The Diary Of A Community Kitchen - 5 Willing Sudanese Lads
‘5 Willing Sudanese Lads’ - an email subject that landed with an initial surprise
A panic ensued to let my wife (who now has full access to my work emails and is Chief Hungry Guy Organiser) know that this was all very innocent and this wasn't a result of some algorithm altering google searches that would almost certainly require further explanation.
The email was relating to a new chapter of a project that I have been working on for some time now. A project that has stolen my heart, my focus and all of my attention - The Community Kitchen. It was an email as a result of over 12 months of brain storming, idea generation and plan making to see how we could fit a bit of a square peg in a round hole and find a solid structure that would fit a very fluid system….a common theme for most chapters in our Community Kitchen Project.
There was a dream to create an event that would bring our community closer, to bring people together and strengthen bonds, all seasoned with a lovely bit of eye opening education for everyone, including myself. This was all about opening everyone's doors to share their culture, their lives and best of all their food!
There were now only 4 lads but their willingness remained and it was in the form of cooking lunch - a Sudanese lunch. An example to show off their food, their culture and what they love while they are now living in a new and very different land. A lunch that would be about integration as much as sustenance and from a selfish point of view an opportunity for my own ultimate educational activity.
I constantly have internal thoughts about authenticity vs traditions. How they overlap and how personally subjective they can both be. I have previously been found to be searching for the authentically OG recipe or dishes when actually all I want is to find food cooked by people, eaten and enjoyed in homes and shared with loved ones. Dishes that have maybe been tweaked over generations, that aren’t written down but simply cooked using simple equipment. Real food cooked from the most earnest and honest roots in the most real of ways.
Having never experienced Sudanese food and with only a rough idea of where Sudan is on the African continent, it had crossed my mind to do some research but I have a slight attraction to vulnerability. I see it as a chance to grow, a chance to ask questions without prejudice and a chance to grow as a cook and a person.
As an experienced cook, there is something so attractive about reducing yourself back down to square one. Learning with a sort of inquisitive innocence again! To almost feel lost and to be at the whim and will of your hosts feels a little like freedom. Vulnerability brings with it an opportunity to immerse yourself, to ask questions, be present and assume nothing.
As with all our community kitchen work, we were using surplus food. We had a wish list from the lads but we weren't sure how this might translate with them. I think any confident home cook can easily get thrown off when something you've asked for doesn’t arrive, let alone a bunch of late teens in a foreign land. I had a slight trepidation but was ready to help wherever needed…..
How wrong I was. How naive I had been to think that! These lads were far from nervous, far from anxious, far from concerned about any of it. They weren't just willing, they were very much able.
It was lovely to see that cooking was far from a rare occurrence in this house. In fact, it was the cornerstone of their household. Weekly meetings and rotas deciding who was cooking, washing up, dusting, tidying distanced this house from just about any other late-teen house share I have ever experienced. An even larger distance from my own personal experience of that age - particularly when it came to the dusting, cleaning and tidying. A distance I am still yet to shorten. Food was the first discussion - the top of the list. But not just the cooking, the time meals were set. They ate together every day. Far too often these days (I sound like my Dad, soz!) we seem to save eating together for a ‘special occasion’ rather than it just being the normal occurrence. It's quite obvious that this is so engrained in their culture, so deep rooted that they don’t even realise. The ultimate habit, it’s just what they do. I was happy to be already steeply climbing this learning curve.
There was a clear structure within this kitchen brigade. The lads all joked as to who ‘The Chef’ was but it was very clear. The surplus food curve ball sent them back into discussions in Arabic - their only shared and common language in the house.
They asked for beef mince, we gave them some chopped up lamb that had been donated, leftover from Eid celebrations! In fact it was every and any part of a lamb you could imagine simply chopped into small chunks. Parts that resembled bits of chops, some possible chunks from the neck, others potentially of leg. The bones were still attached where they would have been and plenty of them with pieces of offal hanging off the side. Quite a daunting box for anyone to tackle.
The kitchen soon became very busy. Large amounts of oil were heating in numerous pans to fry the lamb. They used an enticing chef's quantity of oil for frying. Vegetables were being chopped, largely in hand without touching a board. Instructions were being set around the kitchen in the style of any restaurant kitchen. Clear and direct, ‘The Chef’ was orchestrating this meal. The cooking was methodical and very process driven. A beautiful sight, literally music to my ears - my cheffy senses were tingling.
In a certain way there was a lack of convenience in their cooking or rather there was no perceived inconvenience for them. No process was too much or too time consuming. Take the tomato paste; they didn’t reach for the metal tube in the top drawer of their fridge door, they made it in the bottom of their pan, neatly chopping their tomatoes and onions in their hand before cooking them in plenty of oil on a fairly high heat. Constantly mixing, pounding and mashing in the pan, carefully dribbling water down the side of the pan to prevent sticking and burning without diluting the flavours but never stopping mixing and pounding. This was quite confident and thought out cooking, clearly rooted in experience. I’m unsure if any teenagers I know even understand that tomato paste comes from tomatoes, let alone that you can make it by simply concentrating fresh tomatoes with a small investment in time and elbow grease. I’m not sure the lads even know the tubed stuff exists.
