"Let them eat cake"

I decided it was time for Italy to taste my somewhat self-proclaimed famous chocolate cake. A version of a cake I have made for the past 14 years. It must have been on one of the many rainy weekends in West Africa that E (my dear friend and fellow February baby) taught me how to make this cake. Come to think of it I have been baking for a while, from a very early age-from about the age of three according to my mother (that includes making sausage rolls with her). A more vivid memory of baking is set in West Africa. Just about every weekend for a year J,E,J and I would go to each other’s homes and either spend our weekend swimming outside or baking cupcakes and brownies when the violent West African thunderstorms would chase us indoors for a few hours.

Baking for me is a calming experience-sometimes. I enjoy baking cakes for others and the joy they have when they receive their special cake. I have wondered why people smile and are excited when they get a cake? Why do you get a cake on your birthday?

A blue birthday cake I made for my brother

I decided to do some research on this significance. In Italian I would say: Cosa significance per la torta?

the research is on going but so far I have found that cakes are healing, and celebratory and a source of joy. One of my favourite books,"Baking Cakes in Kigali" by Gaile Parkin tells of the healing power of cakes in Rwanda after the 1994 Genocide. I know nothing about the lived experiences of genocide but I can relate to giving a cake to someone in a time when cake was a luxury.

During the darker days of the recent past I found myself baking a lot. Somehow the needed ingredients would be sourced: sugar, flour (bought in bulk from SA), milk (from a generous cow willing to share its milk, or powdered milk), eggs (fresh protein rich eggs from my aunt's layers), oil (high quality sunflower oil from my uncle) and if it was a super special cake some butter, well probably margarine. With all the ingredients ready you would then find yourself playing a game with the powers that be who decide how much electricity you have for a day. I found myself on numerous occasions waking up to bake cakes in the early hours of the morning as that is when I was be sure that I would have at least an hour of uninterrupted power supply. At times like this baking was far from calming, but rather a race against time with the electricity supply company (ZESA). I am so thankful though that I had the opportunity to bless others with these cakes. It brought smiles to the recipients’ faces and temporary escape from the reality of the everyday life.

“Let them eat cake” Marie Antoinette is thought to have told the starving French peasants this when they were crying for bread. Many have speculated that this snide comment and disassociated attitude influenced the onset of the French revolution.

Is cake really an elitist luxury that separates “us” from “them”? How much significance is there in cake? Does it really speak of politics and social economic states of people? Does cake really address issues of gender politics? At this moment I have mixed feelings about the discourses that surround cake, and the fact that I have cake and baked goods so often now, I no longer find myself asking those important questions. But I think I should. The questions will change my experiences with cakes, which I think is necessary especially while I live in Bra.

My university has several characters. Many gourmet cooks and baking enthusiasts. Cake and baked goods are no longer a super special thing, not the luxury that is alluded to by Marie Antoinette. In my little community of Bra there is cake or a baked good of some sort all the time from somewhere. The element of surprize and awe from getting a sugary treat almost gets forgotten as we (I speak for myself and possibly my classmates) know that a week will not go by without a sugary fix. It feels like déjà vu. In 2011 I lived with 3 friends. As the ladies of 105 we all had our birthdays in the space of 5 weeks so we had cake for dinner on several occasions. To honour the ladies of 105 and my loved ones who are fellow February babies Italy gets its first taste of my chocolate cake. Buon Compleanno!

                                

                                                

The cake making process from the beginning to the final product

Becoming an Anthropologist

This past week I celebrated another year on Earth. My mind began to wander. Wondering when exactly it was that I started to consider my life as an anthropological adventure. Was it the day we were in the car on the way back to Mamaroneck that I was told I was moving to West Africa? Or was it the day that I cried my eyes out and not so silently wished I had failed the entrance exam to Loyola Jesuit College? Or was it at the Southernmost tip of Africa where I learnt about anthropology and realized that I was a living anthropologist?

I want to believe that it is the latter. If I had known more about anthropology in 1997 I would have savoured each moment spent in West Africa. I think that my sojourn in West Africa was a pivotal point in my life. I attribute my love for anthropology, my interest in the food-culture dialectic to Nigeria as well as my supposed academic prowess.

