Canned Traditions

A paper here from AMERICAN ANTHROPOLOGIST, 2007 on "how technologies used in food production in West Africa are referenced in the brand names and packaging of processed African foods sold in the United States." - looks at the branding/ pakaging design, perceptions, change in cuture etc.

and at the beginning of 2008 KOO launched its "Samp & Beans in a can" (Samp & Beans Original, Samp & Beans in Curry Sauce and Samp & Beans in Meat Flavoured Sauce to meet all different tastes and occasions. it was awarded the Symrise/Food Review New Product Competition 2008 award.

wonder if there's something in looking at/ tasting canned/ canning traditions?

Not down in any map; true places never are

As for Melville in the 19th century, so it is now.

Blighted Joburg (town/inner-city) is on something of an upswing - in the popular imaginary at least. There's Hotel Yeoville, a lyrical document of loves and lives in ex-bohemia; there 's Yeoville Studio at Wits, an architecture/urban-planning experiment that, among other things, has produced this guide to eating a whole continent without leaving town.

The Yeoville eating guide is a map of the future: it's a map of potential delight for those who dare. Meanwhile, what of those who are? Right here in Joburg, there are maps of Ethiopia, Senegal, Côte d'Ivoire, Mozambique, Somalia, Zimbabwe, Pakistan, Bangladesh and more; maps of the present; carried and communicated and explained and rearranged every single day.

The nomad’s way of doing business: A guide to Somali commerce

A story on Somali entrepreneurship in Kenya, links in with the Somali shops in SA targeted in so called xenophobic violence but also of interest are the Quran Schools as alternative education institutes and the idea of "inda adheeg" (audacity).
You step off the brightly coloured matatus; music is blaring and the touts are shouting for more passengers. Immediately you alight, a blast of hot air flashes across your face, then a wave of choking dust quickly replaces it. While you try to comprehend it all, drivers shout from their windows and horns compete for attention. Amidst it all, you grasp the syllables of an incomprehensible language and the unpleasant chorus of hawkers trading their wares. You are in Eastleigh, the commercial hub of Nairobi and the heartbeat of Somali entrepreneurship.

Here, paradox reigns supreme. Stores selling Islamic literature and recordings of the Quran sit right next to shops stocked pile high with Khat. Motorcycles ferrying goods and people are fitted with ambulance sirens in order to manoeuvre through the grid-locked traffic (here, all the rules you learnt in driving school are broken; it is probably the only place in Kenya you can drive on the right side of the road).

All this pandemonium however belies the real story of Eastleigh; that of bustling business and cut-throat competition. Capitalism may not have had quite a grip here; small businesses exist amicably alongside big establishments. They even compete!

Eating to live or living to eat?
One of the biggest enterprises that are thriving in Eastleigh is the restaurants. Somalis love their food; it stems from a long tradition of contact with Arabs and Italians, both of whom uphold the institution of food in high esteem. After many hours of hard work (shops in Eastleigh open as early as 6 AM), many businessmen close up for lunch and raid the countless restaurants that dot the landscape of Eastleigh.

You would be forgiven to announce that this neighbourhood has the most restaurants per square kilometre in Kenya. Wardheer Restaurant and Snacks, Big Mack Two, Chess Café, Al-Amin Restaurant, Gulf Palace Restaurant and the list of eateries are countless.

“One of the key investments in Eastleigh is the restaurant business,” says Paul Kioko, who is the manager of Kilimanjaro Food Court, popularly known as KFC. “We receive customers from all over Africa, Dubai and Europe, therefore, we need to be able to invest wisely and make our customers feet at home,” he added.
KFC sits primly at the epicentre of business and has become a magnet for Somali businessmen, expatriates and Kenyans looking alternative gastronomy. The food here features an all-rounded menu that includes Somali food, African dishes and an array of fast foods. Have you ever heard of Camel Pizza? It is found here. There is also the influence of Arab and Italian cuisine where menus read dishes like Spaghetti Firitato and Makaroni Al Forno.

“The day I ate in Eastleigh,” says Selma, a Moroccan student in Kenya who recently visited the area. “I felt like I was in a Moroccan wedding. The portions were huge, the meat was so tender and the spicing was perfect.”

This success story is being replicated across town. KFC has just opened another branch in Nairobi’s Upper Hill area while other restaurants such as Al-Yusra and City Star have opened up in the Central Business District (CBD).

Remittances from the diaspora have also provided the adrenalin rush that has characterized the bustle and quick-paced tempo of Somali businesses. These transfers of money are facilitated by a unique system of money-transfer known as Hawala. Companies such as Dahabshiil and Kaah Express are at the forefront of these services. The word express attached to the company’s names bear significance. Money sent from the United States is paid to the recipient instantaneously, say in Nairobi.

