Tatiana in the Kitchen

I don't belong in the kitchen. That could be a feminist statement, but it's just the honest truth. My cooking skills range from boiling water with an electric teapot to slicing tomatoes for my kale salad. I've attempted making entrees and take my word for it, it ain't pretty. The thing is, I enjoy my food simple therefore have no need, nor interest, to cook. Is that such crime?

Kenya has been teaching me the ways of the kitchen, however. I've already learned how to cook various native dishes. The other day, I helped make chipati at Elshadai. First, we made the dough, which required enough kneading to triple the size of my arms. Then, we floured the table we'd be working on and began to cut pieces of dough to form into balls the size of my palm. ("Amina's Style" rolls out the dough flat, cuts strips, and coils them to resemble cinnamon buns). We took each ball and rolled it flat with a wooden rolling pin; by the end of all this hard work, there were 60 chipati. While I was getting covered in flour, and fantasizing about my future as a world-renowned chef, Benjamin began frying. When I came home that day, Amina looked at me and said, " You made chipati today." At the sight of my quizzical look, she replied, "You're covered in flour, that's how I know." I can't get anything by that woman.

Taking advantage of my cooking mood, Amina decided to teach me to make ugali that same night. This is another common Kenyan dish made from cornmeal and is quite similar to polenta for all my Italians out there. Most foreigners find this dish to be flavorless, which I must agree with. Luckily, it is eaten with vegetable sides, such as cooked spinach, or omena (tiny fish with a taste like anchovies). Making ugali is quick and easy: after boiling water in a pot, the cornmeal is slowly poured in and must be simultaneously stirred until it gets very compact, in which form it is served. Amina had to take over at one point during my mixing because she said I was too weak. These Kenyan women are constantly impressing me with their hidden strength.

Aside from making Kenyan meals in Amina's kitchen, every Sunday night is "Muzungu Night," which means I have to wrack my brain to think of something to make that isn't constituted of kale and tomatoes. For our first Sunday dinner, Franceska and I made an omelette, except we made it in a pot. Don't try this at home, kids; it only ends in frustration and ugly scrambled eggs. We realized after our blood, sweat, and tears that Amina indeed had a pan, which would've made the entire experience more enjoyable. I guess that's what we get for not asking. As for our second Sunday dinner, we thought a simple Russian salad with beets and potatoes would be easy and delicious, and of course, a fruit salad for dessert. This turned out to be even more complicated than the omelette. To add insult to injury, Amina and the kids (Amina's daughter, Sarah, and niece, Nicole, are here) didn't necessarily jump at the opportunity to try the beets. Honestly, I don't blame them. Boiling anything over a tiny coal stove, on which there is no such thing as adjusting temperature, is challenging, therefore the beets were perhaps a little too hard and the potatoes a little overcooked. Hopefully, it's the thought that counts.

So, it seems my dreams of being a chef were short-lived. I'll have to stick to take-out and salads. Also, I'll need to find myself a man who can cook, which I'm definitely not complaining about. Breakfast in bed, anyone?!