Showing posts with label charcoal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label charcoal. Show all posts

4.1.22

Blue plastic burns green and other things I shouldn't know

Before covid, Greta Thunberg was making headlines pretty regularly. Once the pandemic took over, all thoughts of climate change and what we could do to save ourselves dissolved into the more immediate concern of how we could save the Western world from suffering. 

I think of Greta a lot these days. I've recently displaced myself to Gemena, a little village town in northern Congo, and am having to learn all new things. The most pressing: cooking on charcoal. I've compiled a list of secret tips for cooking with charcoal, although I am not sure who else will need them. I don't mean the fancy backyard grills lighting up American holidays or summer weekends. I mean the kind of charcoal that comes directly from burnt wood. 

A Google search turned up these images

But my new stove looked like this

My first weeks in Gemena were filled with challenge- a list so long I filled two notebook pages with the many ways Gemena was winning. She really beat me up the first two months. It didn't help that, between navigating water access- both drinking and washing, which don't come from the same source- and food foraging, I was also trying to secure electricity and internet connection to keep my doctorate studies going (under the haze of malaria.) Way too much to handle, especially since I could not figure out how to light the charcoal.  

My goal was one match, one bag and I can definitively say, after weeks of practice and perseverance, I have achieved that goal with consistency. But I still think of Greta often. Because the secret to lighting charcoal in Africa begins with a plastic bag. Before moving here, I was very energy conscious. Very plastic conscious. I had cloth grocery bags even for produce. I stuffed multiple fruits and vegetables into one bag, confusing and annoying the store clerks. I selected my purchases according to packaging and tried to do all the minor things that now seem very insignificant in the face of millions of women lighting thousands of plastic bags every day across the continent. 

While Greta is jetting around the globe in eco-friendly travel,  I'm busy releasing dioxins into the air every night to prepare my evening meal. The small black bags are the most common, but I don't fare well with them. They burn too quickly. Lighting charcoal with black bags is pro-level. I am still at intermediate. The (plastic) water bottles I purchase by the 6-pack come wrapped in the most desirable plastic for burning. It is heavy and thick. It sustains the flame long enough to ignite even the largest pieces of charcoal. The medium sized plastic bags are usually yellow (those seem to disintegrate in seconds) or blue. I have occasional success with the blue bags. The blue plastic burns a bright green and melts into thin rivulets that streak the sides of the charcoal. Once a piece of charcoal has some melted plastic adhered to it, it will burn for awhile. The green of the flame is mesmerizing. 

The thing about lighting charcoal, like most activities of village life, is that it takes total attention. There is no quick turning on the stove and heating up some water while you type a few last sentences of your term paper or tidy up the living room. No, with charcoal, you must sit and be attentive. You must be present. 

Initially, I was able to view this as meditative- a necessary and potentially healing moment in my day- a complete pause to do nothing but....well, burn toxic plastic, which did take away from the truly peaceful aspect. But flames are seductive. And blue bags have the most seductive burn. 

In order to achieve the one match, one bag goal there are a few preliminary steps. You have to choose the right charcoal. A mix of large and small pieces works best. Hollow out a little center area in the middle of your pile, creating a volcano-like dome. Prepare the plastic by holding the bottom, cupping your other hand around the bag and pulling it through. This creates a funnel like shape. It is important for the bag to be condensed enough to hold the flame but not so tight that it smothers out. Everything about fire is like this- a delicate balance between not enough and too much. 

Once the bag has a good shape, tuck it into the volcano. Nestle the charcoal in closer and light the bag. This part seems easy enough, but if you are using matches made in Congo, you can expect that several won't light, or the tips will spark and die out, the wooden stick might splinter, or the scratchy side of the box won't have enough phosphorus. Once you do get flame to bag, the trick is to make sure it catches with a living, growing fire. If the angle is not just right, the plastic will melt rather than catch fire. Melting plastic does not heat up the charcoal. You need the plastic to achieve a long burn with a steady flame. Once this happens, choose small, thin pieces of charcoal to gently place atop the fire . This is similar to a game of Jenga, removing pieces from the bottom to build up  around the top. You want the flame to have direct contact with charcoal. It is completely possible to have a slow steady burn that never actually gets the charcoal going. This is the attentive part. You cannot leave the charcoal to do it's own thing unless you gingerly, lovingly arrange all the pieces. You cannot achieve one match, one bag without proper set-up.

