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During my first few weeks in the Peace Corps, I was sent to a village for an introduction to the country. I mainly remember my introduction to cassava. My hosts probably remember how I didn't eat much of anything. They worried that I didn't eat enough.
In case you don't know about cassava, it is a skinny little plant with a huge root that is kind of used like a potato. It can be baked, broiled, boiled, fried, pounded into Play-Doh, grated, sliced, roasted, toasted and even eaten raw. Every single way is horrible, at least in my very biased opinion. In those early days, I vowed that cassava roots would not pass my doorstep the entire time I lived in Liberia. I never changed my mind.
However, cassava leaves were my favorite Liberian dish. The crushed leaves are boiled in red palm oil with a whole lot of pepper and your meat of choice. It's served over a small mountain of rice. I could eat it every day. Whenever any Liberian friend asks me what they can prepare, yes, please, it's always cassava leaves.
Cooking preparations in Liberia are not the same as back home. I can buy cassava leaves in several Asian and African markets where I live. And, when I purchase those leaves, I toss them in my handy-dandy food processor. That little luxury, as well as electricity, was a rarity in West Africa.
Seriously, a food processor was not an option. Everyone I knew used a mortar and pestle. They weren't the cute little ones that some people have in their kitchens to grind pepper. They were nothing like what you might see as a decoration in a pharmacy. The pestle, that is used to pound the leaves in the mortar, is usually five or six feet tall. If it is that big, you know the mortar must also be a couple of feet tall. Liberians use their mortar and pestles for serious kitchen work. Not only are cassava leaves crushed this way, but these tools are also used to prepare rice, which is a part of almost every Liberian meal.
This young girl, on my trip to Tugbaken, was hard at work when I passed through her corner of the village. Just like everyone else in the community, she had to stop to watch the visiting "nyepluh". But, the white man was also watching her. I thought her raised arm was so graceful. I was so very pleased that she allowed me to take her photograph.
In case you don't know about cassava, it is a skinny little plant with a huge root that is kind of used like a potato. It can be baked, broiled, boiled, fried, pounded into Play-Doh, grated, sliced, roasted, toasted and even eaten raw. Every single way is horrible, at least in my very biased opinion. In those early days, I vowed that cassava roots would not pass my doorstep the entire time I lived in Liberia. I never changed my mind.
However, cassava leaves were my favorite Liberian dish. The crushed leaves are boiled in red palm oil with a whole lot of pepper and your meat of choice. It's served over a small mountain of rice. I could eat it every day. Whenever any Liberian friend asks me what they can prepare, yes, please, it's always cassava leaves.
Cooking preparations in Liberia are not the same as back home. I can buy cassava leaves in several Asian and African markets where I live. And, when I purchase those leaves, I toss them in my handy-dandy food processor. That little luxury, as well as electricity, was a rarity in West Africa.
Seriously, a food processor was not an option. Everyone I knew used a mortar and pestle. They weren't the cute little ones that some people have in their kitchens to grind pepper. They were nothing like what you might see as a decoration in a pharmacy. The pestle, that is used to pound the leaves in the mortar, is usually five or six feet tall. If it is that big, you know the mortar must also be a couple of feet tall. Liberians use their mortar and pestles for serious kitchen work. Not only are cassava leaves crushed this way, but these tools are also used to prepare rice, which is a part of almost every Liberian meal.
This young girl, on my trip to Tugbaken, was hard at work when I passed through her corner of the village. Just like everyone else in the community, she had to stop to watch the visiting "nyepluh". But, the white man was also watching her. I thought her raised arm was so graceful. I was so very pleased that she allowed me to take her photograph.