Not only do I celebrate another year on Earth but this year marks ten years since I was in West Africa. Ten years ago I left behind memories, friends, classmates and my deep American accent which was replaced by a knowledge of Nigerian pidgin English, a desire to learn and hope that one day I would reunite with people who changed my perspective of life and who helped to shape the person I am.

For the past ten years I have shared my experiences in Nigeria with people I have met. I have left out so much detail though as it is a country where you have to go to and live in to experience it to the fullest. The hardest part of my explanations has always been the three years spent at a Local Jail for Children- the codename for the prestigious Loyola Jesuit College-LJC. I have tried to explain all the moments, the highs and the lows. I doubt that my explanations have done any justice to the school. I have always wanted to recall my days spent there and the only people who would understand were my former classmates and other alumni. How do you begin to explain to an outsider who was not in jail with you about: eating five times a day, trading half plates of spaghetti, going on ‘report’, Saturday lunch, hostel inspections, exams, feast days, socials, assembly, study hall, mangos, honour and merit roll?

Living in Southern Africa meant that the chances of meeting up with any LJC alumni was quite slim. In the turn of events that characterises my life I moved to Europe, but not the United Kingdom where many alumni reside. But I got another surprize when my former classmate got in touch and let me know that they were in Italy. Needless to say a reunion was necessary. So that is what we did. To celebrate my twenty-fourth year of life and my tenth year away from my other homeland I met up with my fellow Connelly House classmate.

My former classmate photographing the sites in Milano

I have not laughed till I cried in a very long time. But I can now tell you that I have done so recently. It felt good to know that you are not the only one in the world that will forever have the motto “Service of God and Others” deeply embedded in them. That there are others who remember the first line of their school notes of Introductory Technology, “Technology is not a new thing in Nigeria….”. There are others who have tried everything to forget the opening lines of the play the Wives Revolt by JP Clark but to no avail. There are others who will always remember the impact and dedication of our teachers:  their punishments of “sitting on the wall”, or frog jumping; their strict marking; their desire for the best education possible for us; their smiles and laughter that you shared with them at your dining hall table.

When laughing with my classmate in Milano, Italia, I realized that those were three years that I would not exchange. Three years that I learnt about a country by being fully immersed in it, even if I was in jail. As one of the very few foreigners in our school in Gidan Mangoro, I unknowingly became an anthropologist. Everything was participant observation. I learnt of the customs, the traditions and the rich heritage of the vibrant oil rich nation. I can almost say that I became a native of the nation-a daughter of the soil. I can only hope to one day return to the vibrant nation.

So as I continue in the adventure that is my life I will always remember Nigeria and LJC. The people I met (some of the brightest minds I have ever encountered), the food I tasted and my dislike of black eyed beans (thanks to the mass cooked beans and garri as well as the deep fried bean fritters-akara twice a week for three years). I will always remember the educational impact and the community that is LJC. I believe that my time there laid the foundations of many of the adventures that I have already had, and mostly the point at which I began to be an anthropologist- even if it was done unconsciously. 

Who would have thought that I would meet a fellow LJC "in-mate" 10 years later in the middle of Italy

Pizza Pizza Pizza Pizza Pizza

This past week I escaped from cold snow covered Bra to the region of Campania in Southern Italy to begin my second study trip with my classmates. We arrived in Napoli and  we were so glad to see the bright sunshine and streets without snow.

Pizzerias are everywhere in Napoli

As with our other study trip there was a lot to see, eat and learn. Particular products and dishes of the region that are unforgettable were pizza, pasta and mozzarella di buffalo. If its not obvious to you yet this post is about my pizza experience.

The perfect pizza. That is something that does not exist as the notion of perfect is one founded on opinion and bias, and as I have learnt this week passion and emotion are integral to creating a satisfactory if not nearly perfect pizza. If the elements are not well mixed you get an unsatisfactory pizza. 

Ingredients for pizza

I do not claim to be a pizza guru by any means, but I can tell you that I am now more informed about pizza and I have a better appreciation for it. In the space of six days I had pizza on five different occasions each made by different pizza makers. I had good pizza and bad pizza and surprisingly I think my pizza experiences were linked to emotion and occasion.

