There’s something about food that feels like coming home. Not the fancy kind with sauces you can’t pronounce, but the type that fills your kitchen with the smell of fried onions and a little bit of burnt something on the edge of the pot, because that’s where the flavor lives.
This past weekend, I found myself in a mood. Not sad, not bored, just craving a meal that would wrap its arms around me and say, “I’ve got you.” So I made jollof rice. Not the quick, shortcut kind. I’m talking about the full ritual: pepper mix roasted till smoky, slow-cooked rice that’s both soft and slightly sticky at the bottom (hello, party jollof!), and enough seasoning to make your ancestors nod in approval.
And because rice can’t walk alone, I threw in some juicy fried plantains, golden on the outside, soft and sweet on the inside. You know the kind that disappears from the plate before you sit down? Yeah, those.
There’s a kind of healing that happens when you cook with intention. When the music is playing low in the background, your slippers are tapping on the tiles, and the steam from the pot fogs up the kitchen window. It’s not just food, it’s therapy.
So if your week’s been wild, or your heart’s feeling a little tangled, cook something that reminds you of simpler times. Let it simmer, taste as you go, and when it’s done, serve yourself first, guilt-free. You’ve earned it.
