Posts tagged Food

I Am Judging You; Party Guests

Life Random 20 Comments

Today looks like a very good day to be judgemental, plus I just finished feasting on the liver of a lion.

You know what I really love being in charge of at events? Food and drinks! Let me be clear, I don’t mean deciding on and organizing what and what not to feast on, but the actual distribution and manning. Because why not? Who wouldn’t hop on a chance to do the Lord’s work and teach people manners (and garner enemies in the process)? I also get to play fairy godmother and grant polite people their wish (some lucky ones even get blessed with extra), and reward them with a cheeky smile.

There are two sets of people that annoy me to the core of my soul, at parties or events;

  • The I-swear-I-haven’t-eaten-since kind of people, even after eating two rounds and hiding three take-away plates and five plastic drinks in their Ghana-must-go sac of a handbag. What beats me is that this set of people are very many in church (our dear minsters of God have a lot of work to do sha. Looks like they aren’t preaching enough of how real and hot hell can be).
  • The I-don’t-want-Coke-give-me-Sprite folks (with an I-sponsored-the-food-and-drinks-whole-handedly expression, even when they didn’t get an invite to the party).

Let’s talk about the first set of people— the food envelopes and warehouses, aka the Linus. If you fall in this category, I just want to tell you to fear God. I’m not done o. I also want you to know that I’m judging you( you can call me JUDGINA). If you think you’re being smart when you do that, I’m here to tell you you’re not; you’re just greedy, and the next time you want to open your mouth to call your leaders corrupt, remember what I said.

Nobody is saying you shouldn’t be a grubido; all I’m saying is don’t deprive others of the opportunity to get served too. Let the food go round first, or own it with your chest that you just want another round. Do away with that “I have not eaten” lie. Don’t you even fear that your airflow may get restricted by the ‘stolen food’? You can surely do better, dear. Henceforth, I expect you to do better. Go, and sin no more (I’m still judging you sha).

Enhen! I’m very excited about judging this second set of people. The ones with the pungent entitlement. Yes, if you’re one of them, don’t you dare run away; keep reading and face your judgment.

You know, I’m just really curious to know if some of you missed or slept during the whole ‘etiquette’ and ‘good manners’ talk, taught in Moral Instructions or whatever the subject was, in primary school.

It’s okay to have preferences for food, what’s not okay is being entitled and rude, when you’re offered food you didn’t pay for, especially at someone’s event.

“I don’t want 7-Up o! Give me Coke.” If I happen to be the one serving, and you give me that attitude, be ready to drink the 7-Up or to go and buy your golden Coke outside. If I mistakenly possess the gift of patience that day, I’ll nicely ask you to do a trade by barter with another person (that’s if it’s a small gathering). And if at all I end up granting your request, it’s because I’m in a good mood or because “home training.” But, but… one thing is sure, you won’t escape my lashing stare(can’t help it). I’ll judge your lack of manners on the spot.

“Don’t give me rice o. It is pounded yam I want— cos in my village, if we eat anything that is not pounded yam, we will be rendered impotent.” My friend, will you keep quiet?! When last did you eat pounded yam in your house? It’s like you aren’t ready to eat. You’d be shocked to see people like that eat at least two plates of that rice that is a community abomination, after eating their beloved pounded yam or whatever it is.

Well, on second thought, I’ll reduce the intensity of my judgment on this second group, let’s put the blame on the classes they missed.

Sometimes, you just have to be stern when serving, if not, you’d be played around like lawn tennis. Imagine everyone rejects one same thing, who would take it?

Instead of throwing tantrums or causing a scene, be a decent human being and politely ask for your preferred choice. If the server declines, accept what you’re offered or reject it (politely) if you really can’t manage it. I promise you, you won’t die, you may only suffer some hunger pangs (trust me. I’m speaking from experience).

I want to continue judging you, but looks like this is enough judging for a day.

