BY BECKY HADEED

I recently interviewed Ugandan Sophie Musoki for my weekly podcast, The Storied Recipe. Every guest of the podcast shares a recipe they cherish for its significance to their culture and memories. Then, we use that recipe to dive deep into my guest’s story and heritage.

Sophie shared her recipe for Kabalagala Pancakes with me. We talked at length about Kabalagala bananas. Sophie also taught me a great deal about Cassava: its growing patterns, the harvesting, drying, and grinding of the root, and many recipes that make use of Cassava. More significantly, Sophie shared the time that her father taught her that Cassava was a relatively recent introduction to Ugandan agriculture. Sophie describes how this revelation, along with other conversations with her parents or other elders, gave her a real urgency to learn about the food traditions of fellow Ugandans. She explores traditional Ugandan food now through her blog (A Kitchen in Uganda) and podcast (Our Food Stories). In my 90 minute interview with her, Sophie passionately expressed her mission to preserve ancestral food knowledge against the threats of technology, modernization, globalization, religion, and colonization against Ugandan’s food culture.

All this was fascinating and instructive to me and I was grateful to learn from Sophie. But the magic of the episode was the memories Sophie shared in her quiet, gentle, and melodic voice. She described gathering with family as the sun began to set. Food was, of course, the reason of this gathering. Sophie’s family in a communal area near their homes. They pounded Cassava together into flour and made the evening meal. Everyone had a different job, trading off as their arms tired. Children played, and as Sophie talked, I could almost hear their light and joyful laughter. As the evenings drew on, family members shared stories from their day. If the weather was good, they even stayed outdoors together to eat by the light of the moon.

In America, there’s a name for this hour between work and dinner, and it’s not a pleasant name: Arsenic Hour. I’ve heard the history of this name debated. Is it because the time is so busy and chaotic that kids can easily get into dangerous cupboards? Or is it because mothers are so overwhelmed with the chaos, noise cranky kids, and desperate need for adult support that they think of poisoning themselves?

Either way it shows the contrast between the typical rushed American lifestyle of independence and Sophie’s experience of community. Everything Sophie described was the opposite of my experience raising 4 boys. When they were young, I was stuck inside at sunset. Our bodies knew we should be outside in the golden light and calm air, but our schedules and our bellies called us indoors. Isolation overwhelmed me every evening and my son’s cranky cries for dinner filled me with anxiety. My kids clung to my legs, pulled silverware out of the dishwasher, or tossed food off their highchair. When my husband got home, it should have helped, but somehow his arrival only seemed to make me crankier. There was no space to discuss our day or to express fondness for one another.

As I listened to Sophie’s story, I couldn’t help but wish for what she had. There is another way to live that “Arsenic hour”. Sophie’s way capitalized on the calming effects of the outdoors and community, things that are available in America also, if only I’m willing to see them as the gifts they are. And this is why I love hosting my podcast. Every week, I get to learn from another friend about how to live life with the wisdom of their culture and the knowledge of their ancestors.

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About the author

Becky Hadeed is a mother to 4 sons, curious home cook, lover of extraordinary light, and host of The Storied Recipe Podcast.

Find episodes and recipes from around the globe, as well as carefully cultivated food photography, at www.TheStoriedRecipe.com or search The Storied Recipe in your favorite podcast player. If you’d like to be considered as a guest on The Storied Recipe Podcast, please reach out here.