I had ordered gingembre in restaurants several times when I was last in Senegal, but I had never had it homemade, or seen the process myself. I had my chance to do both last week, when, after complimenting our neighbors on the gingembre they offered us while we were visiting one evening, they offered to teach Teresa and me how to make it.

We came equipped with a mortar and pestle which was quickly deemed inadequate by the mother of the family. (She tasted it to be sure, but said that it was too new, and that if we used it the gingembre would end up tasting like the wood.) Luckily, they were able to borrow and aluminum model from another neighbor to lend us for the lesson.

The recipe is simple. No boiling, no fancy ingredients. Just a pound of peeled, fresh ginger root smashed into tiny pieces and poured into a three or four liter bucket of cold, clean water to steep. (I think the small Senegalese ginger roots are hotter than the ginger I am used to from American supermarkets, but the recipe should still work just fine.) There is a certain amount of technique necessary to pound the ginger to a pulp without it flying out of the mortar and all over the ground. If you have the luxury of a few minutes to practice, you should get the hang of it fairly quickly. In our case, there was a very disapproving little girl who sighed with exasperation and took the pestle away from us to do it herself.

After you have pounded all the ginger very small and scooped it into your bucket of cold water, let it sit and steep for five minutes. If you need something to do to pass the time, try to have a conversation by asking your girlfriend to translate something from English into French so that the neighbor can translate it from French into Wolof so that you can ask the neighbor’s mother if that was really mayonnaise she just made with nothing but a large bowl, an egg, some oil, and her fingers.

After the ginger has steeped, you are just a strainer away from having finished gingembre concentrate. Add sugar and additional water to taste (I like it strong and lightly sweet, but you will have to experiment to find the balance you like) and serve very cold when necessary to prevent excessive grumpiness due to high temperatures.

I have not yet tried it, but the neighbor says that half a lemon squeezed into each liter of finished gingembre is excellent.

I can’t offer you a place around the platter at Bintu’s house, but if you want maffe I do have some advice: From the Dakar airport, negotiate for a taxi ride to Yoff (You should offer 1000CFA, but you might not get better than 1500 from the airport.). When the driver makes a left turn off the main road, tell him to continue straight ahead. If it’s Tuesday, the street will be closed for the market, and you can just get out there and walk. The market is worth seeing. If it’s any other day, have the driver stop when you see a little white building on the right with “Saf Sap” painted on the wall. If it is lunch or dinner time, the door will be open. If not, the beach is only a few hundred meters further. Enjoy youself, and come back in a little while. They make two dishes a day, and one of them is usually maffe. It will cost 300CFA for a plate. Bring a container with you if you want takeout.

If you don’t plan on being in Dakar any time soon, you can make a very good version of it yourself, though it will cost more than 300CFA. But remember how to get to Saf Sap. After all, you never know. I didn’t plan on being in Dakar either.

Ingredients

• 2 pounds lamb or beef (I used a mix). If its too lean, it will get tough.
• 2 large onions
• 2 large potatoes
• 1 habanero chili or cayenne pepper to taste
• 1 can tomato paste
• 1 bunch fresh thyme (tied)
• 4-6 small turnips
• 1 cup peanut butter (natural)
• 3 cups beef stock

Cut the meat into roughly one-inch pieces and set aside. Dice the onions into 1/2 inch pieces. Brown the meat in a small amount of oil in three batches over medium-high heat, removing it to a bowl as you go. Leave the heat on, and add a little more oil to the pan and all the onions. Stir the onions to scrape up all the bits the meat left in the pan.

When the bottom of the pan is clean, add the meat back, along with the stock and the tomato paste. Turn the heat to high until bubbles just start to form, and then turn it down to low to simmer. Add the thyme and let simmer uncovered until the meat is tender. This will take a while, an hour at the least. Don’t turn up the heat. You don’t want it to boil. Remove the thyme after 30 minutes.

Cut the potatoes unto large chunks, and quarter the turnips. Add them to the pot with the chili (or the cayenne) and cover until the vegetables are tender. It will take about 30 minutes. This is a good time to start some rice.

Mix the peanut butter with a cup of the liquid from the pot until it makes a smooth emulsion, and then add this back into the pot and cook for five to ten minutes more.

Serve over rice and enjoy. For a drink, you can’t go wrong pairing maffe with bissap.

