Every restaurant has features two traditional Balinese desserts: fruit with Balinese honey, and warm mashed bananas drizzled in palm sugar, cinnamon, and coconut.
Always double check starting times of booked excursions.
Monkeys don't come out when it's raining.
You'll never have trouble finding transport.
Bali-appropriate showers are a must: you're hot when you first get in so initially the water should be cold. Once your body temperature returns to a somewhat normal level, you can turn up the heat and enjoy a regular hot shower. But make sure you go back to cold water for at least the last minute or you'll be sweating in the humidity before you can fully dry off.
Hiking up a volcano for 2 hours to watch the sunrise Christmas morning won't replace being with family but comes pretty darn close.
One way streets for cars aren't necessarily one way streets for motorbikes.
Always order dessert.
Don't pay as much for 5 pieces of fruit as you do a massage.
Internet speed sucks during convenient hours but is always great at 2am.
11:30am isn't too early for a Bintang.
When it rains, every tourist thinks a massage is a great idea.
Luwak coffee is made with beans a luwak has pooped. But it still tastes great.
Sometimes a bike's right hand break stops the front wheel.
Always bring a rain jacket.
If your 5:00 bus isn't there at 5:30, it's okay, it's probably still coming.
Every shop and door smells like incense.
You can use Nick's Pension's amazing swimming pool without being a guest.
Kafe recycles plastic water bottles but laughs at you when you pull 7 out of your bag.
Showing posts with label cooking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cooking. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Sunday, December 25, 2011
A Very Bali Christmas
Merry Christmas!!
Days 3 and 4 were a blast.
I’ll start with today. Since it’s Christmas, we decided to do something special: we were up at 1:15am to get ready for our 2am departure for a sunrise trek (the hike was the special activity, not the hour of departure). At approximate 2:12 we were met outside our hotel by a very nice driver and two Australian girls who were the other half of our trekking group. They just graduated from high school, had been in Bali for 3 weeks, and were really nice. We drove for about an hour to a coffee plantation where we were served coffee and banana pancakes with chocolate. yum. Then off to the starting point where we met our guide, MyYoung. There were probably thirty other tourists with their guides as well..
It was also my first time using a hole-in-the-ground-toilet.
It took us about two hours to get up the active volcano. The hike reminded me a lot of Mt. Nkhoma in Malawi because it started off on a gradually inclining path that wasn’t hard at all. Then we hit a point and it got steep. When we started it was pitch black outside so we each carried a flashlight. The stars were great but not the best I’ve seen. Elena and I each saw a shooting star.
Then we started to climb up rocks. Eventually they turned to gravel which was tougher. I came my closest to falling, of course, when I was standing still and the rocks shifted under my feet. As it slowly got lighter, the sky turned red behind two huge mountains. Between the mountains and us was Bali’s biggest lake, with small fish farms scattered around its perimeter. Once the train turned to hairpin turns, the views got better with each curve.
Only once did we stop, and it was so our guide could put incense and a floral offering to a statue of the god of the mountain. There were at least ten sticks of incense burning and it smelled delicious.
We finally made it to “sunrise point” where we were offered soda and water from vendors. We took a ton of pictures and then went fifteen minutes further where MyYoung promised the view would be better. And it was. From above, you could still see the two mountains with the rising sun but the lake was much more visible. In addition, to the left there were green fields of rice.
We also had our breakfast cooked there: banana sandwiches and hardboiled eggs, all cooked in steam vents from the volcano. delicious.
Instead of heading back down the volcano, we hiked the rim. At its widest, the path was 2.5 feet; at its narrowest, less than 6 inches. And both sides went pretty much straight down. Last month there was a super poisonous snake at a certain point, so our guide made sure he went first so he could hit the grass with his walking stick. Luckily we didn’t run into it. He also only checked within ten feet of where it had been seen, so I’m not sure what we would have done had the snake moved.
We made it around the rim and then went down “the back way” by young crater. This trail had lots of volcanic sand which was both fun to try to slide down and also painful once it got into tennis shoes. So with many stops to dump piles of rocks out of our shoes, we made it down the volcano in about as long as it took us to get up. On the way, we saw three more craters that had each erupted within the last 100 years. One of the craters had spewed red lava, one had spewed black lava, and one had just released steam. The most recent eruption killed two Germans when they got too close the day after the major eruption and the heat killed them.
We walked through a village on our way back that we’d apparently walked through at 4am but hadn’t seen since we our lights had been so focused on the ground in front of us in the pitch black.
