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I
love making Asian curries because I literally start to eat from when I
start to cook! The very first thing that I do is dry-fry my cumin,
coriander, cardamom, cinnamon bark, cloves and fennel seeds in a hot
pan without any oil. This process releases the most exquisite blended
aroma like what Turari is to a religious experience. If you are
standing over the pan, the smell hits the nose cavity, the back of the
throat, the head and also fills up the house.

It smells different
in the kitchen and in the upstairs rooms. It smells different when the
spices are blended; when they are all cooked up in coconut milk and
placed on the tongue…mellowing, bursting, deepening, merging… I
predict that the curry will endure till the end of time.

Eating by the way is not only about putting food in the mouth.

When I cook
couscous, I toast the grains in a hot pan first. I know many people who
are content to simply pour hot water on the grains and this is the
beginning and end of their cooking. What a wasted opportunity. After
the grains take on the colour of beach sand in a hot pan, then there is
justification for pouring over the hot water and leaving the couscous
to absorb and soften. This method produces something a lot more complex
for the palate than just bland fair-faced grains.

I toast even quinoa
grains. The results are a beautiful bronzing of the grains and a deeper
complexity to the flavours; the slight bitterness is mellowed, it is
nuttier with a lot more aroma.

Which brings me to
the unassuming yet elegant Anioma Soup called Oseani. It was Michael
Mukolu who introduced me to this soup. It was also he who nicknamed it
the 3-minute soup.

The starting point
is the toasting of egusi seeds in a hot pan. Before I go further, I
must tell the reader about the long tangential discourse which ensued
over whether the egusi is the egusi we are all familiar with, or
whether it is another genus of egusi. The conclusion was inconclusive
after many minutes of: “…no it is bigger…”; “…yes its edges are not
as hard as the common egusi…”; “…no, it is not as flat…” Of
necessity, we had to move on and back to the point of egusi in a hot
pan without any oil, until the popping begins and the nutty aroma
starts to assault the senses. After dry frying, they are transferred
into a flat faced wooden hand mortar called an Nkirite.

The seeds are
ground in the mortar until they become a smooth paste, smoother than
any blender can achieve. White crayfish is added and ground in, then
what Michael calls dawadawa or ogiri, and finally, dried pepper.
Everything is processed until completely blended and smooth. In the
background, pounded yam or gari is being prepared. All the elements of
the meal must be ready at the same time, and I will tell why in a
little while.

Hot water is also
kept boiling on the fire for finishing up the soup. Once the pestle and
mortar work is finished, the paste is put in a dish and the boiling
water is poured over it and stirred in. The consistency of the soup is
a personal matter, and the water added will determine whether it is
thick or thin soup. Once the water hits the paste, the soup is ready.
The seasoning is adjusted and it is eaten immediately accompanied with
the gari or pounded yam.

The soup must not
be left sitting around, and it tastes significantly different if it is
reheated. So, like the sacrament, every drop of it is best eaten right
away.

The word ogiri was
another bone of contention. Technically, ogiri and dawadawa or dadawa
are two different fermented seasonings. Michael was referring to them
as one and the same, but ogiri is fermented sesame or egusi seeds and
dawadawa is fermented locust beans, also called iru. We finally agreed
that traditionally it would be ogiri (fermented egusi) used in the
Oseani and not iru.

Another version of
Oseani is made from Nsala (peppersoup) spices where the spices are
ground up with the crayfish, ogiri and dried pepper. This version needs
some of the pounded yam added to the hot water to give the soup the
body lacking from the absence of ground egusi. The result looks a
little like the Efik Afia Efere (white soup).

My excitement over
this soup and its variation has to do with more than the enhancement of
flavours with the simple dry frying at the beginning or with that
skilful releasing of oils and flavour essences achieved with pestle and
mortar. Here is a soup without oil or meat, with big satisfying notes
from the egusi and crayfish, pungency from the ogiri. Nutritious, not
only because of its ingredients, but because it has only been exposed
to heat for the shortest time and it is consumed literally on the hoof.
How incredibly progressive! Last note to urban dwellers: An authentic
Nkirite emphatically will not be found in Lagos, best to send to Ubulu
uku, Asaba or Ogwashiuku.