My roots are African. The birds I remember, the fruits I ate, the trees I climbed, they're African.
It's obvious that the rest of the world loves high African culture - African culture, period.
George Kimble said, 'The only thing dark about Africa is our ignorance of it.' So let's start shedding light on this amazing eclectic continent that has so much to offer.
We know so much about the European food story, and we're getting to know about the American food story; but we know so little about the African food story.
For as long as I can remember, I have been passionately intrigued by 'Africa,' by the word itself, by its flora and fauna, its topographical diversity and grandeur; but above all else, by the sheer variety of the colors of its people, from tan and sepia to jet and ebony.
I grew up in an African household, so lots of chicken, lots of rice. We ate Jollof rice, a very West African dish.
I love Africa in general South Africa and West Africa, they are both great countries.
I like to make bombueti, which is basically the South African national dish. It's basically a South African curry shepherd's pie kind of thing.
When you're in Portuguese-African Brazil, or Lisbon, or Mozambique, sometimes piri piri is used as a condiment. Sometimes piri piri is just spices from a jar, and sometimes it's made with garlic, olive oil, cilantro, parsley, and some light chilies.
When I visit my brother in South Africa, I order things I've only seen in zoos. Little deers and kudu, all the mammals you would never think of eating.
I wish I could spend more time in Africa. I have this intense sense of complete relaxation and normality here.
My favourite dish is from Congo, the native country of my father. It's called Poulet a la Dakatine and is made from chicken, peanut butter and spinach.
I love Franschhoek, and straight off the plane, I went to the incomparable Quartier Francais, on the main street, for breakfast. This small hotel and restaurant is regularly near the top of every poll for best hotel and restaurant in Africa.
Africa? A book one thumbs Listlessly, till slumber comes.