It took about 1.5 hours to drive back, which we all used to catch up on sleep.
We got back to the hotel at 11am exhausted but with the whole day ahead of us. So we packed a quick day bag and walked 20 minutes to our hotel’s sister but much, much nicer counterpart to relax by the pool. I enjoyed the pool and sun while Elena slept in the shade, and once it started to rain, we ran into the restaurant for lunch. Now, an hour later, it’s still raining too hard for us to walk back to our room. Tonight, we’re planning on a dinner at the Jazz Club and then heading to a traditional Balinese puppet show just down the road… never thought I’d say that on Christmas!!
So, that’s today. Yesterday was great too. We woke up early enough to get to our 9:30am Balinese cooking class only to realize at 9:10 that it had actually started at 9 and was a 20 minute walk away. oops. So we arrived a little late but met the rest of our group in the market where we saw every vegetable, fruit, and meat imaginable laid out for sale. We didn’t get to buy our own ingredients though, because they’d been prepared at the restaurant already.
Our group was both sweet and interesting. A nice woman from Germany who was travlieng on her own and seemed to be spending no more than 2 days anywhere she stopped – Thailand, the northern part of Bali, Ubud (where we were), and Australia for two days was her next stop. And there was a family of three from San Diego: a mother who lived in Korean and loved cooking and loved talking about it even more, and her two sons. The class itself was set up different than I’d expected as well. We were seated in the dining area of an open-air restaurant with one teacher. We prepared six dishes, so each one of us got to make a single dish that everyone ate. I decided to eat meat for the day and loved the pork dish. It had amazing spices and was balled up onto a stick and then pulled down to make a sort of meat-lollipop.
The chicken wasn’t so great though. But the rest of the food was delicious and the spices were incredible. One of the sons made Basa Gede, the staple spice dish that was used in everything else. Elena made seared tuna that was also incredible. And it’s the first fish she’s eaten and not gagged on! My dish was a peanut sauce with Basa Gede and cooked but still crunchy vegetables: sprouts, carrots, and spinach. The sprouts and peanuts were my favorite parts.
The meal was finished off with dessert: fresh fruit drizzled in Balinese honey. yum. We were sent home with a book of recipes and a black and white checkered apron.
Once the cooking class was over at 3pm (that’s right, 6 hours of straight cooking) we visited an old palace that’s been opened to the public. Parts were still marked as private and entry was forbidden, so I think what we saw was just the courtyard. The plants were overgrown but it gave the buildings a very real feel. The stonework was as ornate as anything we’ve seen so far. There was one doorway that was painted red with gold details that was absolutely beautiful. We spent a few minutes wandering around the market and went back to our room.
I went to bed at 4pm and slept through until 1am when we were up for our hike this morning. I’m still not sure if my sleeping schedule is out of whack from traveling or if I’m still recovering from finals & a long semester.
The rain has just about stopped so I think we’re going to slowly walk back to our hotel and get ready for our Christmas night full of jazz and puppets!
(and hopefully pictures will be up on facebook soon!)
Days 3 and 4 were a blast.
I’ll start with today. Since it’s Christmas, we decided to do something special: we were up at 1:15am to get ready for our 2am departure for a sunrise trek (the hike was the special activity, not the hour of departure). At approximate 2:12 we were met outside our hotel by a very nice driver and two Australian girls who were the other half of our trekking group. They just graduated from high school, had been in Bali for 3 weeks, and were really nice. We drove for about an hour to a coffee plantation where we were served coffee and banana pancakes with chocolate. yum. Then off to the starting point where we met our guide, MyYoung. There were probably thirty other tourists with their guides as well..
It was also my first time using a hole-in-the-ground-toilet.
It took us about two hours to get up the active volcano. The hike reminded me a lot of Mt. Nkhoma in Malawi because it started off on a gradually inclining path that wasn’t hard at all. Then we hit a point and it got steep. When we started it was pitch black outside so we each carried a flashlight. The stars were great but not the best I’ve seen. Elena and I each saw a shooting star.
Then we started to climb up rocks. Eventually they turned to gravel which was tougher. I came my closest to falling, of course, when I was standing still and the rocks shifted under my feet. As it slowly got lighter, the sky turned red behind two huge mountains. Between the mountains and us was Bali’s biggest lake, with small fish farms scattered around its perimeter. Once the train turned to hairpin turns, the views got better with each curve.
Only once did we stop, and it was so our guide could put incense and a floral offering to a statue of the god of the mountain. There were at least ten sticks of incense burning and it smelled delicious.
