I am a foodie. Definitely so. I also fancy myself an adventurous eater; but I draw the line on creepy and slimy stuff – no thank you.

Countless memories of my childhood are firmly cemented in events involving food, in large quantities. Mum making omelets on her large, well-loved and used skillet, big pots of well-seasoned jollof rice and chicken, beef stew simmering on the kitchen stove on Sunday afternoons, beans porridge with fried plantains, yam and vegetable sauce, bean cakes with pap, muffins, eggs and sausages, a long list of different tasty meals made each day to nourish us with love.

Lest I forget, every pot was prepared with extra to spare just in case a neighbour came visiting, or one of our friends dropped by to play and this practice was common within the community. We all knew what was cooking in our friends’ homes and we chose when to go visiting so that we would partake of those food that we loved. There were no Instagram photos back then, but those well-prepared healthy plates of food are fondly etched on my memory bank.

Festive and celebratory times were simply the best. Women in my extended family buzzed around my grandma’s big kitchen in the village, their laughter mingled in the air whilst they whipped up more than a dozen recipes of wholesome food to cater to different palates – vegetarian dishes, non-vegetarian dishes etc. My least favourite part whilst assisting in the kitchen was to turn the sizzling pot of tomato stew with a large wooden ladle to ensure that it didn’t burn, but of course, I didn’t mind a taste especially when morsels of meat were added to the mix, and I could get a little bite under the pretext of checking whether it’s well done.

The blend of aromas from big crock pots of food was sensational and satisfying that it literally lit up all your senses. We ‘the children’ ate our fill from the labour of love with appreciation in hearts and went to nap with bellies full. Till this day, family get-togethers and sharing delicious meals with loved ones remains one of my favourite sensory experiences that evokes feelings of warmth, love, comfort and connection in me.

As I grew older, I figured out cooking from these experiences shared in my mother and grandmothers’ kitchen. Knowing just the right amount of salt, pepper and spices to add to a pot of food didn’t come from a recipe book, but from keen eyes watching the loving fingers of the women in my family de-seed pepper, slice vegetables, whip up an instant pot of delicious food whilst at the same time telling us folktales that had strong moral lessons tucked within them.