Wednesday, June 4, 2008

Desert Island Top Five


As is common in middle school intellectual circles, I’d like to throw out the floater, “What if you were stuck on a desert island and could only eat one thing for the rest of your life? –a daunting prospect, no doubt. However the theoretical conundrum is more a reality in Togo than a way to pass time in fifth period study hall.
Ask a Togolese person, and I imagine finding a uniform “pâte” response. Though no field research exists to beef my argument, I rest my case on this fact: people will choose what they know. Would you choose mulligatawny soup or frog legs if you never had tasted them? Probably not. The stakes are too high on a desert island. Traditional fare will win out. Pork chops, mashed potatoes…would you like a side with that? Coleslaw or candied carrots anyone?
It’s different ballgame here. If you are fortunate, you will eat three meals a day. All meals will be pâte. Or maybe I should rephrase that. Every meal of every day will be pâte. Meat, whether chicken, goat, guinea foul, or other is generally consumed en masse only for special occasions. Your average Joe (and certainly Jane) does not have the means to eat meat everyday. If he or she does, rarely is it enough to satisfy a family.
Pâte is the substance that keeps the ball rolling here. If there is a translation for the dish in English, it has yet to cross my path. Due to its foreign nature in American gastronomic cuisine, the definition has not yet forged its way into the English vernacular. Thus, here she is. The second is my creation. The first is complementary of Webster’s New World Dictionary (1970).

pâte (pät) [Fr.] n. 1. paste; esp., the clay paste used in making pottery or porcelain 2. mixture of corn, sorghum, or millet flour and boiling water; forms a congealed paste, notably popular in West Africa

That’s the bare bones. Once in a large pot, the mixture is heated and stirred vigorously. Slowly, the substance begins to solidify. Afterwards, it is transferred into a bowl and served communally.
Now, the manner of eating pâte is, from the standpoint of an amateur connoisseur, a very fine and subtle art. I prefer sliding my middle and ring finger into the supple jumble. This technique caters to the saucer in which you can cup a maximum amount of sauce. But there are other methods.
Some, and I speak mostly of my Togolese brethren, scoop up the pâte and roll it methodically into a circle with their fingers before indulging. This method really gives you the chance to appreciate a pate-well-done, like observing the legs of a fine glass of Pinot Noir. I, however, don’t have the grit for such a procedure. You see, Togolese men and women have been engaged in back-wrenching physical labor since the age of four. Their hands are calloused and strong, able to withstand incredible temperatures. Even if I wasn’t a self-proclaimed saucer, I would stick to my method. My fingers are far too delicate to withstand the heat.
Thus far, I have only made vague illusions to the sauce. But it’s the sauce that brings out the artist in everyone. Whether peanut, tomato, okra, or baobab sauce, everyone puts their spin on the classics. It’s these nuances that make or break a market woman selling her grub. On a personal note, I vouch for la sauce moutarde. The translation would be mustard sauce, but this is bound to lead to unwarranted visions of a creamy, rain-boot yellow condiment in a squeeze bottle. Not so. Unfortunately, I am inept to detail such a marvelous concoction. You’ll have to come here and try it for yourself, (I know the best mustard joints in town, don’t worry).
And that’s a taste of the pâte phenomenon. Perhaps most impressively, rural families are near self-sufficient in the domain of food production. Imagine eating exclusively what you harvest! It really is a miraculous feat. Yet self-sufficiency is the glorified version of food production here. There is, of course, the other side.
I don't like the prospect of adhering to the rules of the desert island game. I enjoy an abundance of choices. Choices are what I know. However, not everyone has the luxury of choice. For most, Togolese live in a de facto desert island game. For me, I eat my fare share of pâte, but not three times a day. That’s an idea I retain for study hall.