We finally made it to “sunrise point” where we were offered soda and water from vendors. We took a ton of pictures and then went fifteen minutes further where MyYoung promised the view would be better. And it was. From above, you could still see the two mountains with the rising sun but the lake was much more visible. In addition, to the left there were green fields of rice.
We also had our breakfast cooked there: banana sandwiches and hardboiled eggs, all cooked in steam vents from the volcano. delicious.
Instead of heading back down the volcano, we hiked the rim. At its widest, the path was 2.5 feet; at its narrowest, less than 6 inches. And both sides went pretty much straight down. Last month there was a super poisonous snake at a certain point, so our guide made sure he went first so he could hit the grass with his walking stick. Luckily we didn’t run into it. He also only checked within ten feet of where it had been seen, so I’m not sure what we would have done had the snake moved.
We made it around the rim and then went down “the back way” by young crater. This trail had lots of volcanic sand which was both fun to try to slide down and also painful once it got into tennis shoes. So with many stops to dump piles of rocks out of our shoes, we made it down the volcano in about as long as it took us to get up. On the way, we saw three more craters that had each erupted within the last 100 years. One of the craters had spewed red lava, one had spewed black lava, and one had just released steam. The most recent eruption killed two Germans when they got too close the day after the major eruption and the heat killed them.
We walked through a village on our way back that we’d apparently walked through at 4am but hadn’t seen since we our lights had been so focused on the ground in front of us in the pitch black.
It took about 1.5 hours to drive back, which we all used to catch up on sleep.
We got back to the hotel at 11am exhausted but with the whole day ahead of us. So we packed a quick day bag and walked 20 minutes to our hotel’s sister but much, much nicer counterpart to relax by the pool. I enjoyed the pool and sun while Elena slept in the shade, and once it started to rain, we ran into the restaurant for lunch. Now, an hour later, it’s still raining too hard for us to walk back to our room. Tonight, we’re planning on a dinner at the Jazz Club and then heading to a traditional Balinese puppet show just down the road… never thought I’d say that on Christmas!!
So, that’s today. Yesterday was great too. We woke up early enough to get to our 9:30am Balinese cooking class only to realize at 9:10 that it had actually started at 9 and was a 20 minute walk away. oops. So we arrived a little late but met the rest of our group in the market where we saw every vegetable, fruit, and meat imaginable laid out for sale. We didn’t get to buy our own ingredients though, because they’d been prepared at the restaurant already.
Our group was both sweet and interesting. A nice woman from Germany who was travlieng on her own and seemed to be spending no more than 2 days anywhere she stopped – Thailand, the northern part of Bali, Ubud (where we were), and Australia for two days was her next stop. And there was a family of three from San Diego: a mother who lived in Korean and loved cooking and loved talking about it even more, and her two sons. The class itself was set up different than I’d expected as well. We were seated in the dining area of an open-air restaurant with one teacher. We prepared six dishes, so each one of us got to make a single dish that everyone ate. I decided to eat meat for the day and loved the pork dish. It had amazing spices and was balled up onto a stick and then pulled down to make a sort of meat-lollipop.
The chicken wasn’t so great though. But the rest of the food was delicious and the spices were incredible. One of the sons made Basa Gede, the staple spice dish that was used in everything else. Elena made seared tuna that was also incredible. And it’s the first fish she’s eaten and not gagged on! My dish was a peanut sauce with Basa Gede and cooked but still crunchy vegetables: sprouts, carrots, and spinach. The sprouts and peanuts were my favorite parts.
The meal was finished off with dessert: fresh fruit drizzled in Balinese honey. yum. We were sent home with a book of recipes and a black and white checkered apron.
Once the cooking class was over at 3pm (that’s right, 6 hours of straight cooking) we visited an old palace that’s been opened to the public. Parts were still marked as private and entry was forbidden, so I think what we saw was just the courtyard. The plants were overgrown but it gave the buildings a very real feel. The stonework was as ornate as anything we’ve seen so far. There was one doorway that was painted red with gold details that was absolutely beautiful. We spent a few minutes wandering around the market and went back to our room.
I went to bed at 4pm and slept through until 1am when we were up for our hike this morning. I’m still not sure if my sleeping schedule is out of whack from traveling or if I’m still recovering from finals & a long semester.
The rain has just about stopped so I think we’re going to slowly walk back to our hotel and get ready for our Christmas night full of jazz and puppets!
(and hopefully pictures will be up on facebook soon!)
