I’ve always believed that one can understand the soul of a culture through its food, and nowhere is that clearer than in the rich tapestry of Cameroonian cuisine. There’s an impressive diversity here, forged by geography, history, and the hands of those who are masters at making do with what’s on hand. But don’t be fooled; this isn’t just about making do. It’s about turning the simplicity on its ear and creating something that’s sumptuous, flavorful, and undeniably Cameroonian.
Let’s start with Ndolé, the unofficial national dish. A stew of bitter leaves, nuts, and sometimes an ocean of oil, you could write poems about the juxtaposition of flavors in this dish. It’s nutty, it’s bitter, it’s rich — and when it’s served up with plantains or bobolo, a fermented cassava dish, it’s nothing short of a revelation. The bitter leaves are a test of the Cameroonian culinary acumen — too much bitterness and you’ve blown it, just enough and you’re hitting the high notes. The dish is a balancing act, and when it’s done right, it’s like a well-orchestrated symphony on your tongue.
Then there’s Kati Kati, grilled chicken that’s been hacked into bits and cooked with spices that make you feel like you’ve discovered fire all over again. The charring, the marinade, that smack of smoky goodness — it’s street food that contends with any Michelin-star dining experience in terms of sheer, unadulterated pleasure. However, it’s not just the flavors that matter; it’s the communal spirit of sharing that embodies Cameroonian food. Kati Kati is often devoured with friends and family, fingers first, formality last.
But it’s not all sunshine and roses. There are shortcomings that need to be acknowledged. Over-reliance on starches and oils can make some Cameroonian dishes calorically dense, which presents health concerns. And let’s talk about the Cameroonian Achilles’ heel: the scarcity of certain ingredients due to geographical limitations. You might crave the ocean’s bounty in the Sahelian north, but you’ll have to content yourself with the treasures of the land instead. Yet, somehow, this limitation is metamorphosed into dishes that feel whole and complete.
In true Bourdain fashion, remember that Cameroonian cuisine, like any great culinary tradition, isn’t a static exhibit in a food museum, to be gawked at from a polite distance. It’s loud, it’s messy, it’s alive. It’s food that demands you roll up your sleeves and engage with it, that invites you to a table where everyone — rich or poor, locals or strangers — is family. It’s an honest reflection of Cameroon’s history and its people’s indomitable spirit. And honestly, what more could you ask for out of a meal?
Siti Bane