GINGER, GARLIC, STEAK AND SALT.

 

I tried to recreate a dish that I vaguely remember my mama making while I was in my nursery to lower primary years.

This is all I recall…. there was ginger and garlic involved, just enough of it. She would buy steak from Onyango, the Jalejo butcher. This meat would then be tenderized by pounding it with a heavy chopping board, or rolling pin, safely tucked in cling film. When her ancestors would eventually tell her that the meat had had enough smacking, she would salt it, then add the garlic and ginger paste that she had earlier on demanded that I crush in the wooden pestle and mortar set. As I think of it now, the mortar we had was the heaviest I have seen in my life – could easily have been a weapon of mass destruction.

She would then lather the tender steak in the yummy salt-ginger-garlic mixture, roll it up with the help of the cling wrap, then use string to tie it up all over. She’d then cut the larger roll into smaller cylindrical shapes, about 2 inches in length, and either shallow fry while basting consistently, steam, or roast. It never mattered how she did it, for it always came out soul-snatching good. All this was done on weekdays, which meant I could carry some to school the next day. I am a little embarrassed to admit this, but I used these bitings to transact in school. I’d exchange them for company at break time, or a storybook, or just a session to pick the minds of the much older students. Pathetic, I know. My ingenuity was unmatched back then.

As per the predictable Crystal fashion, I set out to recreate this dish for dinner and I failed. Miserably. Somehow there was liquid in the final dish. The string gave way mid cooking. I didn’t crush the ginger and garlic to a fine paste as I used to back in the day due to some upper arm ache that has been a thorn in my flesh lately. And as if that was not enough of a misfortune, my fingers decided to be shaker-happy and too much salt ended up in the meat. One bite in and my tear ducts gave way.

What was supposed to be a thing of gentle memories turned into a memorial for my mama. I haven’t thought deeply of her in a while, so all this snuck up on me. Anyone who knew Loyce is familiar with how she’d invade your thoughts and force you to confront them. So here I was, dish turning cold, sobbing into the palms of my hands about God knows what. I remembered the random songs that she would break into while in the kitchen, or just about doing any other activity. I remembered lots of things about her, and in that moment, I ached for her.

All I had wanted was steak lathered in garlic and ginger, salted to taste, with mashed potatoes and veggies on the side. Instead, I cried me a river.