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Cooking in Botswana
Here is my narrative for a class here in Botswana. I tried to sum up my first few experiences in the kitchen: I’ve never been one for cooking at home and was excited to try my luck in a kitchen in Botswana. I couldn’t wait to learn to make phaleche and more contemporary dishes in Setswana culture. Upon arriving in Manyana, I told my host mom and brother, Masa and April respectively, that I didn’t know how to cook but that I’d love to learn. They laughed at the thought and continued to do so every time I offered to help in the kitchen. They always said I could help tomorrow, but tomorrow didn’t come for a long time.
I had one particularly interesting conversation with April regarding his role as the only child still at home. As Masa’s son, he often cooked breakfast and dinner. Without his sister living at home, April assumed the role a female child would normally take in Setswana culture. Had his sister been home, he would have been embarrassed to be in the kitchen at all. He hinted that with me now in the house, he would be cooking much less.
My first experience in our kitchen can’t really be called cooking. On only my third day in Manyana, my mom sat me down in the kitchen after school. In front of me was a cutting board, onion, green pepper, two carrots and a knife. Without any instruction, Mma-Masa simply said, “let’s see if you’re a good girl” and walked away. Slightly shocked that my success as a daughter depended on my talents in the one room I’d always avoided, I picked up the knife. Luckily, I’ve cut vegetables before. My eyes watered when the onion’s smell hit them although I successfully diced the entire thing. The green peppers gave off the delicious crisp sound of fresh vegetables with each slice. Peeling the carrots was a different story. Having only used a peeler in the past, I shakily used the knife to pull back the dirt-covered outer layer. After finishing with my three vegetables, I called Mma-Masa back into the kitchen. She exclaimed that I indeed was a good girl! Excited to help her cook the vegetables, I stood in place. She quickly ushered me out and reassured me again that I’d cook tomorrow.
Two days later I decided to try to prove myself again. Avoiding the gas burning stove I didn’t know how to operate, I decided to make orange juice. We have three beautiful orange trees in our front yard that I couldn’t wait to exploit. I picked a total of twelve oranges, which I sliced and juiced. The kitchen smelled mouth-watering and fresh. I added sugar, and lots of it, to help with the sour tang. After sampling the juice, I added water to dilute the heavy flavor. No matter what I added I couldn’t find the sweet, simple taste of yummy orange juice. To me, the drink tasted like incredibly sour sugar. Eventually, I let Masa and April sample my concoction. To my amazement, they both finished their glasses. Within the next day, Masa had singlehandedly finished what remained in the pitcher.
My second time in the kitchen didn’t go well at all. Masa was in Gaborone for the weekend celebrating the marriage of her niece. Without having cooked yet, April let me know I was in charge of dinner and that he would be back around 7pm. I decided to make something from the States to change up our pretty standard diet. I got specific instructions from friends at school on how to turn on a gas stove and cook French toast and French fries, two very difficult things to mess up. On my way home from class, I bought the ingredients I’d need: sliced bread, potatoes and eggs. I went straight home to start cutting the potatoes. I used a peeler this time to once again peel back the dirty skin. Once the potatoes were sliced into thin fry-like shapes, I decided to cook them. I lit a match and held it next to the burner. I turned on the gas and it lit! I felt accomplished as all of my worrying about not being able to light the stove flew from my mind, until the burner went out about three seconds later. I tried to light the same burner, but this time, nothing. I tried and tried again. Worried that I was letting too much gas into the house, I decided to wait for April to get home from soccer practice. I cracked and whipped the eggs to get them all ready for the toast.
I waited until seven, when April came in looking tired. I apologized for not having dinner ready and let him know I hadn’t been able to turn on the stove. He walked right in and opened the gas valve. I tried to laugh it off as a simple mistake. My family at home would have shrugged it off and enjoyed poking fun at my obvious lack of attentiveness. April, however, was visibly annoyed. He lit two burners for me and went to wait in the other room. I filled one pan with oil and potato wedges and set it on the front burner. I put butter on the bottom of the other pan, dipped a slice of bread in the egg batter and set it down. I realized right away I hadn’t put enough butter because the bread stuck to the pan and sizzled loudly. I dipped another piece and fit it onto the pan as well.