The paste was being pounded by a large and very homemade looking wooden stick that they drew from the cupboard, proudly brandishing it a little like Captain Hook drawing his sword. It was a long handled stick scarred with plenty of ceremonial looking burn and scorch marks along the handle. This was their fufu stick. I didn’t even know what fufu was at this point but I naively asked them where they got it from. Looking confused, they pointed at the garden with a rye smile. They’d made it from a tree branch.
…..They gave me a look of, ‘Like, where else would it come from? There isn't a fufu stick shop, mate!?!?’
I asked them who taught them to cook. There was a little more confusion. I assumed some language barriers but it was more that they didn’t know you had to ‘learn’ to cook. Something so naturally passed on from generation to generation that it feels a little like dressing yourself or tying your shoelaces, it just happens, you just sort of know. If you don’t cook, you don’t eat so it’s literally a do or die approach to cooking!
The kitchen now had an almost rhythmic feel. A well oiled machine or engine smoothly chuntering along. The high heat, the pace, the constant chatter between cooks and the fufu stick pulverising the tomato paste. The clunking of pots and pans; it all created a beat and a busy rhythm - everything seemed to be wonderfully in time. I was totally engrossed by it! The cast of Stomp would have been proud! It's a joy to watch such attentive cooking.
I found the high heat they cooked over fascinating. They opted for more heat, more speed, more fufu stick, more attention, more work. With it, a larger window for error but they said it was better that way, the food was better. They were right too - this onion/tomato paste was utterly delicious! So fresh and so packed with the right, intense but clean flavour.
The way they cooked you can see that they liked to be present with the food. It was a very hands-on way of cooking. Lots of crushing, lots of mashing, lots of mixing, lots of chopping by hand. Everything was cooked by instinct. Ingredients added by eye using all their senses. Especially the fufu. They wanted this to be a highlight of the meal. More team work needed, more hard work for that well worn fufu stick. The first attempt wasn’t right - they had to start again. They weren't using the usual flour they would choose. They talked about a ‘Gumma’ flour but we couldn’t manage to work out how that translated. They were using plain flour - it wasn’t quite playing ball. They swiftly emptied the pan and started again - something that takes great confidence and experience. Too often I’m found adjusting this sort of mix with more water, more flour and more wasted time when I end up with three times the quantity of failure and no way of saving it. They didn’t throw the mix away - I still wonder what it later became?!
By now the smells of the kitchen had added to the rhythm and started to form a full sensory wonderland - bursting with the smell of golden coloured, fat rendered caramelised lamb. One of the kitchen smells I would bottle up if I could. Not sure Boots would be ready for how greasy of a perfume it would be?!
The business of the kitchen suddenly began to quieten, heat was reduced, the chatter slowed, lids were placed on the stew to be left to slowly tenderise and the fried lamb was left to rest.
I was left staring and slobbering over the fried lamb chunks wondering how on Earth everyone else were controlling themselves. Thinking ‘please tell me if this is the snack while the stew cooks????’
I was fascinated by the lack of seasonings and aromatic flavours added to the pan. By now I would have pummeled this with garlic, maybe ginger and almost certainly raided the spice cupboard. They had added a healthy amount of salt to the pan but not much more. When I say healthy, I am talking from a cook's perspective, not a heart specialist. They said that the spices didn't need to go in yet….trust the process, keep your mind open, Steve.
Conversations moved away from food. All the lads were big football fans, all playing for a local team. The Chef was a big Arsenal fan……wearing a Liverpool shirt! That was a little surprising but actually after consideration its just another example of how the priorities of these lads was spot on. The importance of something as futile as what football team you support is far below your love of the game itself. A part of football culture that dumbfounds me! This pressure to pledge allegiance to a badge that has to then encompass your entire identity. Why can’t people show the same allegiance and passion to the food they eat?
Another dish was quietly being created in the back of the kitchen and there was some excitement about this. Not only by the lads but also by Tom, their key worker who had arranged the willingness of the lads. Neatly chopped vegetables, again in hand rather than on a board, tomatoes, cucumbers, onion mixed with a generous spoon of peanut butter and lime juice. This seemed to be a favourite in the house (obvious from the size of the jar of peanut butter they drew from the fufu stick cupboard).
As cooks these lads were extremely generous. From the smile-inducing ‘pinches’ of salt to the generous amount of garlic they crushed, chopped and mashed to add to the stew, it was obvious that these guys loved to eat, they loved flavour, they also loved to cook. They used some lightly crushed coriander seeds. They were really keen to show me this bag of spices. They were delighted that they had a shop nearby that sold it. I’ve only ever seen coriander in whole or ground form - this middle ground was interesting. Without a pestle and mortar it would be hard to recreate. To these lads it was integral to get the balance of flavour just right.
The kitchen rhythm had picked up again. The lamb was sufficiently tender to remove the lid and the stew simmering and bubbling now packed with cumin, coriander, garlic and potatoes and the beat was coming from the sounds of tasting spoons clunking on plates, tapping on the side of the pans and the enthusiastic debates as to what the stew needed. A little more salt, a little more cumin, plenty more garlic before a consensus and nods all round. Now it was just to wait for the potatoes to cook until they just fell apart. They wanted the potatoes to partly thicken the sauce as much as add substance.
