For the Love of Ekwang
By OEA, Guest Writer.
I have always been one to argue that carbohydrates are good. Several of us grew up on roots and tubers. The reason I believe black persons like myself can eat our carbohydrates is the energy we put in cooking any kind of African dish. We pound, we pound and we pound again. We beat our carbs literally to submission.
This is not even subject to argument. Another thing that is not even up for debate is that the more time spent pounding and bringing this carbs to submission, the tastier the food. Not even one man reading this now will disagree. The women will just sigh. That kind that is impregnated with all kind of spices they would like to tell their men that we are. Why am I seemingly going off in a tangent?
Well I am thinking of Ekwang as I write. One of the masterpieces of African cuisine, not only in its ability to try the patience of those who cook it, but also because it is a work of art. From its conception, watching the cocoyams give up all resistance as they scrape against the teeth of the grater, as the resulting paste is wrapped into special herbs and vegetables known only to the initiated, to the patient stacking of the resulting units in concentric circles in the pot, or the satisfaction that comes from seeing the oil stain majestically the boiling mixture, or the added complications in the forms of dried fish changing the aroma of the cuisine, I only see a work of art and grandeur.
Amongst all foods cooked by humankind, Ekwang must make it into the list of the top 10 dishes to be eaten with respect. Yes, respect for the hands that made it, for the energy that went into its preparation, to the love (yes, I can almost rub a finger in the dust and raise it into the air, that no one will cook Ekwang if they do not love) that is put inside, and for that due to any work of art.
Out of respect, I will refrain from singing a worship song just because I am now thinking of Ekwang.
With a weak sigh, I feel like telling someone “I love you”.