I immediately felt overwhelmed with two pans on the stove at once, despite the fact that the potatoes were cooking really slowly and didn’t need much attention. I flipped the bread and heard April enter the kitchen behind me. He asked if everything was okay. I turned around to answer that I was doing fine until I realized I wasn’t. The entire kitchen was so filled with smoke I could barely see the man standing just a few feet in front of me. By concentrating so intently on the pans, I hadn’t seen or smelled the smoke. Now that I knew it was there, the room stank of burn. I told him I just hadn’t put enough butter on the pan, which he confirmed as he opened the door and windows. I followed him into the other room to see the windows and door already open. He sat back down and I returned to the kitchen.
I covered the pan in butter for my second batch of toast, ignoring my desire to keep the toast as healthy as possible since the fries were soaking up the oil. I gave the potatoes a stir and flipped the bread. Eventually, enough bread and fries were done for the first serving. I made up a plate with four slices of bread and a mountain of fries for April. When I took it out to him, he immediately asked for tomato sauce. Oops. After trying the fries, he asked for salt. Double oops. He ate as I went back to the kitchen to tend to the rest of the uncooked potatoes.
April brought in his unfinished plate, covered it and left it on top of the fridge to eat later, assuring me he liked the meal but that he wasn’t very hungry. His fries were gone but one piece of French toast remained. I really enjoyed my food; and ignoring that I had filled the house with smoke and hadn’t been able to turn the stove on, I thought I had prepared a pretty good meal.
The next night, I was again left to make dinner. I stuck to something I thought I could handle: pasta with vegetables on top. I knew how to make pasta, add it to boiling water and remove it when it tastes like it’s done. Having learned how to properly work our stove, I cooked the pasta no problem. I cut the veggies I planned on using and went to add them to the canned meat I knew April loved. I couldn’t figure out how to open the can because it comes with a special tool and doesn’t work with conventional can openers. I again had to wait until after 7pm to cook.
April helped me to open the can and after telling me how to cook the meat, left me on my own. After that, I was successfully able to make the sauce for the top of the pasta. I served us at the same time that night, and we talked as we ate. April and I called Ian to make plans for the next day. While on the phone, April told him that tonight, I’d cooked a great meal. He liked the pasta and meat a lot, unlike our previous dinner, which he hadn’t liked at all. I appreciated April’s honesty, even if it wasn’t directed at me.
When I arrived in Botswana, I expected to learn how to cook well enough to feed my family. I knew that as a female, I would probably be expected to work in the house to prepare meals. What I hadn’t expected was that it would be assumed I would know how to cook and would be left in the kitchen without a recipe or plan. Although I’d impressed Mma-Masa with my chopping abilities, I hadn’t impressed April with my American dinner. Since eating my food, April has been much more willing to show me how to do things around the house and no longer assumes I know how to do seemingly simple tasks.
I had one particularly interesting conversation with April regarding his role as the only child still at home. As Masa’s son, he often cooked breakfast and dinner. Without his sister living at home, April assumed the role a female child would normally take in Setswana culture. Had his sister been home, he would have been embarrassed to be in the kitchen at all. He hinted that with me now in the house, he would be cooking much less.
My first experience in our kitchen can’t really be called cooking. On only my third day in Manyana, my mom sat me down in the kitchen after school. In front of me was a cutting board, onion, green pepper, two carrots and a knife. Without any instruction, Mma-Masa simply said, “let’s see if you’re a good girl” and walked away. Slightly shocked that my success as a daughter depended on my talents in the one room I’d always avoided, I picked up the knife. Luckily, I’ve cut vegetables before. My eyes watered when the onion’s smell hit them although I successfully diced the entire thing. The green peppers gave off the delicious crisp sound of fresh vegetables with each slice. Peeling the carrots was a different story. Having only used a peeler in the past, I shakily used the knife to pull back the dirt-covered outer layer. After finishing with my three vegetables, I called Mma-Masa back into the kitchen. She exclaimed that I indeed was a good girl! Excited to help her cook the vegetables, I stood in place. She quickly ushered me out and reassured me again that I’d cook tomorrow.
Two days later I decided to try to prove myself again. Avoiding the gas burning stove I didn’t know how to operate, I decided to make orange juice. We have three beautiful orange trees in our front yard that I couldn’t wait to exploit. I picked a total of twelve oranges, which I sliced and juiced. The kitchen smelled mouth-watering and fresh. I added sugar, and lots of it, to help with the sour tang. After sampling the juice, I added water to dilute the heavy flavor. No matter what I added I couldn’t find the sweet, simple taste of yummy orange juice. To me, the drink tasted like incredibly sour sugar. Eventually, I let Masa and April sample my concoction. To my amazement, they both finished their glasses. Within the next day, Masa had singlehandedly finished what remained in the pitcher.