“Hawalas are very important when discussing Somali economics,” says Dahir Sheikh Ahmed, a member of the Eastleigh Business Community. “They are very effective and at some points, they are even able to deliver money to war-torn places like Somalia, where NGOs and UN agencies fail to reach.”

Yet, on many occasions, money-transfer companies have been come under scrutiny with accusations of money laundering, tax evasion and supporting terrorist activities. The biggest manifestation of this phenomenon came after the 9/11 attacks, when the United States forcibly shut down the operations of Al-Barakat, which was the biggest Somalia-based remittance company at the time.

Quran Schools:
While the older generation haggle over the prices of their commodities, young Somali children attend Quran schools known as 'Dugsi' in Somali. Dugsis are another prevalent facet of the Somali society and life in Eastleigh. In fact, they are the alternative curriculum of early childhood education for Somali children.

According to an article published by Bildhaan, a Somali studies journal, “Observers have noted that children who attend Quranic schools tend to pick up learning at the formal school much faster.”
Over the years, schools have opened up in Eastleigh to serve the education needs of the younger generation. It has however been hard abandoning the role of the Dugsi. Teachers have responded to this by combining both systems of education and coming up with an integrated system. Under this system, the first lesson of the morning is say, Quran then followed by science or mathematics and then a lesson in Arabic studies.

Macallin Hussein, a Quran teacher who teaches a madrassa in Nairobi says that this system of education is very limited to few estates, but might increase in the long run. “The spread of madrassas encourages this system of education,” Hussein says, “so that as students learn Quran, they also do not fall back on formal education.”

Rome wasn’t built in one day, Eastleigh was:
Buildings in Eastleigh come up like paper castles; so you would like to think. A mall here, a building there, a block of apartments to the right and more unfinished buildings everywhere you look. Here, real estate is a gem, quite literally at times. Rent rates have spiked within a short period. Land developers are sweating as they try to meet the seemingly insatiable demands of an unending list of tenants. It is an architects’ mecca, a bazaar for contractors; its like a permanent parking lot for construction equipment.

Tucked along the corners of many streets in the neighbourhood are booking offices for different bus companies. You can count as many as 10 different bus companies such as Maslah, Ocean Bus Services, Gateway, Dayah, e-coach, Bilal and many more. They link Eastleigh and its residents with different parts of the country such as Mombasa, Garissa and to refugee camps such as Kakuma and Dadaab. Airline companies such as African Airways Express, Jubba airlines and Daallo Airlines offer transport to different parts of the world.

These planes carry more than passengers and ordinary cargo. They also carry Khat, a mild stimulant and a cash cow for many Somali businessmen. Everyday at 3 PM, pick-up trucks driving at gravity defying speed make a ceremonious entry into Eastleigh carrying sacks of Khat. Some of the cargo is off-loaded and distributed locally while another batch is prepared, packaged and sent to the airport to be exported to the Middle East, Somalia and the UK. Some estimates state that up to $ 800,000 worth of the mild stimulant is exported daily by Somali businessmen.

“Khat was an important business venture during the 80’s and 90’s,” says Mr. Ahmed. “However, there is a tendency that when Somali traders make money out of it, they no longer want to work in it.”
The dislike of this business endeavour is related to the fact that khat is considered Haram or prohibited by Islam.

Globalization is causing Eastleigh to embrace the idea of diversity of businesses and division of labour. If you have a keen eye you will notice something interesting: every street in Eastleigh has at least one pharmacy, but that is on average. Kipanga Athumani Street which leads to the residential suburbs of Eastleigh has nine pharmacies, some right next to each other; call it health consciousness or blatant paranoia. I leave it to you. Did I mention cosmetic shops?

If you weren’t quite satisfied with the menus of the restaurants in Eastleigh, take a walk on the Second Avenue. On offer are Somali cookies, dates and Halwa, a sweet form of pastry, that is made wuith nuts. Everyday at 4 PM, young Somali men go around the malls selling different kinds of snacks. You never get hungry in this place. The pricing is quite convenient too. Think of it as quality food with a Chinese price tag.
Speaking of the Chinese, they are here too. They deliver textiles, electronics and a number of goods that are stocked in many shops in Eastleigh. The language of money is a universal one in case you were worried about language barriers.

“Here, success is not about the beautiful business plan you have in mind. It is about taking risks,” says Suleiman Abdullahi, a university student who has lived in Eastleigh all his life. “All the guidelines in the rulebook of entrepreneurship or broken or proven wrong. Risk plays a major component of the economy, but there is something more important; in Somali it’s called inda adheeg. Audacity.”

