Praise the Lord and pass the plantains: Pili pili and other false prophets of Rwandese cuisine.

For those who know me well, you know how much I enjoy cooking and eating, cooking in particular. Perhaps you’ve even had the pleasure (or dare I say, displeasure!) of sharing a meal of my own design and execution. Feeding family and friends (including fellow volunteers!), is at once relaxing, comforting, rewarding, and challenging. It’s unsurprising then that food usually shapes my adjustment to a new place, for better or worse.

Rwanda, thus far, has been less than promising. It’s not that there is a lack of food to be had. Nor do we want for dining establishments. Rather, for whatever reason, spice, flavor, and variety seem to be, well, afterthoughts. Quite frankly, it’s bland. I hate to judge so soon, but the outlook is not good.

If you bothered to read my first dissertation of a post, you’ll remember that the staple foods of a Rwandese diet are ugali, beans, rice, green bananas (usually mashed into ibitoke), potatoes (invariably in the form of French fries), and cabbage. Cassava plays a large part in the diet of Rwandese, too, and the pale, pasty blocks of tasteless ugali are alternately made from maize flour or ground cassava. Carrots, tomatoes, avocadoes, pineapple, mangoes, papayas, bell peppers, onions, and sweet yellow bananas round out the usual offerings at the markets and elsewhere. There’s goat and beef, sometimes chicken. Fish if you’re feeling really plucky. Milk and eggs are usually readily available, but cheese and yogurt are sadly rare. Various variations on fried or baked dough are common: thick, dense amandazi donut balls (think cake, not yeast), thin greasy Indian-style chapatti flatbread, inevitably stale white bread in either loaf or hot dog bun form, near tasteless cornmeal bread known as keke (yes, “cake”), and the bizarre potato bread, which has an unearthly yellow tinge to it. Creepy.

Now, Zach, you’re telling yourself, how can you be disappointed with such a bounty? Well, it’s not the raw material that usually disappoints, although the quality is not always desirable. Instead, the preparation is the culprit. The traditional, and probably habitual, Rwandese methods of preparing meals are staid when compared to the culinary heritage of other cultures. Boil, stew, boil some more, maybe fry something on the side. The basic lunch or dinner out is ninety percent starch: some combination of paper maché ugali, plain rice, thick cut chips, stewed beans, oily spaghetti, and tomato-laced cabbage if you’re lucky. Frequently you also receive watery tomato soup (in which some random meat was stewed). At most restaurants the soup is merely an eating aid, facilitating the consumption of so much dry starch; at a few, the soup is genuinely rich and delicious.

I thought Rwanda’s relative poverty might somehow affect the unwavering Rwandese aversion to spice in their food, but I’m not so sure. I’m not convinced that a lack of refrigeration is the culprit either. Consider, if you will, all the other great cuisines of roughly analogous latitudes (or at least my decidedly dubious and biased short list): Cuban, Jamaican, Ethiopian, Lebanese, Indian, Thai, and the show-stealer in my book, Vietnamese. Like Rwanda, each of the aforementioned, save Ethiopia, was a colonial ‘possession’ of some European power or another. Each has its fair share of severe poverty. And despite this, each has, I’m sure you’ll agree wholeheartedly, delicious food. Rwanda’s landlocked, isolated status probably plays some pivotal role, although I doubt this fact explains the phenomenon entirely. In any case, I’m not a food historian or anthropologist.

One potential saving element is pili pili, a clearish liquid, often violently orange in shade, made by soaking fiery hot chili peppers in flavorless vegetable oil. The peppers resemble Jamaican scotch bonnets and are sold by the handful from mesh bags hanging ominously in the cramped shaded stalls of the markets. Pili pili is commercially manufactured around east Africa, and thus most commonly dispensed from eye droppers, upping the weird factor. A small unassuming bottle is found next to the salt shaker and toothpick dispenser on nearly every Rwandan restaurant table. Unfortunately, pili pili is a false prophet, adding neither flavor nor satisfaction to beans and rice. Instead, it only adds oily capsaicin.

Another potential game-changer is icyai, or African tea. Pronounced E-chai-E, the name is almost certainly Indian in origin. Brewed tea is laced with fresh milk or Nido brand milk powder (thanks Nestle! Blaah!) and raw sugar, producing a cloudy, slightly sweet but surprisingly weak beverage. If done right, icyai could be so incredibly smooth and tasty. I hear tell that the genuine article, reportedly commonly available in Tanzania and Kenya, will put all tea debates to rest. Dark steamy tea, mixed with fresh milk, steeped with cardamom and other spices, and generously spiked with real sugar, is weak-knee material. Unfortunately, Nido seems to have captured the hearts and minds of many Rwandese, which is puzzling considering how expensive it is. Sigh.

In defense of the Rwandan diet, most Rwandese are farmers, many of them at or near subsistence level. Nutrition and yield obviously take priority over flavor and spice. I will also admit some Rwandese restaurants serve really, really good food, and I already have a favorite here in Nyagatare. French fries, or chips, are almost always a good idea, too. Fresh fruits are in abundance and are normally quite nice. Avocadoes, if you hunt and bargain, can be awesome. Smooth, nutty, fatty, plump – what every avocado dreams it can one day be. Mangoes, if you’re okay with awkwardly dissecting them, can be a treat, too. Like all else here, they require buckets of patience. Small, stubby sweet yellow bananas are a welcome and familiar addition. Pineapples, though, are truly outrageous. I have not had a bad pineapple since I arrived in Nyagatare, nor a mediocre or simply above average one for that matter. Each is unbelievably fragrant, bracingly sweet, easily prepared, and lovingly devoured in silence after dinner with juice running down our chins while gazing at the deep, dark, star dusted sky. Dessert couldn’t be more heavenly. Now if only the cassava was so tasty.

Signing off for now. Let me hear from you if you’re interested in more info about school, Nyagatare, or food. If you’d like to call, I do have a cell phone. Skype is about the cheapest option; contact my parents or me for the number. Sunday evenings Rwanda-time are best to reach me.

Ciao.