TASTES LIKE MORE
Since embarking on a plant-based food pilgrimage to the country of her birth, British-Sierra-Leonean chef Betty Vandy has been reminded of her mother’s love with every bite
Groundnut soup has always been a reminder of her mother’s love, says plant-based chef Betty Vandy.
Cooking and sharing food is my personal love language, and preparing African food is a deeply gratifying and nurturing process, passed down by the now late women elders of my family, who guarded their kitchen time together fiercely. As a child, young teen and adult, the family kitchen was always much more than just a space to cook; rather, a place to gather among my aunties and cousins, listening to their grown-folk, unabridged conversations and debates over the peeling and chopping of Spanish onions, slicing of freshly washed imported sweet potato leaves, and making of aromatic, bubbling, hearty green stews in large, well-seasoned cast-iron pots. Each stage a ritual integral to the cooking and completion of the meal and its sharing.
My mother is a mindful cook. Without writing anything down, she knows to judge by eye, taste and timings. Only when I left home did I truly appreciate her traditional culinary skills and longed for her comforting Sierra Leonean home cooking. Leaving home and moving to
London as a young adult was exciting, but navigating my way through a new life also had its challenges. All Mum had to say during our checking-in phone calls was, “Come home this weekend, rest, I’ll cook your favourite groundnut soup.”
Before you could say, “London to Liverpool”, my return train ticket would be booked. Groundnut soup is so much more than just its delicious savoury yet sweet taste. It’s my assurance that no matter how vulnerable I may feel, I belong. I am connected to a woman who loves me unconditionally no matter what I’m going through. She may not be able to wave a magic wand over my situation, but she can be there to give comfort, encouragement and support. Food is also the love language of my African mother.
Travelling alone as a single, Black, British, 40-something woman across
West Africa was the awakening for which my restless and bruised soul hungered. I offloaded all my unwanted material possessions, downsizing my life into a 50-square-foot self-storage unit before booking a six-month return ticket to Ghana. Within seven months I had planned and prepared for my adventure.
My mission was to discover, document and learn, without judgment, the origins of African plant-based food through the farmers, street-food sellers, market men and women, rural village elders, even my Ghanaian flat mate, Rita, and anyone who could shed light on Ghana’s regional culinary history.
Exploring the street food, drink sellers and “chop bar” owners of Accra as well as the northern region of Ghana, from Tamale to Bolgatanga, and discovering resilient and physically strong elderly women farming the land, would always bring me back to thinking about my own mother. Without hesitation, I decided I would travel by road across Ivory Coast, Liberia and Sierra Leone to see more of Africa’s people, food and flavours. More importantly, to see my elderly Ma and Pa in their beautiful country of birth, Sierra Leone – only my second trip in 11 years.
Cooking here in West Africa has become a renewed experience from what it was. Now is a time of relearning, contentment, reminiscing and documenting. Mum is no longer physically able to cook. Instead she sits watchfully in her wheelchair, instructing me as I periodically hold the tasting spoon to her mouth, gently.
Rituals of crushing, grinding, chopping and frying are done by hand with care and attention to detail. My mother praises my groundnut soup and occasionally reminds me that it is as good as her own. We sit in mutual admiration of our team effort as the hunger is satisfied.
I have no one but my mother, all my African aunties and the women I have encountered on this journey to thank for my African culinary legacy.
This groundnut soup is my assurance that no matter how vulnerable I may feel, I belong”