On the downside, though, my feet haven’t been clean since 2006, and our only kitchen appliance is a camping gas. I’ve been eating like I live in a dorm: take out almost every night, pasta if I’m feeling crafty. This is a quick and tasty recipe I learned from the Italian exchange students at my residence hall, for those of us with little time or unreliable electricity.

Penne alla Sorrentina

• 500 g penne rigate
• 2 ripe tomatoes or a handful of cherry tomatoes
• about 10 basil leaves
• 300 g fresh mozzarella (the fancy one that comes in water, not the one squeezed in the package. You know the one.)
• 3 tbsp olive oil
• salt and pepper
• origan

Dice the tomatoes and the mozzarella, chop the basil leaves, and put in a big bowl with the oil, salt and pepper. Cover and let sit for about an hour (the longer the better).

Boil the pasta al dente, drain well, and pour over the sauce. Mix thoroughly. Sprinkle with origan, and you’re good to go!
*toubab is Wolof for white person

• 2 cups (225g) flour
• 1 tbsp (15g) yeast
• 1tsp (5g) salt
• 3/4 cups (175ml) warm water
• 2tbsp (30ml) olive oil

Filling

• 5 oz (150g) goat cheese
• 5 oz (150g) spinach, cooked and drained
• 5 large basil leaves
• 1/4 cup (75g) red onion, diced small
• 1/2 clove of garlic, diced small

Equipment

• Oil for frying

This dough takes very little ceremony. Just put all the ingredients in a bowl, mix, and then knead for ten minutes. It should be slightly sticky to the touch. Let rise for an hour.

While the dough is rising, squeeze excess moisture from the spinach and mix in the cheese, onion, garlic, and basil. Mix together until smooth. Fill a dutch oven or deep pan 3/4 full with oil. (It should be at least two inches (5cm) deep) and place over medium low heat.

Carefully turn out the dough onto a floured surface and divide into 30 pieces. Gently press out the pieces into 1 inch disks. Place 1/2 teaspoon (3g) of filling in the middle of the disk, and pinch the dough closed over it. Gently roll into a ball and set aside.

When the oil reaches 375 degrees (190C), fry the beignets until golden brown (about 3 minutes) and remove to a rack. Enjoy!

Ingredients

• 3 large potatoes
• 3tbsp olive oil
• Salt
• Raz el Hanout (Or cumin and pepper. Or curry. Or just salt.)

Set your oven to broil to let it heat up. Lightly brush a wire rack with oil and place it in a half sheet pan to catch drips.

The hardest part is slicing the potatoes. They need to be between 1/8 and 1/16 of an inch thick (2-3mm), and they should be sliced parallel to the largest cross section. If you have a mandolin you can use that of course, otherwise you will need to show off that fancy knife control.

Use a brush to lightly coat each of the potato slices with olive oil. Sprinkle with salt and raz el hanout. Broil until golden brown and starting to bubble up. Flip over and broil until done on the other side too.

That’s it! It’s not a complicated recipe, but it is excellent.

This recipe came from having half a salt cod, a large plantain, a handful of pecan pieces, and some leftover black bean soup in the fridge. Well, it came from that and a desire to make something I had never made before.

For the buñuelos

• 3 medium or two larger white potatoes
• 1 large plantain (green is fine, mine was about half green)
• 1 small onion
• 1 egg
• Some salt cod. How much salt cod? Well, I am not exactly sure. I bought one smallish salted cod. I used 3/4 of it in this recipe. I will guess that it was about half a pound. (225 grams) before being soaked and deboned. I’m sorry this is not more exact. However, it doesn’t really need to be.
• Ground pepper to taste

For frying

• Enough crushed pecans to coat your buñuelos. (You could also use flour, or cornmeal. I used cornmeal for the second half after I ran out of pecans.)
• 1 egg

Sauces

• A nice hot sauce. I used Tapatio, which is my favorite. Anything with good flavor will do.
• Caribbean style black beans, pureed to make a thick sauce, thinned with olive oil if necessary. (Use your favorite recipe. The recipe I used here: mix some soaked black beans with a diced onion, some cumin, pepper, salt, a pinch of allspice, some thyme and garlic. Or Trader Joes sells a canned version that is not bad.)

I’m sorry the ingredients are a little vague. That is what happens when I experiment and don’t write everything down at the time.

You will also need a cast iron skillet filled with 1/2 an inch of oil (1.25cm) for frying, and a rack for draining after they come out of the oil.

I did not set my cod to soak last night, so I had to speed up the process. Either soak overnight, or place in warm water and bring to a gentle simmer, then allow to cool in the water. Once the cod has soaked, carefully remove all the bones and skin, and flake the meat into half inch (1.25cm) pieces.

