Cassava pancakes

Today Ella and I tried to recreate a traditional American brunch for our families. Menu options included banana pancakes (with Vermont maple syrup and Maine blueberry jam), scrambled eggs, hash browns with onions, pineapple, finger bananas, and passion fruit. Bacon, unfortunately, was out of the question, same with sausage links. We could have gone into town and substituted brochettes (goat on a stick) for the meat options, but it’s generally a tossup on a) quality, meaning fatty or not b) spiciness c) if they give you goat intestine. So that idea was scrapped. But we were determined to make it amazing, so yesterday we went to the market and bought everything, including a pan to make the pancakes on. Things started off hopeful and optimistic, the charcoal fire ready and roaring, but quickly deteriorated into despair and misery. I couldn’t find my measuring cups or spoons so we had to eyeball everything, not a big deal. But when my mama comes round to check on how we’re doing she asks what the white powder we’re using for the pancakes is. We answer flour. She answers no, this is not flour; this is cassava flour. Well, that accounts for the unusual yellowy and coarse consistency of the pancakes. We truck on, add a ton of sugar to the now cassava banana pancakes. With the sugar they tasted ok, not great, but normal pancakes wouldn’t have come out that great anyways. Battle wound #1: flipping a pancake oil splatters everywhere and creates a huge bubble on my middle finger.

After pancakes come the hash browns. Peeling the potatoes reveals purple veins running through every single potato. Hash browns now become hash purples. By this point we just don’t give a damn and we are determined to see this brunch through to the end. Toss in onions and oil. Add a lot of salt, pepper, and paprika (why the hell not?). Being in Rwanda for nearly two months, our noses were no longer acquainted with the aroma that was intruding in our senses. Something was weird…but good. FLAVOR!! Rwandans don’t have a taste for flavor, or anything for that matter. If it’s not bland they don’t like it.

After the hash purples come the eggs, all twenty of them. Probably the one food that stuck to its natural tendency of being what we are used to, only it was a little orangier than eggs back home, probably because the chickens here are allowed to live their chicken lives and make chickenier chicken eggs. Eggs complete, it’s time to eat. All in all, things came out as best as they could have given the circumstances, and was generally a more balanced diet than what I’m accustomed to here.

In summation, brunch in Rwanda: banana pancakes ---> cassava pancakes, hash browns ---> hash purples, yellow egg yolks ---> orange egg yolks, hot oil ---> bubble on middle finger