Giving Up Meat Made Me Love Cooking Nigerian Food Again
Cooking without meat has forced me to be creative in the kitchen and expanded the confines of my world.
Here’s a memory: I’m six or seven and my mother is in the kitchen making stew. It’s a laborious process that begins the night before, or days before actually, when she buys beef from the store, hacks the meat into more-manageable chunks, and then trims the fat. She boils the beef in a combination of onions, thyme, salt, and pepper, and then—this is the part I love—she fries it.
It turns out that the path of least resistance has its perks.
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Their judgment is clear every time, and my aunt is the only one who is bold enough to say it with her chest: I am a bad mom.
For a long time, I believed you had to keep these records. I knew so little about who I was and what I wanted.