Out of Africa

I had my heart set on fish prepared with charmoula, the savory North African marinade made with cilantro, parsley, garlic, toasted cumin seeds, paprika, lemon juice, salt and olive oil (and chilies, ideally). Alas, other than a scrappy looking salmon fillet, there was no fresh fish to be found at the market. I won't say I didn't panic. A call to check the status of our cilantro (negative), parsley (dubious) and lemon (affirmative) stocks didn't really put me at ease, though it did set my resolve to finish off the economy sized package of chicken thighs we'd stashed in the freezer. A tray of sweet potatoes, lightly oiled but otherwise naked, could roast in tandem with the chicken. I remembered that we had an abundance of garden tomatoes, including a colossal red-and-green striped heirloom beauty - thanks, A! - poised at peak ripeness. I recalled seeing a cucumber in Master's refrigerator, concealed among the deli meats and partially empy water bottles, and I could always count on a big bag of carrots and at least one onion. That sounded like the makings of kachumbari - a sort of Kenyan pico de gallo heavily inspired by the classic Indian cucumber salad (they should have patented it!) - a perfect Summer side.

I sliced the onion, seeded the cucumber, and soaked them in salted water. I find that this extra step, which keeps them mild and crisp, is always nice when they're to be consumed raw. The charmoula started with the cumin and a clove of garlic, pounded together into a paste, then pureed with the herbs, spices, and oil. The roughly chopped tomatoes, a shredded carrot, and cilantro joined the onion and cucumber in a large bowl, to be dressed with only lime juice and sea salt. I turned the thighs and the sweet potatoes once, but was otherwise free to get a jump on washing up the prep dishes while everything hummed along.

The food was delicious but, for me, it was even more gratifying to know how much pleasure Master took in it. He ate heartily, and it made me happy just to see him eat so well.