Pizza experience number one: As close as I have gotten yet to a perfect pizza. When our class arrived in Napoli we had a lesson on pizza and the traditions that surround the loved dish. Our class sat down to for local pizzas made in the classical Neapolitan style with the best ingredients possible, baked for 90 seconds in a wood fire oven. Maybe it was the ambiance that made the pizza taste better or it was the fact that one of the five slices was a pizza covered in chocolate, or that we were famished and were in need of some food. I do not know but it was a delicious and memorable experience.

Pizza experience number two: Paraphrasing my classmate, “Why are they giving us this? Do they want us to know what bad pizza is?” We had slices of pizza at our hotel in Gragnano. After having had some delicious pizza two days before the hotel’s take on pizza marinara and pizza topped with buffalo mozzarella and mushrooms left a lot to be desired. It was a gastronomical experience I would rather not remember but one that gave me the opportunity to differentiate between a good pizza made with high quality ingredients and passion from that of mediocre pizzas that leave you wondering about the mood that the supposed chef was in.

Local vegetable friarielli being sold on sidewalks

Pizza experience number three: Street Pizza. On Friday morning we had a bit of free time to walk around in Napoli and we happened to be hungry. It seemed to be a good time to try out some of the popular cibi di strada of Napoli. Due to my allergies I tend to stay away from the more appealing and colourful pastries. I decided to spend my €1 three little Neapolitan pizzas. They were good for me for that particular time as they were warm and salty as I need a little bit of tomato, cheese and bread in me at that moment. Would I recommend these little pizzas all the time? No but if you need a little quick pizza fix-yes.

Pizza experience number four: Dinner at -. I do not think that the establishment is worth mentioning but if anything, worth avoiding. Experience four was a disaster. A group of nine of us ventured to the supposedly good pizzeria for our last dinner in Napoli. We were expecting delicious pizza for our last night. I think we deserved a delicious meal. I mean we had ventured the pouring rain and walked through the puddles of water, dodged the cars and scooters in the narrow Neapolitan streets only to reach our destination soaking wet, cold and hungry. We anticipated amazing mouth-watering pizza since the pizzeria in question had been featured in one of Heston Blumenthal's television shows.

Pizza con Nutella

There is little positive to be said about this pizzeria. One of our classmates is a professional food writer so he has had his share of bad food. He had no comment for the pizza from this particular establishment. To sum up the evening and the pizza: the people were wet (meaning us wet with rain), the ambiance: cold and not welcoming.The establishment was possibly too large for its dining cliental as on a Friday night we were the only occupants of the vast underground dining area. The pizza was wet-calling it wet is being generous; it was more soggy than wet. The cheese had drenched the pizza dough and the tiny visible basil leaves were chargrilled from the fiery oven.

Pizza experience number five: Pizza and meal in Sant' Antonio Abate. They say they save the best for last. This pizza ticked all the boxes for me. Although the pizza was not prepared in a wood fire oven the ambiance at the farm: "Terra, Amore e Fantasia"  made up for the lack of a wood fire. Our hosts were more than welcoming and my classmates were in jovial spirits. Our chef for the day: Chef Antonino Esposito made sure we enjoyed all the pizza and the various dishes he created for us. Maybe we enjoyed the food more because we only had a taste of the pizzas. The pizzas were skilfully served in individual portions- bite-size so you had to savor that piece and take it all in. Luckily for us we had several bite sized pizzas to sample. Pizza topped with meatballs, a simple pizza parcel with the local friarielli and sausage, pizza margarita, deep fried pizza, deep fried stuffed pizza, and those were just the appetizers! Chef Antonino further showed us how to knead the dough and make it elastic and stretch to unknown lengths. My classmates had their turn at stretching the dough and gaining some expert tips.

Feeling the stretched pizza dough. It was very elastic and soft.

It could have been the ambiance- our pleasant hosts and music in the background, or the bite size pieces or possibly the sumptuous San Marzano Tomatoes used, or even the fact that we were all drinking red wine at 10am. From these five experiences I would have to agree with the expert pizza makers that it must have been the passion. Experience one and five were filled with passion as we saw the pizza makers demonstrate their skill and feed a group of hungry gastronomes. 

I hope that the next pizza I have is delicious. One that allows me to taste the passion and emotion that the pizza maker should have for his or her pizza.