Egg Salad Sandwich
I was wary of posting this because my last post was about food... but it is a pretty central aspect of my life.
There are three categories of food in Cameroon.
1) food I would eat in America
2) food that I probably would not eat in America, but eat regularly in Cameroon
3) food that I hope I never see or smell again in Cameroon
Most things probably fall under the second category. Things like stale corn flakes, powdered milk, chunks of beef fat, Wonder-like fluff bread. The first category usually takes a lot of time investment (unless my mom sent a box of Velveeta and shells… which would technically fall under the second category, though I can’t really understand how that’s possible after all-achu breakfast) and usually a perfect intersection of ingredient availability.
For instance, this morning I had an egg salad sandwich (category 1). I get eggs in town… typically the third or forth day en brousse the eggs disappear. I get 9, one breaks on the way home, I lose three to the cat and two are rotten. I miraculously had one egg left this morning.
This particular egg salad calls for Laughing Cow, an ultra-processed french cheese spread that comes in a little round box. The box consists of 8 individually foil-wrapped pie pieces of “vache.” The “cheese” has a shelf life like a twinkie and a melting point similar to tire rubber. At around 60 calories a slice, the most prevalent cheese-like thing in Cameroon can be consumed in two days at post. There were three pieces left this morning.
Lettuce is a rarity. No one really likes to eat it. If you manage to find a mommy in town that grows it despite the fact that no one but ex patriots and Peace Corps volunteers eat the stuff, it will have to be consumed the same day. Leave it overnight and half the bunch will be dark, semi-liquefied and supporting a small colony of millions of knats. Other option: grow it with seeds from America. My chief-like position in agriculture notwithstanding, I have a very difficult time growing things. The lettuce I planted came up in dense rows, grew about an inch, and then mostly died. This morning I walked down to the little box and picked out some 1-2 inch pieces that weren’t black or yellow. I managed a handful.
As Hellmann’s Light Mayonnaise seems to be an American thing, and all other mayo-like things are repulsive, I didn’t add it. Condiments rot at post. Ketchup, mustard, hot sauce. A delightful 4-dollar jar of raspberry jam will last a week, maybe two. You find by day four you’re adding jam to everything… a little on top of a boiled egg, plain pasta with butter and jam, hot water and jam. You eat a little at every meal. After day 6, you don’t ever want jam again… and leave the jar behind the door in the dark for two days. After someone brings some bread from town, you decide to add a little hot water to an empty jar of JIF to utilize the deliciously creamy residue… and reach for the raspberry jam that wasn’t more than a quarter gone. Except now its full… the ruby red of the jar has turned a fuzzy white… sea foamish maybe. Angry that your sandwich is ruined and you wasted at least 1,500cfa, you vow never to buy another jar of condiments again. In Yaoundé last week, Reese happened on a mustard deal that just could not be passed up. I added one spoonful.
Lastly, there’s bread to be dealt with. The typical bread in the NW looks like a brick. It’s not yeast bread, I don’t think… it has no poof on the top, no airy holes inside. Flat and light brown on every side, the inside of the bread is pure white and completely uniform. Despite the crappiness of the bread, my village doesn’t have it. It has to come from town, usually wherever you are in a vehicle waiting to move. Four teenagers will approach with 10 bricks stacked in their arms. “Whiiiite mhaaaan,” one will say. “Whiiiite maaaan, you need breahd? Support me.” I used to say, “no. I don’t eat your bread. If you used some wheat flour, then maybe I would buy.” Now days, I just buy four bricks for 1,000 francs… and give three to my neighbors. You would think that such a fake-looking loaf would be more twinkie-ish. It usually molds after two days. I had a half a loaf left this morning.
So, you see what sort of perfect synthesis this has to be (its not just a food thing… in general, product distribution, moistness and the number of Cameroonians in your living room determine the favorability of your day).
Oh, and the third category. There are these dog-chew-toy white and brown things in the market that curl inward… its dried cow skin. Then there are these wet, clearish-looking things they put in achu… those are also cow skin, but damp cow skin. Cow stomach is also a favorite achu meat… they call it “towel” because it looks just like a towel… but it’s not like eating a towel, its like eating a burned-off rubber tire. Then we have the dried, smoked carp on a stick. The dried shrimp you can smell from a kilometer away. And the scotch egg typically makes me gag. Then there was this one time, at the Ndu market, when we thought we found pumpernickel bread… and it was really something called “ground meat”…. And I mean like, they were pretending it was grown in the ground. Right out of a hobbit movie. It was similar to eating a spiced Barbie leg.
