Drama: Food

All of the drama in my life for the past few weeks has been centered around food. (And you’ve been wondering why I haven’t been writing on my blog.) I’ll give you a little recap.

After the all-important discovery of the beignets, my host-sister, smart girl that she is realized how much I like desserts, or any food that is bad for you, really. I knew that she was coming to understand me when she said, “Emily et son ventre, une grande histoire d’amour.” Which means, Emily and her stomach, a great love story. True words.

But this love story is in the midst of a battle. This battle takes place every time we eat fish for dinner. My sister, again, noted that I am constantly engaged in combat again fish bones. It amazing how many there are, and usually I resort to using my hands. Every once in a while my family has pity on me and removes them for me.

Yesterday was the newest chapter in this epic of love and war. I was going to be the only woman in the house at dinner time, so my host father said, “You are the woman. You make the dinner.” (So that’s how it works, I guess.) So I embarked on a mission to make French toast- in French it’s called “pain perdu” or lost bread (I was holding out for American toast, but no luck there). Road block one: no cinnamon. Okay, we’ll use sugar. My sister ended up being at home when I started and she said that we couldn’t mix sweet bread with salty eggs. She then proceeded to put tons of salt and seasoning in the dip for the toast, pour oil in the frying pan, and fry the pour suckers. This, she explains, is Senegalese pain perdu. Well, shucks. It was a far cry from any French toast I’ve ever had, but it was fried, so I ate it.

Again, it comes down to having the right materials. We have no spatula. There is no sliced bread, only baguettes. Stores close on Sundays. I am intent on making an “American” meal for my family at some point, which will require boxing out my sister and mother from the spices and stove top. I’ll have to do some conditioning before that, and search the city for cinnamon, sliced bread, and spatulas. Like I said, drama.