The lads had a final trick up their sleeve. From deep in the freezer, a ball of frozen beef mince was unveiled. It came from a box of pre-portioned beef mince, each ball a perfect portion for one. These lads are way ahead of their age in terms of planning in the kitchen. In fact, I would say they are in front of most of the Western world. A focus on saving food waste and a proper nod of respect towards food itself.
He put the beef to work in a small pan with some onions, plenty of oil and a high heat. Nicely caramelised it was met with some more neatly chopped fresh tomatoes and pinch of cumin powder and a really generous glug of natural yoghurt. The vigorous simmering slightly split the yoghurt, some of the beef fat now orange, glistening, shimmering on the surface and some slight, small sort of curds forming. He finished the dish with a proper cheffy style flourish of salt. A properly confident finishing touch to a properly enticing pan and the best 5 minutes of cooking you could ever imagine. This high heat cooking really has got some legs! The use of yoghurt for the entire sauce is something I haven’t used before but something that I have now safely stored in my repertoire. I watched it simmering, dreaming of this sort of creamy ragu being splashed over a heavily buttered piece of sourdough.
The confidence these lads had in the kitchen was delightful and way ahead of their age. When it came to finishing all the dishes, it was generous dousings of lemon juice, pinches of salt and cumin thrown from height across entire dishes. The confident turning out of the fufu in one swift movement and the confidence to just plonk the food in the middle of the table and invite us to eat without any fuss.
The table was packed with generosity and thoughtfulness, not just in the way they cooked but they piled up a loaf of Warburton’s Toastie white sliced bread (their favourite) and they bought out a pack of bottled water. An unnecessary extravagance for us, but by their own words, tap water wouldn't be good enough for their guests. It’s always the small but thoughtful gestures that amplify the enjoyment of any meal.
I’ve never eaten a meal entirely with my hands, or at least not without my mum telling me off from across the room. They offered cutlery but I wanted to experience this wonderful lunch the way it was intended. So it was balls of fufu and torn chunks of Warburton’s sliced bread as the carrier for all the deliciousness. I watched with intent as the lads ate. There was such a delicate grace to how they eat and share with their hands. An effortless way that they delivered each mouthful without their fingers ever touching their lips. I tried to replicate it but failed miserably. From their perspective, I can imagine that it was fairly off putting to be sharing their beautiful food with a slobbering zoo animal shovelling things into his mouth with wild abandon but they very graciously didn’t make any indication that this was the case. I took matters into my own hands (not the food) and went to make myself a finger bowl to at least make an effort to wash my hands between chobbling mouthfuls.As you may have gathered by now I was completely taken aback by this lunch. Not just the flavours but the confidence and the hospitality of these lads. It was such a memorable and educational experience for me. A joyful lunch devised and cooked so methodically and with such care.
Their ingenuity and resourcefulness was one of the things that stood out. Of course it shouldn't have been a surprise in any way when considering the journey they made to get to this exact point in their lives. Their entire outlook was about making the most of what they had. Whether it was forging a fufu stick from the garden or whether it was using the handleless broom to sweep the floor on their hands and knees and using their fingers to pick up what a dustpan and brush would have sorted in a second. Out of interest, we offered to buy them a new broom and dust pan but they couldn’t see the value in owning one - a waste of money that no doubt would have been more useful for them elsewhere. To these lads, having to use a little bit of elbow grease or an extra few precious minutes to complete a task was hardly an inconvenience. Such a powerful mentality to have and such a good one to direct towards food and in particular, cooking.
I couldn’t bring myself to tell them that I had a gluten intolerance. When they had gone to such generous lengths to host us, I had to bite the bullet, or in this case, the gluten laden fufu and my first piece of white bread in 3 years (and what an orgasmic moment that was!!!) - the least I could do was put up with the 2 belt loop bloating and the 4 days of constant flatulence…all apologies directed to my wife and kids…
I am eternally grateful for the lessons I learnt during this lunch. My lunch finished on a thought about choices. Simply having a choice is a privilege so many of us take for granted and yet its something so many people are looking for. A simple choice. But when given a choice and we get used to that, what do we choose? So often its to be wasteful, especially when it comes to food. We choose not to fulfill the hope that we are so fortunate to have. We so often choose to prioritise our laziness at the expense of vital resources. Something this lunch has made me very conscious of.
In the house there were aspiring engineers, scientists, soldiers and a TikTok influencer with over 150k followers teaching people how to build accounts like his, these weren't just 5 willing lads, they were capable and talented people and hosts full of pride that chose on a daily basis to ignore mundane inconvenience, constantly looking at the bigger picture and with aligned priorities and a clear message that there is more to just life than pretty much anything you own. All of them with an almost aspirational level of respect for themselves, each other, food and for life in general. A respect for what they have without a constant and burning desire for more
I am always gobsmacked that there are people in this country who firmly believe that people like these lads don’t deserve a chance or a shot at life over here and that they aren't welcome.
I left wondering if we in fact deserved to have them.
