out it was good practice.) Meals, including those listed above, usually consist of mutton, beef or whole fish, served with a spicy sauce and rice. Meat is deftly torn apart with one hand, and sometimes distributed into a neighbor's section of the platter as a gesture of generosity. Bones, gristle and otherwise unwanted chewed material are let out of the mouth. Not spit. Just let out. Try it sometime, it's actually surprisingly difficult. Little is said, and after a few minutes, someone gets up, washes his hand in the bathroom, and resumes whatever his business was before dinner. Meanwhile, I disappear into my bedroom to down a half-liter of water to help put out the oil-fire in my mouth.



Here is a picture of laax (prounounced like "lock", with a little gargle at the end).

The lower layer is some type of boiled grain as a base. Poured on top of it is a mixture of lots of sugar, orange-blossom flavoring, vanilla and lait-caillé. I once asked someone how lait-caillé is made, and their answer confirmed what I had been told, but could not previously believe. Lait-caillé is made by leaving milk out for a couple of days--it actually is milk gone sour. The most surprising thing about laax, dear readers? It is delicious.

And pictured here is what I imagine to be the closest thing the good country of Senegal will ever come to experiencing tuna fish casserole.


When I announced at lunch that the next day, I would be cooking an all-American favorite to share with everyone for lunch, my family was at first incredulous. Then, they instructed me to only make a little, because they might not be "used to it." (If they only knew what my stomach has had to say about that for the past two and a half months!) So I went to a nearby market and purchased canned peas, mushrooms (which they had not seen before), cream, tuna and pre-shredded French cheese of some sort. When you travel, you learn to make do with what is available. The fam looked on with curiousity and not a little apprehension as I mixed my strange concoction over the gas stove. When it was ready, I spread it out onto a platter, and invited them to dig in. Bebe Fa did, and she liked it. Bachir did not. Nor did he do anything to mask its effects from his face. The other adults were gracious with their expressions of "Neex na," "It's delicious," but their consumption lacked a certain zeal. Ilana, another American student who lives with the family across the street, had joined me for moral support. She's the one who took the picture. Laughing unstoppably at the various reactions around the platter, she and I ended up eating more than our fair portion of the American classic. For those who were "still hungry," ceebujen was served about an hour later.

There was a little left over, so I was instructed to put it into the refrigerator for later. The next day, I caught sight of my host-grandmother, who did not join the feast the day before, peeking into the bowl with a very concerned look on her face.

(In case you're wondering, I don't have any idea what the story is with that doll. I had never seen it before and have never seen it since. Sometimes it is best not to ask questions.)

I perhaps misled you when describing this humble little blog entry as a crash course in Senegalese cuisine. I definitely did when I called it a full-length feature. What I merely provided here were a few little descriptions of an every-day adventure. There is so much more to describe! I won't kid anyone by trying to convince you I am learning how to cook Senegalese food. But, there is a nice little Senegalese restaurant in Denver called "The Baobab" that I am already excited about taking people to for lunch. There, you can taste all the intricacies of ceebujen for yourself, or simply sip on the delectible, refreshing jus de bissap, made from hibiscus flowers. If you are interested, however, be aware that I will make you eat with your hands.