The End.
There are three categories of food in Cameroon.
1) food I would eat in America
2) food that I probably would not eat in America, but eat regularly in Cameroon
3) food that I hope I never see or smell again in Cameroon
Most things probably fall under the second category. Things like stale corn flakes, powdered milk, chunks of beef fat, Wonder-like fluff bread. The first category usually takes a lot of time investment (unless my mom sent a box of Velveeta and shells… which would technically fall under the second category, though I can’t really understand how that’s possible after all-achu breakfast) and usually a perfect intersection of ingredient availability.
For instance, this morning I had an egg salad sandwich (category 1). I get eggs in town… typically the third or forth day en brousse the eggs disappear. I get 9, one breaks on the way home, I lose three to the cat and two are rotten. I miraculously had one egg left this morning.
This particular egg salad calls for Laughing Cow, an ultra-processed french cheese spread that comes in a little round box. The box consists of 8 individually foil-wrapped pie pieces of “vache.” The “cheese” has a shelf life like a twinkie and a melting point similar to tire rubber. At around 60 calories a slice, the most prevalent cheese-like thing in Cameroon can be consumed in two days at post. There were three pieces left this morning.
Lettuce is a rarity. No one really likes to eat it. If you manage to find a mommy in town that grows it despite the fact that no one but ex patriots and Peace Corps volunteers eat the stuff, it will have to be consumed the same day. Leave it overnight and half the bunch will be dark, semi-liquefied and supporting a small colony of millions of knats. Other option: grow it with seeds from America. My chief-like position in agriculture notwithstanding, I have a very difficult time growing things. The lettuce I planted came up in dense rows, grew about an inch, and then mostly died. This morning I walked down to the little box and picked out some 1-2 inch pieces that weren’t black or yellow. I managed a handful.
As Hellmann’s Light Mayonnaise seems to be an American thing, and all other mayo-like things are repulsive, I didn’t add it. Condiments rot at post. Ketchup, mustard, hot sauce. A delightful 4-dollar jar of raspberry jam will last a week, maybe two. You find by day four you’re adding jam to everything… a little on top of a boiled egg, plain pasta with butter and jam, hot water and jam. You eat a little at every meal. After day 6, you don’t ever want jam again… and leave the jar behind the door in the dark for two days. After someone brings some bread from town, you decide to add a little hot water to an empty jar of JIF to utilize the deliciously creamy residue… and reach for the raspberry jam that wasn’t more than a quarter gone. Except now its full… the ruby red of the jar has turned a fuzzy white… sea foamish maybe. Angry that your sandwich is ruined and you wasted at least 1,500cfa, you vow never to buy another jar of condiments again. In Yaoundé last week, Reese happened on a mustard deal that just could not be passed up. I added one spoonful.
Lastly, there’s bread to be dealt with. The typical bread in the NW looks like a brick. It’s not yeast bread, I don’t think… it has no poof on the top, no airy holes inside. Flat and light brown on every side, the inside of the bread is pure white and completely uniform. Despite the crappiness of the bread, my village doesn’t have it. It has to come from town, usually wherever you are in a vehicle waiting to move. Four teenagers will approach with 10 bricks stacked in their arms. “Whiiiite mhaaaan,” one will say. “Whiiiite maaaan, you need breahd? Support me.” I used to say, “no. I don’t eat your bread. If you used some wheat flour, then maybe I would buy.” Now days, I just buy four bricks for 1,000 francs… and give three to my neighbors. You would think that such a fake-looking loaf would be more twinkie-ish. It usually molds after two days. I had a half a loaf left this morning.
So, you see what sort of perfect synthesis this has to be (its not just a food thing… in general, product distribution, moistness and the number of Cameroonians in your living room determine the favorability of your day).
Oh, and the third category. There are these dog-chew-toy white and brown things in the market that curl inward… its dried cow skin. Then there are these wet, clearish-looking things they put in achu… those are also cow skin, but damp cow skin. Cow stomach is also a favorite achu meat… they call it “towel” because it looks just like a towel… but it’s not like eating a towel, its like eating a burned-off rubber tire. Then we have the dried, smoked carp on a stick. The dried shrimp you can smell from a kilometer away. And the scotch egg typically makes me gag. Then there was this one time, at the Ndu market, when we thought we found pumpernickel bread… and it was really something called “ground meat”…. And I mean like, they were pretending it was grown in the ground. Right out of a hobbit movie. It was similar to eating a spiced Barbie leg.
The End.
posted by K at 10:25 AM
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