For the one who will be my husband…
I’ve written to you before. My words about you and about me are littered all over social media. One of my faves even joked that you don’t have any excuse, you should read all the letters. There are hints everywhere.
This one is about food. This will come as no surprise to you but I like food. More than just, this is for sustenance. I love that there’s so much around us that can be considered food. I suppose I get why someone would want to be called a snack because anything that is related to food is bae (before anyone else)
Before you start to think that I am writing a love letter to food, you have to know that I am in fact writing a love letter to food. You have just been cc’ed in to the letter because I know I will love you, not as much as I love food, but I imagine it will be pretty darn close.
Let me explain why I love food. It’s the chemistry of it. The way one raw material can be turned into edible art. You add a few ingredients mix them a little, add a little heat and chemical reaction is formed and the result is something like magic, wouldn’t you say? I enjoy the fact that food is an art and a science and a little bit of magic too.
I enjoy the scent of food. Particular scents take me back to particular times in my life. There’s the scent of burning firewood that takes me back to growing up in the village. I was 10, spending Christmas time in the village. Whenever we’d smell the firewood, we would know food was just around the corner. Atap, eboo, emagira, largely a vegetarian meal but no less tasty and no less satisfying. Sometimes, dried fish cooked in peanut butter sauce, eaten with sweet potatoes. Meat, chicken, these were left for the special days like Christmas, the dawn of a new year and Easter.
The scent of posho, takes me back to boarding school. A few minutes to lunch time, the teacher is droning on and on about something or the other. I am staring at the clock willing for it to strike 1:00pm so that I get to go eat lunch (posho and beans) and gossip with my friends or sit in a corner and read the latest Mills and Boon novel. I’d eat my posho and try to dodge the weevils in the beans.
The scent of chappatti takes me back to University. Hungry and broke, barely enough money to get me through the day… I would turn to Rolex. My rolex guy never once let me down, he’s the one stable relationship I’ve had aside from my family and friends. The eggs, rolled in the chappatti, nyanya mbisi (tomatoes not fried in the eggs), that was the bomb… Still is.
There’s a lot I could and will tell you about my history with food. About how I don’t eat avocadoes because of a nasty punishment when I was younger. About how I hid behind the comfort of eating when bullies called me fat. About how I’d eat until I’d feel like bursting because they said I shouldn’t. My relationship with food is much healthier now as I am in a better place with myself.
Please please please don’t be a vegan or a vegetarian, I don’t know that we would survive of you were. In our house, we have to eat meat.
The one who will be your wife.