Two weekends ago, I attended a function deep in the heart of Murang’a that explained why more and more people would rather fork out more money, even in the midst of this depressing economy, to pay a caterer to cook for their guests.
The function was to celebrate a daughter who had graduated with a Master’s degree. Like happens in shags where everyone knows everyone, the homestead was packed to the rafters with guests.
As you all know, the highlight of any party is the food, and after lengthy speeches from aunts and uncles and a grandmother, who all claimed that they had contributed in some way to the young woman’s achievements, the guests were restless and hungry, and could not wait to tuck into the feast that had been laid out for them.
When the MC finally managed to wrest the microphone from the last auntie, who declared that the graduate had exhibited signs of greatness from a young age, the hungry masses were finally given the greenlight to queue for the food. By the time we ‘Nairobi’ people rose from our seats to join the msafara that would lead us to the food, the queue was from here to Kinoo.
After what seemed like eternity, we finally got to the tables where sufurias the size of mini mountains held copious amounts of food. Obviously, food was not the problem because it was there in plenty, but there was a problem, and it was the wanting skill of the many cooks that had prepared it.
The mound of rice had been cooked to the consistency of ugali, while the heaps of chapati had been cooked to submission such that most were blackened and as stiff as a plate. As for the beef stew, it must have been cooked by a Njeri – the peas, potatoes, carrots, dhania, meat and tomatoes were leisurely swimming in a river of runny soup.
As you can imagine, everything, including the meat, was soggy and therefore devoid of taste, thanks to the generous amount of water that had been added to it.
Oh, and there was also chicken, only that it had been chopped into pebble size pieces, (probably to ensure that everyone got a piece) which had then been deep fried until they were as hard as stones. As for the cabbage, you could swallow it without chewing since it had been cooked until it became slippery. But the guests ate all the same, because hunger knows no boundaries.
By late evening when ‘Nairobi’ people were preparing to leave, the humongous sufurias were still half filled with food that would probably not get eaten. Talk of wastage.
Unfortunately, this kind of thing is bound to happen when you entrust your neighbours to cook for you when expecting a large group of visitors. By the way, since I come from Central Kenya, the logic behind putting potatoes into all kinds of stew and pouring a mtungi full of water is so that the food will be enough for everyone, and also to prevent your guests from choking on food...
I am, however, happy to report that my people have been making progress, and that our soup is no longer as runny as it was a few years ago.
The writer is editor, Society and Magazines, Daily Nation. Email: cnjunge@ ke.nationmedia.com