Dice the potatoes and the plantain into 1 inch (2.5cm) pieces. You will notice in the photo that I left the plantain pieces slightly larger. I thought they would cook more quickly. I was wrong. So cut them all to the same size, and put in a medium sized pot full of cool water over high heat. When it comes to a boil, turn down the heat and let it simmer until you can pierce the potatoes and the plantain with a fork. There should still be some resistance. Drain and place in a large bowl. Mash, until combined, but not entirely smooth.

Dice your onion very small (just make it as small as you can comfortably chop.) and add the onion and the cod to the potato and plantain mixture. Add one large egg as well, and grind in some pepper. Stir to combine. You should not need to add salt, as the cod will still be fairly salty.

Heat your oil over medium high to about 375 degrees (190c). You don’t need to use a thermometer. Just heat it for three to five minutes over medium high until it bubbles when you drop a bit of onion in.

Set up two bowls, one with a beaten egg and the other with your topping of choice (flour, cornstarch, or pecans) Shape the potato mixture into 2 inch (5cm) patties. Dip in the egg, then in the topping, making sure to coat thoroughly.

Fry for 3 to 5 minutes per side, until golden brown. Remove to the cooling rack. Serve with the two sauces, and maybe some green bell pepper.

The verdict: I really liked this. More than I thought I would. The plantain added a little sweetness, the cod was just salty enough to season the mixture, and it worked very well with the black bean sauce. I used two different coatings, pecan and cornmeal, because I ran out of pecans half way. I preferred the taste and texture of the pecans, but the cornmeal did provide a very nice crunch. And the vinegar and heat of the hot sauce made it perfect.

Serves 4.

More Pictures:

• Ingredients:

- 5 1/3 oz dark chocolate, melted in a double-boiler
- 10 2/3 oz butter at room temperature
- 5 1/3 oz sugar
- 3 1/4 oz flour, sifted
- 4 egg yolks
- 3 egg whites, whipped firmly
- A pinch ground pepper
- A pinch ground clove
- A pinch ground cinnamon
- A dash of coffee extract (or not.)

An oven, preheated at 420F

The measurements sound a little wacky –I blame crazy ounces and F. Bea gives the measurements in metric here. Makes eight to ten, depending on how much of the raw dough you eat before pouring it into the molds.

• Steps:

Chop the chocolate in coarse bits and melt it in a double-boiler. I didn’t even know about this double boiler business until Tom and I made truffles last month; all melting at my house has always been done in a Baño María (Mary’s Bath –a small pot inside a bigger one full of water. A bit messy, but with the out-of-the-blue Catholic name, definitely worth it).

Add the butter, flour and sugar (not necessarily in this order). I kept everything on top of the double boiler while I did this, to melt any butter lumps. I can never wait for things to reach room temperature. Mix thoroughly with a spatula.

Add the egg yolks and sprinkle with the spices. I didn’t have any coffee extract, so I just skipped it. The result was really good anyway!

Whip the egg whites until they are firm. Now, I know nothing about kitchen chemistry, but I have the suspicion this is an important step. I used my mom’s mixer with the two flimsy little arms, you know the one? Anyway, it woked wonders, and in two minutes the whites were stiff.

Add the whites to the chocolate mixture, slowly. I have no patience, so I dumped them in three batches. Three! What restraint!

Scoop the (very liquid) dough in well-greased muffin tins. I filled them almost to the top.

Bake at 420F for about 12 minutes (or slightly less. They are good when a little raw too). Unmold when they’re still warm, and cool on a rack.

Feed to your family and eat them for Christmas.

I had my first gob (I did not name them) less than a month ago, but I already consider myself a devoted fan. The concept is simple: A soft, cake-like chocolate cookie, filled with vanilla cream. It almost sounds like something you would buy wrapped in plastic at a corner store and regret eating. But home made, with the tang of buttermilk and the richness of good cocoa, it’s a thing of beauty.

The original gob is from a friend’s old family recipe, and my only modification is in form: I have made them much smaller. As someone commented the first time I made the recipe myself: “this isn’t a cookie, it’s a commitment!” And it was. As a generous dessert, or a light meal, the cookie was well portioned. But for a snack, it was just too daunting. I made the next batch about 1/4 of the original size, and they were perfect. Two bites each, and you can always have a second. After brief consultation, it was named “the goblet.”

