Sparing you the suspense: Here’s what I eat and drink in Rwanda

My morning meal was so remarkably German (smoked sausage and cheese) that it struck me I should maybe put a little post up about food. There’s so much to be said about food here that one of my roommates, who’s here doing a documentary project, is basically blogging only about food. I can’t say I’m quite that inspired, but here are some notable things about consumption here.:

The first notable thing is Mathil, the amazing woman who cooks here Monday through Thursday nights. She made a sort of chicken cacciatore that was out of this world last week, and then a spinach that almost made me write a poem. It was cooked perfectly, with some garlic and probably a little salt, and just a little cream. It was out of this world. The five of us living here agree that she’s a savior of sorts, because we would probably never cook on our own. The only down side is that being able to rely on Mathil, I spend much less time wandering the real markets here. I still haven’t been to the big stalls. Maybe this weekend.

Okay, on with the various menus:

This is a meat and potatoes country. Literally. Possibly the most common meal is brouchette — a kebab of goat, beef,
fish, or fish. Last night I had a sausage brouchette, which was a real treat. Usually you order fries on the side — or, if you’re a mzungu, that’s just what they bring you. But the best way to go is igitoki, scrumptuous plantains grilled alongside the brouchette. Last night, they came with sea salts — sea salts! — to dip if you wanted a bit of a kick. These are awesome.

It’s worth noting that most people, if they eat meat, only eat it once a day. And outside the city most people, if they eat at all, only eat that frequently, too.

I’ve taken to keeping a couple of things at the house: Rwandan challah (I’m not kidding), and smoked sausages. I don’t know what the Rwandan name for this bread is, but it’s sweet and braided, just like the kind my friends in Pittsburgh used to send us home with. Though here we’ve got something of a double-wide challah phenomenon; it’s a big loaf of bread.
You can get beef or pork sausages, and they’re so cheap it makes me wonder where the rest of my money keeps going. They hang in the shop, just like we digital natives imagine about America of Yore.

I also like to have lots of juice hanging around. The simplest way to do this is to buy a big ole bottle of papaya or passion fruit juice concentrate, which sludges out like syrup, and to add water. It’s delicious, and the concentrates are made by cooperatives around here. None of the nasty crap we can’t pronounce that goes into our concentrates at home.

Beverages. Taking a drink with someone — a Fanta or a beer — is an important part of Rwandan culture. You sip slowly and talk hours away. The three most popular beers here are Primus (brewed in Kenya or Burundi? I forget), Muetzig (thought of as a “Rwandan beer” even though it has such a German name), and Amstel Light. Primus seems to be a kind of Rwandan Bud, the sort of Everyman’s beer; Mutzig is slightly, though not much more, refined (Coors?), while Amstel is the micro-brew of Rwanda. Mutzig is frequently blamed for a nasty headache, so if you’re at all concerned about your next day’s ventures, best to stick to the Primus.

The key words here, if you are anything like me, are “y conge” — cold. If you don’t specify, you’ll get a warm Mutzig, and that’s just not any fun.

Treats. It’s funny how quickly your definition of treats can change. I still think about the spinach Mathil made last week (clearly). And last night, I went to a restaurant around the corner from our house and had gnocchi in a spinach-cream sauce, with bacon. Hmm, apparently I have a thing for spinach and cream. Anyway, it was delicious. These things somehow taste waaaay better than I remember chocolate tasting.

Then again, when Amy made amaretto-chocolate cupcakes with chocolate frosting from scratch for a recent party, I didn’t complain about having to eat one.