Food Nostalgia, Starring Peanut Butter

It’s funny how many of the foods I hated as a child are some of my favourites now. I could put that down to not having known better, or not yet having developed a “sophisticated palette”. While these are both valid reasons why one might turn to love the foods she hated, one more compelling reason might be the sense of nostalgia that comes with food you grew up eating.

Food, unlike many other tangible things, is a layered sensory experience. Sure, my younger self would never have understood this when mum prepared a stew made with dried meat and peanut sauce (called chimukuyu neDovi in Shona). I would have loathingly eaten just enough to avoid the “other children out there are starving” lecture. Having matured a whole lot, I now appreciate food nostalgia for the magical way it can transport you back to another time.

Food is a multi-sensory experience. Taste is the most obvious sense we think of when we talk about food, but there is also touch – from the contact you have with the food as you eat. We smell the food as we eat it, which enriches the flavour of the dish. The way the food looks can also have a bearing on the overall experience. Finally, the sound food makes as we chew it, also layers the experience of eating.

Many of us grew up eating something of a staple – a go-to meal or ingredient in the home or the community we grew up in. The food we ate as children can become a core formative memory, which stays with us well into adulthood, and can conjure up feelings of deep nostalgia. That is the reason why food has such as strong ability to transport us back to our childhood, and can conjure up the most magical feelings of comfort as we mature.

We always had the very best peanut butter – the kind where the peanuts were toasted to golden brown, and ground on a stone pestle and mortar, making the perfect combination of smooth and crunchy, and with just enough salt, nothing else. Before it became widely available commercially, peanut butter was something that was homemade – either by the lady down the street, or bussed in from our relatives in the rural areas. A simple product, it just got such a bad rap in the 80s, as our mothers in that era added it to virtually all dishes – from meat, to vegetables to rice.

I only now recognise the genius of cooking with peanut butter – especially at a time when resources were thin. It lends a rich, silky texture to food, has just enough oil to elevate an otherwise dry dish, and gives a dimension of flavour to food that salt alone cannot give. So, as I have tinkered with the nostalgia foods of my youth, I have found that additional dimensions – spices like chilli flakes and black pepper, add an even more complex flavour to a peanut sauce. I find myself adding it to the beautiful broken brown rice that is grown in rural Zimbabwe, and de-husked in a wooden pestle and mortar, to reveal a luscious red heart that makes the rice so rich and earthy. I add peanut butter to a dried beef curry, playing with other flavours like paprika and turmeric, and a bit of heat from the chillies. In addition, this super-food (in my book anyway) has immeasurable health benefits.

Growing up in the early 80s, we would often eat meals like dried meat or fish and peanut sauce (chimukuyu neDovi / bakayawa neDovi). These simple meals had so much flavour, and were so nutrient-dense, we only ever got a small serving with a whole lot of sadza. My favourite dish made with peanut butter was a pumpkin pudding called nhopi. Boiled or roasted pumpkins are mashed up with a bit of salt and sugar, then a generous amount of peanut butter is mixed in. I have, in recent years, experimented with nhopi, adding milk, eggs, a bit of flour, and a crust and transforming it into a pumpkin pie.  Served on a bamboo platter, it is the quintessential comfort food for me, something I like to visit over and over, as a sweet dessert, or an accompaniment to coffee or tea. It is current, but takes me back to my formative years, sitting around a fire, enjoying the comfort of a shared meal – starring peanut butter.  

Until next time, from my table to yours - may you always find beauty in the things that are made, and the memories that are shared.