The ugly Eastleigh
Away from the shining malls and the warm ambience of Eastleigh’s restaurants, a different story is told by stakeholders of Eastleigh’s businesses. It is a tale of how they are forced to endure the horrid stench of raw sewer, pot-holed roads and an indifferent local authority. These factors have coupled to make Eastleigh the jewel in the dumpsite; quite literally.
Recently, a high court ruling on a case that was filed by three Somali businessmen stated that the Nairobi City Council shouldn’t collect taxes from over 3000 traders until basic services are delivered to the residents.

Traders here continue to reiterate very passionately about the role they play in the country’s economy; creating employment opportunities for thousands of Kenyans, while attracting foreign investment and finance. From Khat to clothing and hospitality, this area continues to play a role in shaping a country determined to be a middle-income nation by 2030.

“We may not be the backbone of this country’s economy but we play our bit. It would help to get a little incentive from the authorities concerned,” contends Suleiman Abdullahi whose family also runs a number of businesses in the area.

“Although it is difficult to spot how things work, one certainly feels that there is good flow or liquidity of goods,” says Joakim Arnoy about Eastleigh, a master’s student from Norway. “I enjoyed it, it really felt like a Middle-Eastern bazaar.”
First published here

April 10th edition of the New York Times: editorial entitled The World Food Crisis

Critical look at world bank’s genetically-engineered Green Revolution as “a political strategy designed to gain and keep control over the Global South’s food systems firmly in the hands of northern corporations and institutions.”

*Raj Patel is the author of "Stuffed and Starved: The Hidden Battle for the World
Food System" and Eric Holt-Gimenez is the Executive Director of Food First (www.foodfirst.org).

*Henry Saragih is the International Coordinator for La Via Campesina.

Food security

The Global Food Crisis

Riots in Haiti , Burkina Faso, Cameroon,Cote d'Ivorie, Egypt, Guinea, Mauritania, Mexico, Morocco, Senegal, Uzbekistan, Yemen and more. Massive crisis in Somalia

Sky rocketing prices due to rising fuel costs, weather problems as well as the push to create biofuels from cereal crops.

World bank’s genetically-engineered Green Revolution

US farm subsidies

Robert Berold > an alternative take on farming (see Drive Out Hunger: The story of J.J.Machobane of Lesotho by Robert Berold & J.J. Machobane and People's Workbook a manual of rural practical skills by Robert Berold et. al.)

Comparison to Cuba’s response to the food crisis created by the collapse of the Soviet Bloc in 1989?

“Nongqawuse pattern” - Achille Mbembe

McSweeney's: Reviews of New Food

Canned Brown Bread

Submitted by Lauren Hudson

Every autumn, back in my years spent at F.E. Bellows Elementary, our school would hold a food drive just before Thanksgiving. This would be when we kids were told by our teachers to bring in canned food for people less fortunate than us, and that the class with the most cans at the end of a set period would win a pizza lunch or some other food that didn't come from a can.

This (obviously) meant war. Each class wanted that goddamn pizza lunch. Kids would go home and ask for cans of food from their mothers, who, being the good citizens of the community that they were, would garnish us with a few items (usually the stuff that had remained dormant on shelves for months). But every kid knew two or three cans wouldn't be enough to win the fucking pizza lunch, so, once the lights went out, we would sneak into our respective kitchen cupboards and steal a few cans from our mothers' stores of food. Not wanting to expose our tactics, we were sure to only take one or two cans at a time—always from the back of the shelf. Anything more would be noticeable and warrant punishment.

In fourth grade, I was assigned the task of food drive organizer. I was ecstatic and also anxiety-ridden: it was my job to produce results. If we won I would be loved and applauded! On the other hand, if we lost, I would be to blame and everyone would fucking hate me. I would probably have to eat lunch alone for at least four days, maybe even a week.

As organizer, it was my task every morning to stand by the big cardboard box by the front of the room and receive and record all the canned donations from the other students as their names were called for attendance, and encourage everyone to do better, to do more. One day during role call, as the drive was winding down and each class particularly starved for a cheese and sauce filled forty-five minute victory lunch, one of my fellow classmates, Michelle Channing, was called by the teacher and proceeded to bring up an oversized can.

"What is that?" I asked.

"Bread."

"What?"

"Canned bread."

"What do you do with it?" I asked.

"Make left-over sandwiches."

This fucked me up. Bread came in a plastic bag, not a can. I took the canned item from her and inspected it. It read: "canned brown bread." I threw the can in the wrapping-paper covered cardboard box, marked down another item donated by our class, and didn't give the canned food much thought after that. We lost the drive that year. I only had to eat alone for three days.

Years later, while flipping channels, I came across the Good Eats with Alton Brown episode where he cooks brown bread in a coffee can. FLASHBACK! Remember the girl in fourth grade that brought in canned bread for the food drive? Did that shit still exist or was it a thing of the past? Phased out like Fruity Yummy Mummy cereal and Giggle Cookies?