(My best friend immediately doused one in brandy and ignited it, to create a “goblet of fire.”)

The cookies

• 2 cups (450g) granulated sugar
• 2 eggs
• 1/2 cup (100g) shortening
• 1 cup (230ml) buttermilk
• 3/4 cup (175ml) boiling water
• 4 cups (450g) flour
• 2 tsp (9g) baking soda
• 1/2 tsp (2g) salt
• 2 tsp (9g) baking powder
• 1/2 cup (50g) cocoa

The cream filling

• 1 cup (230ml) milk
• 5 tbsp (37g) flour
• 1 cup (200g) shortening
• 1 cup (110g) confectioners sugar
• 1 tsp (5ml) vanilla extract

Everything has to be cooled to room temperature after cooking, or the cream filling will melt. I have found that the best way to have everything cool at the same time is to make the cookie dough first, then start the cream filling while the first batch of cookies is in the oven.

Preheat your oven to 425 degrees (215c). While it is coming up to temperature, mix the 2 cups (450g) of sugar with the 1/2 cup (100g) of shortening, and stir until there are no lumps of shortening left. Beat in the two eggs, and then add the buttermilk.

In another bowl, combine the flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt, and cocoa and mix until everything is distributed evenly. Add the dry ingredients all at once to the wet ingredients and stir to combine. Do not over stir. The mixture will be fairly dry. Add the boiling water, and mix until there are no more dry spots.

Set the cookie dough aside and start the cream filling. Mix the milk and the flour in a small saucepan over high heat and bring to a boil. Stir constantly until it thickens to a paste. Remove from the heat and continue to stir until there is no more bubbling.

Spoon the cookie dough onto a baking sheet (parchment paper lined will make it easier). Each cookie should be about 1 tbsp of dough. The will not spread very much while cooking, but there should be at least an inch between cookies. (I took a picture of this, but it turns out that the cookie dough is very… unphotogenic.)

Bake for five minutes, or until they spring back when you poke them. Remove to a rack to cool.

Once the last batch of cookies has come out of the oven, the past you made for the cream filling should be cool. In a separate bowl, mix the confectioners sugar and shortening and vanilla, and then beat in the flour and milk paste until the texture is smooth.

Use a spoon to dish about a teaspoon or two of filling onto the bottom of one of the cooled cookies, and then place another cookie on top. There you go! Goblets!

On baking day, I would come into the kitchen in the morning and the counter would be lined with red and green Medaglia D’Oro coffee canisters. My mom did not use rectangular loaf pans. She made tall, round, mushroom-topped loaves in old coffee cans. When they came out of the oven, the tops were for eating hot, dripping with melted butter, and the bottom parts that cooked in the cans were saved for slicing. This was not a rule, it was just how things generally happened. I was the only kid in my preschool to bring circular PB&Js to lunch.

I don’t remember the first time I helped my mom make bread. In my earliest memories the warm smell of yeast and molasses was already familiar and comforting. My mom let me stir while she added the warm milk and the oil and the eggs and the yeast, and I would breathe in the rich sweet smell. Then as the flour went in she would take over when it got too thick for me to handle. I would try to help with the kneading, sitting up on the counter next to the dough, but I just wasn’t strong enough.

We always made a very large batch. We made dough to fill what seemed like endless coffee canisters (it was probably four or six, but I remember it as being more) with enough left for at least one sheet of cinnamon raisin rolls. And there needed to be a little left over after that for me to perform at least one experiment. A long snake of dough baked into a breadstick, a thin sheet rolled up around cheese, a face that would distort as it rose.

By the time I was eighteen, somehow I had become the baker in the family. When people wanted fresh bread, they asked me to make it. My mom, who had walked me through the process when I was too little to knead on my own, asked me about my techniques. I grew sourdoughs on top of the fridge and filled our oven with bricks. I scoured the internet for recipes, looking for ways to get the texture and the crust to do exactly what I wanted. It’s not that I made better bread, I just made more of it. I learned how to tell when a dough was ready, or if I had made a mistake, by how it felt.

Despite that, I haven’t made that first bread since I left Hawaii at fourteen. I don’t remember the recipe well enough now. The milk had to be scalded, and then cooled, and there was melted shortening and molasses. I could guess, but I wouldn’t get it right. It was a rich bread. Light brown and tender, sweet and soft and crumbly.

I don’t drink coffee very often, but I have considered taking it up, just to build up a collection of empty red and green canisters of my own.