My friend, Louise, claims that the first sentence she heard me utter was when I asked my mother if she’d ever tasted the wax in her ears. I must have been sticking a grubby little finger into one of mine and testing it myself.
The wild edibles and indigenous food with which I create my bush gourmet cuisine is a bridge into a Zambia few are fortunate to witness. It’s a bridge to understanding both Zambia’s people and its terroir.
Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers;
A peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked;
If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers,
Where’s the peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked?
If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppadews and publicly taunted us with tongue-twisters, he might have been sued. The word peppadew is a trademark name.
Shake out your qualms.
Shake up your dreams.
Deepen your roots.
Extend your branches.
Trust deep water
and head for the open,
even if your vision
Quit your addiction
to sneer and complain.
Open a lookout.
Dance on a brink.
Run with your wildfire.
You are closer to glory
leaping an abyss
than upholstering a rut.
Last month we bid farewell to soggy Livingstone and flew into the brilliance of Africa’s culinary capital, Cape Town. It was a perfect time of year to visit. A sky of police-strobe-blue, reflecting a light so bright it cut deep into our pupils.
On March 8, 2017, Vanity Fair Italia published a story I wrote on my life in Zambia. Many of my followers have written to me requesting I publish the original, before it was translated into Italian.