Cluck, Chop, Cook

Over the past two weeks I have been learning about how to cook Tanzanian style. I have so far cooked French fries (chips), fried dough (mandazi), rice (wali), chicken (kuku) ,porridge (ugi), stiff porridge (ugali), and Tanzanian pancakes/crepes (chapati) in a variety of different kitchen types including indoor and outdoor kitchens, gas and charcoal stoves, stoves made out of meta,l and stoves built out of the earth.

Part I:
Some of my more notable cooking experiences have taken place in Lushoto. On my first weekend there with the Kindergarten teacher I helped to cook chicken and rice (kuku na wali) for dinner. I was a little late to the cooking party due to a delicious afternoon nap, so by the time I got there the chicken had already been cooked and was just waiting for me to make the sauce that it gets mixed in with. I somewhat jokingly asked if Mr. Chicken was the brother of one of the feathered friends running around their house, which of course he was. I guess eating local is a good thing, but I still had to swallow hard and try my best not to squinch up my face at the idea that I was eating poor Mr. Chicken. I got over it pretty quickly (exceptionally grateful that I didn’t have to partake in or witness the slaughtering that no doubt happened while I was napping) and got to work making the tomato-based sauce.

When the sauce was finished we dumped the boiled chicken in and let it cook for a few more minutes. I was feeling pretty great about everything until my constant stirring turned up a nice big chicken foot attached to the leg. Luckily I didn’t lose my lunch, but my attempts to pretend like it was “just chicken” were thwarted. I had a good chuckle as I remembered my host brother finally giving up in a game of “can you name this body part” while eating some mystery-organ-goat-soup and saying….”Look, it’s all good for you. Sometimes I just eat it and don’t ask any questions.”

I luckily didn’t have to eat the chicken foot or anything, but I couldn’t help but thinking about how people in America have been known to sue companies if something like a chicken foot ends up in their dinner.

Part II:
On my second trip to Lushoto this past weekend I also had the chance to cook dinner. While I was peeling potatoes in a small mud hut I saw one of the boys outside walk by with a sharp, shiny knife. About 20 minutes later he came back with it, and I swear the shininess had been replaced with a nice red tinge. I was too distracted by potato peeling and conversations with my friend’s mother and grandmother to pay too much attention, but my suspicions were confirmed when a very dead chicken showed up in the corner of the kitchen shortly thereafter.

Victoria (my host mom) and my friend Zuleah proceeded to team up and butcher Mr. Chicken. Luckily they were very amused by my facial expressions (and also very aware that I’d probably never witnessed this before) and got a real kick out of giving teaching me the complete anatomy of a chicken. I have plenty of pictures of the experience and would be happy to share with any individuals who want to see what it looks like to take apart a kuku. Gross!

On a different note, I’m actually starting to enjoy the food which was initially more of a chore to eat than anything else for the salt and sugar-craving American palate and can also eat entire meals with my hands!