I immediately felt the need to do a little R&D and walked over to the 24-hour A&P super mart. As the automatic doors slid open I felt a wave of panic: where would I look? Should I start in the canned food section? Logically, one would think bread would be placed next to other bread, but instinct told me this was not the case. Not knowing where to begin, I started down the produce aisles, as they were (and always seem to be) closest to the entrance, and proceeded to walk down the remaining aisles in search of my prize—all the while trying my best not to look out-of-my-mind high at 2:30 am.

After hitting the pasta and juice aisles, and becoming increasingly nervous that I was being shadowed by an A&P employee, I started to think that canned bread no longer existed, and that I would have to think of something else to buy as to not arouse suspicion. (Paper towels? Didn't we just run out?) But, as I turned down aisle seven, I learned I was wrong—holy shit was I wrong! Right there, sitting between the vegetarian baked beans and corned beef hash, was the same oversized can of brown bread that I remembered from my youth. I made a beeline for the register, paid my $2.59 plus applicable tax, and walked back home.

Upon entering my apartment, I sat down at my kitchen table to inspect my canned good. The label looked enticing: a loaf of hearty brown bread resting on a wooden slab set in front of a glowing hearth. Directions read: "REMOVE both ends of can. If necessary, gently push loaf out one end with a spoon."

I shook the can. It made no sound. This struck me as foreign to all other canned food experiences; the silence departing far from the gelatinous "sllllshhhh" noise that is indicative of whatever solid packed in liquid you would soon be ingesting.
I followed the directions and opened both ends of the can. It did not come out. I used a spoon, like the directions had instructed me to do, and, with a little force, it slid out onto the plate. There it was—can indents and all! I inspected my find and questioned my next move. How should I eat it? Should it be toasted with butter? What was the proper way to cut it? Would it have a crust?

I decided on slicing off the edge closest to me and trying it just as it was so I could experience canned bread in its pure form. Upon cutting into I discovered it was denser than I thought it would be. I took a small bite and its weight hit me head on. This was not what I expected of bread. This was some heavy mound of molasses-infused carbs. This was the fruitcake of bread, leading you to believe it would be good and wholesome, but instead as misleading as hell.

Not wanting to waste my purchase, and also to justify the last forty-five minutes of my life, I finished about one-third of the loaf and covered the rest in plastic wrap, asking myself what I would do with the remaining piece. (How long would canned bread last once opened anyway? Would it go stale just like other bread? If so, could it be made into croutons?)

As I pondered the remaining brown bread's fate I was certain of one thing and one thing only: I wasn't about to go and make a leftover sandwich that was for sure.

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Fabulous Frutini Gum

Submitted by Matthew Mesick

My mother wouldn't let me chew gum. Her rationale was that it wasn't gentlemanly. She was correct, her boarding school- and Seven-Sisters-educated mother had taught her well; and my observations gleaned from movies featuring Douglas Fairbanks confirmed this.

But when I was in medical school, in one of my first acts of rebellion of my life, I thought I would take up gum chewing. I asked my younger brother (who while playing baseball used to mix his Red Man chew with bubble gum) which one I should try.
"Here," he said, slapping an orange packet in my hand.

My parotid and sublingual glands, overcompensated for the artificial sweetener in their midst, shot forth a hot stream of saliva, rich in enzymes, which, were the sugar real, would have broken the bonds and released the chemically stored energy for use by my body. But the active sites did not accommodate the sorbitol, and peptides were spilled, onanastically. My masseter and temporalis muscles strained under the load, and my taste buds and olfactory receptors transduced myriad signals to my cerebral cortex. I was weakened by the experience, as my knees buckled slightly.

"What do you call it?" I asked.

"The real name is Fabulous Frutini, but we just call it Angel Poon."

"Why is that?"

"Because if you were to go down on an angel, this is what it would taste like."
I thought it tasted more like a "Nada-Colada" or "Banana Runts," than the savory, salty warmth I associated with the female anatomy, but I gave him a nod of assent, "Fabulous Frutini indeed."

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Psychedelic Mini-Brownies

Submitted by Kevin Dyerson

I've made psychedelic brownies for a long-time, but now I've started making psychedelic mini-brownies. These are really good cause lots of the time you just want things to be more psychedelic. And you can make lots of them at once and then stash them all over. And then when you want things to be more psychedelic you can have one or two, and if you want things to be really psychedelic you can have four or five. And you sorta over bake them so they get dry and storeable. And you put them in small containers for when you want to make things more psychedelic. Like if it's a long boring day at your dumb job and you want to make the afternoon a little more psychedelic you can have one. Or if your wife is getting all naggy and saying stuff about things you're not doing and you want to make things more psychedelic. Or if the work you brought home is just hanging over your head and you just need, like, for things to be more psychedelic. These are all good times to have psychedelic mini-brownies around.



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