Those of you that go about complaining about how small the food is and how the meat isn’t as big as your greed. Or about how the host didn’t try, cos your ojukoro wasn’t satisfied and you couldn’t do your usual illegal carting away of food; today isn’t your day. No, I won’t judge you—yet. Your time is coming.

This judging session is officially over; go, and do away with your shenanigans.

PS: If I’m ever in charge of food at any event you happen to be in, feel free to ask for another round from me. I’ll most certainly attend to you, provided I’m sure the food would go round, and you don’t use the I’ve-not-eaten card when you’ve actually eaten. Just tell me you want more food, it’s allowed. I love me some honest people.

Let me quickly throw this in; if you serve diet soda at your party, I’m judging you with all my heart. Please and please! Don’t do that again. Just tell us you don’t want to feed us or better still, tell us to stay in our homes… Peace be with you.

Feel free to add your judgment(s) in the comment section.

On Becoming Master-Chef

Food Life Random 11 Comments

“I have to wake up by 4:30, every morning, to cook and get myself and my younger ones ready for school,” Lola said. I looked at her in disbelief, and to confirm that I heard right, I asked, “so you made this food?” Referring to her lunch. She laughed and replied “yes na. I cooked it myself.” I couldn’t help but wonder if her mom was late or if she lived with her step mom, cos why else would a fifteen year old be dealing with so much responsibility already? So I voiced out my thought and asked “what of your mummy?” Again, she laughed and was probably wondering what kind of ridiculous question that was, and still laughing she said “my mother cannot be waking up to cook for me na.” “Wow!” I exclaimed in my head, while trying to process the information.

I later discovered that out of the few that still carried lunch to school, in my class, I was probably the only one who didn’t make the food herself. I also found out that some had been doing that since junior school (imagine my shock).

At that age, I was still struggling to make proper Eba, without koko — trust me, this was a very difficult time in my life. I couldn’t even cut onions into thin slices. Slicing leafy vegetables was totally out of it. I hardly ever cooked beans to be soft enough, to not cause heartburns. Well, my white rice game was fair enough. I could make stew, though a few times, I never let the salt be great. And I only cooked during holidays and occasionally on weekends.

Now you see why I thought cooking regularly for your family at that age was strange. I mean, I could not even prepare custard or pap without cooking it on fire, after pouring hot water into the mix —Making it without koko was a big struggle, I always needed to say a few Hail Marys for that.

Despite my obviously poor culinary skill, my mum never failed to commend my effort. She’d tell me I did better than she expected, that I really tried and with time, and more practice, I’d be a pro. She sometimes told me my food would have tasted better than her’s, if only I had added a little more salt. This helped my confidence, she left me convinced that I had her very good culinary skills in my genes. She told me I was a natural at it. And guess what, she didn’t lie, all I needed was practice.

I started cooking properly, at seventeen. I made mistakes, and learnt from them.

The first time I cooked soup, it was Egusi soup, and it was for over fifteen people. It was a very funny experience, I remember fidgeting around the kitchen and wanting my mummy to be there so bad. A lot of things ran through my head; is this how I’m going to shame my mother, after all the home training and love put into raising me?

I could have written an essay of not less than 5,000 words, ending with ‘had I known’, in that moment —Had I known, I’d have listened to my mother, all those times she asked me to sit and watch her cook. I shouldn’t have let my coconut head win. I wished I didn’t argue that I didn’t need to watch a second time, to know how to prepare a meal. I shouldn’t have given her the condition that I’d stay in the kitchen only if she lets me do the cooking. But it was too late.

My God! What was I even thinking when I agreed to be a volunteer? Did I think I was going to cook just stew, rice and pasta?

I tried calling my mum for help, but there was no signal cos I was in a village… To Be Continued.

Watch out for my next post, to find out if it ended in premium tears. You can also subscribe to my blog to get notifications. You certainly would not want to miss the follow-up post— just do it, subscribe now.