My second time in the kitchen didn’t go well at all. Masa was in Gaborone for the weekend celebrating the marriage of her niece. Without having cooked yet, April let me know I was in charge of dinner and that he would be back around 7pm. I decided to make something from the States to change up our pretty standard diet. I got specific instructions from friends at school on how to turn on a gas stove and cook French toast and French fries, two very difficult things to mess up. On my way home from class, I bought the ingredients I’d need: sliced bread, potatoes and eggs. I went straight home to start cutting the potatoes. I used a peeler this time to once again peel back the dirty skin. Once the potatoes were sliced into thin fry-like shapes, I decided to cook them. I lit a match and held it next to the burner. I turned on the gas and it lit! I felt accomplished as all of my worrying about not being able to light the stove flew from my mind, until the burner went out about three seconds later. I tried to light the same burner, but this time, nothing. I tried and tried again. Worried that I was letting too much gas into the house, I decided to wait for April to get home from soccer practice. I cracked and whipped the eggs to get them all ready for the toast.
I waited until seven, when April came in looking tired. I apologized for not having dinner ready and let him know I hadn’t been able to turn on the stove. He walked right in and opened the gas valve. I tried to laugh it off as a simple mistake. My family at home would have shrugged it off and enjoyed poking fun at my obvious lack of attentiveness. April, however, was visibly annoyed. He lit two burners for me and went to wait in the other room. I filled one pan with oil and potato wedges and set it on the front burner. I put butter on the bottom of the other pan, dipped a slice of bread in the egg batter and set it down. I realized right away I hadn’t put enough butter because the bread stuck to the pan and sizzled loudly. I dipped another piece and fit it onto the pan as well.
I immediately felt overwhelmed with two pans on the stove at once, despite the fact that the potatoes were cooking really slowly and didn’t need much attention. I flipped the bread and heard April enter the kitchen behind me. He asked if everything was okay. I turned around to answer that I was doing fine until I realized I wasn’t. The entire kitchen was so filled with smoke I could barely see the man standing just a few feet in front of me. By concentrating so intently on the pans, I hadn’t seen or smelled the smoke. Now that I knew it was there, the room stank of burn. I told him I just hadn’t put enough butter on the pan, which he confirmed as he opened the door and windows. I followed him into the other room to see the windows and door already open. He sat back down and I returned to the kitchen.
I covered the pan in butter for my second batch of toast, ignoring my desire to keep the toast as healthy as possible since the fries were soaking up the oil. I gave the potatoes a stir and flipped the bread. Eventually, enough bread and fries were done for the first serving. I made up a plate with four slices of bread and a mountain of fries for April. When I took it out to him, he immediately asked for tomato sauce. Oops. After trying the fries, he asked for salt. Double oops. He ate as I went back to the kitchen to tend to the rest of the uncooked potatoes.
April brought in his unfinished plate, covered it and left it on top of the fridge to eat later, assuring me he liked the meal but that he wasn’t very hungry. His fries were gone but one piece of French toast remained. I really enjoyed my food; and ignoring that I had filled the house with smoke and hadn’t been able to turn the stove on, I thought I had prepared a pretty good meal.
The next night, I was again left to make dinner. I stuck to something I thought I could handle: pasta with vegetables on top. I knew how to make pasta, add it to boiling water and remove it when it tastes like it’s done. Having learned how to properly work our stove, I cooked the pasta no problem. I cut the veggies I planned on using and went to add them to the canned meat I knew April loved. I couldn’t figure out how to open the can because it comes with a special tool and doesn’t work with conventional can openers. I again had to wait until after 7pm to cook.
April helped me to open the can and after telling me how to cook the meat, left me on my own. After that, I was successfully able to make the sauce for the top of the pasta. I served us at the same time that night, and we talked as we ate. April and I called Ian to make plans for the next day. While on the phone, April told him that tonight, I’d cooked a great meal. He liked the pasta and meat a lot, unlike our previous dinner, which he hadn’t liked at all. I appreciated April’s honesty, even if it wasn’t directed at me.
When I arrived in Botswana, I expected to learn how to cook well enough to feed my family. I knew that as a female, I would probably be expected to work in the house to prepare meals. What I hadn’t expected was that it would be assumed I would know how to cook and would be left in the kitchen without a recipe or plan. Although I’d impressed Mma-Masa with my chopping abilities, I hadn’t impressed April with my American dinner. Since eating my food, April has been much more willing to show me how to do things around the house and no longer assumes I know how to do seemingly simple tasks.
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