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In retrospect, one
of my favourite toasters from my university days was a guy nicknamed
Buscopan. And it is not because he was the most sophisticated of
charmers. On the contrary, he was always tipsy, a little too happy, and
a little too close and touchy feely. One could blame the irony of his
life.

He had an exquisite
musical ear, could play a few musical instruments, and played the
church organ by instinct; with such precision and beauty that one could
not reconcile the drunk with the natural instinctive brilliance.

It is hard to
describe, but maybe if his time had been now, he would have been
tolerated better; mercifully labelled as Aspergers, left to his
God-given devices, not confined and compelled to studying something
like Sociology or Law when it should have been music, music and more
music.

Buscopan, like many
brilliant minds, was socially inept, and spoke his mind without really
adding up the sums. He, one day, gave me ‘a look’, and followed it up
by telling me that he would like to “cook me in some hot pepper…” No,
in fact, it was more explicit than that, but the word “cook” cleans up
the sentence considerably. The closer word, though awkward, is “turn”,
and Nigerians use it often in place of the word “stir”.

For what purpose
did he want to “turn” me in pepper? I’m afraid I’m going to have to
leave that to you to decide. It might help give a genuine sense of my
extreme befuddlement at being offered such an unusual treatment.

These days, I
cannot eat peppered snails without thinking of Buscopan. My neighbour
in Calabar and a dear friend, Sylvie Dunn, makes the best peppered
snails, and the secret may be the simplicity of her recipe.

I have to put this
in perspective because preparing snails for cooking is not easy. It
only really becomes simple after the cleaning of the snails, which in
fact can be quite harrowing.

Sylvie always
chooses the small snails; the bite-size ones. It must be possible to
put a whole snail in your mouth and have lots of space for chewing on
it.

Sometimes, it is
hard to tell if the snails are alive when they are being purchased,
especially if they are sold out of a container or basket. It is best
when snails are bought off the bare-floor because the dead ones are
easy to sight. Perhaps this is only possible in tidy markets, like
those in Calabar.

Always buy large
pieces of alum for cleaning the snails because smaller pieces will make
your job twice as hard. Coarse salt is also good for washing snails,
but one still needs the alum to get squeaky clean snails.

During washing, one
needs to go over the snails again and discard any that have shrivelled
entrails or broken pieces of shell in the skin. Both are a sign that
the snail was dead on purchase. Sylvie always insists on “cutting off
the faces of the snails” because she claims they give her nightmares. I
must personally admit that I have never seen a face on a snail in all
my years of eating them. Maybe I’m too distracted! The snails are
boiled with salt, a little ginger and garlic, until they are al-dente,
not soft. Also, not chewy; the sensation when biting on a well cooked
snail is brisk, almost crunch-like. This is the advantage of using
smaller snails. They are easier to cook just right. The ‘pepper’ for
the snails is a mixture of onions, tomatoes and small aromatic hot
peppers. The onions are cut in long slivers, the tomatoes are chopped
roughly, the hot peppers are chopped very fine.

Sylvie puts quite a
scandalous amount of oil in a pot over high heat. She throws the
onions, tomatoes and peppers in and fries, stirring all the time. She
does this until the mixture resembles a sauce, then she adds some
tomato puree, a stock cube, and a little water.

She throws the
snails in the pot and stirs until they are well coated. The snails are
served on their own or with a bowl of basmati rice soaked for 20
minutes, washed, then briskly boiled. The rice is enhanced with a
generous tablespoon of coconut oil.

I could eat the
combination of peppered snails and basmati rice day in day out, year in
year out, and in my sleep. Delicious! Unfortunately, I was the butt of
many rude jokes for many semesters afterwards because of Buscopan’s
rather raw offer, made in a very loud voice in a very public place.
Buscopan did not get to live very long; he ran into an unfortunate and
tragic incident with vigilantes, on his very own doorstep. He might
have read this and had a good laugh. He might be reading this and
having a good laugh.

This article was first published in the April 15, 2009, edition of NEXT