A strong steady burn

After the flame is going, whether green or orange or red, you then have the task of helping it spread. I think the next steps are optional. I imported these techniques from Kinshasa, where everyone is in a hurry. In the village, I don't really see anyone fanning their flames, but it's a tried and true from the city. A good fan will be made of cardboard or a stack of flat paper grouped together. Fanning your charcoal will help the heat spread faster and get you closer to the actual cooking part. It can take awhile to get the hang of fanning, as a technique, because too much oxygen kills the fire. Strong fanning motions can revive a flame that has gone out. It is very satisfying to bring back dying embers. 

After the charcoal is securely burning, you are ready to cook. It is helpful to have all your ingredients and meal plan prepared in advance. You have to think ahead. If you want warm water for bathing, or hot water for drinking tea later, or if you plan to make a two part meal- sauce and rice, for example- you should have everything measured and stirred and ready to go. In the beginning I experimented with two stoves, but that quickly evolved into the two pot method, since there are only two of us eating and we don't need to cook that much. Traditionally, people are preparing large pots of food for big families so they can't fit two pots on one flame. I think I can get a patent on the two-pot method.

One stove, two pots

The trickiest challenge of cooking with charcoal is having no refrigerator to store the food. Maybe not a problem for those large families, but for the two of us, avoiding food waste can be difficult. We have the most success with pizza, with or without cheese. It makes just the right amount for one meal. 

It took a few tries to perfect pizza over the open flame. A google search was helpful in this case. Best tip: cook one side of the dough and then flip, like a big pancake. After you flip, add sauce, cheese if available, and other toppings- like pondu, which is the most widely available vegetable here. Pondu, or manioc leaves, are eaten across Africa, though it goes by many different names and just as many recipes. In Congo it is mostly prepared with red palm oil, garlic, onions and occasionally dried fish or sardines. I've been advocating for pondu pizza since early Kinshasa days and I still believe it has the potential to be a great hit as a healthy snack item. 



My saga learning how to cook with charcoal was long and frustrating. Some evenings, I just couldn't win and my neighbor had to come over and light it for me, or bring some of her charcoal already warm and glowing. One night, a boy popped out from between a bamboo fence in the back. Apparently he'd been watching me struggle and came with a tool. It was a tin can with both ends removed. I didn't really understand how it was supposed to work, but he assured me it would be helpful. I wondered how many nights he'd seen me failing. Or heard me talking to myself, wondering why it was so hard, wondering if we were going to eat that night or not. He might not have been able to understand my English, but surely my body language and tone communicated everything. I was a stranger struggling to master an everyday occurrence. I can cross charcoal off my list for now, but it's a long list and there is much to learn.

4.3.18

The truth about charcoal

Mali is actually full of adventures- and that's the excuse for not writing so much. I recall my first weeks in Abidjan were filled with blog posts about nothing, minutiae. I am equally amazed at the sights of Bamako but a little overwhelmed with work in a way that I wan't when first moving to Abidjan.

I am also caught up in the living. And figuring out. And feeling a little lost. Which makes words hard to come by sometimes. After a recent trip to the country to see traditional painted houses- a worthy blog post to follow perhaps- I returned home to the dusty, congested city feeling out of sorts and overly fatigued. The fatigue is not new and I am currently attributing it to some tropical mystery disease that I probably need to seek professional assistance on. (My propensity towards self diagnosis and treatment is well documented in this blog, so I will spare you the incredibly easy pharmacy transactions which allow me to try all sorts of remedies without actually consulting a professional. I've come to think of myself as a healer in my own right....to an extent.)

In any case, with observations from a friend, I began feeling my home needed a little spiritual cleansing. I haven't found a sage hook up yet- or begun my investigation into a Malian guide who might know exactly what to do- so I turned to general aromatherapy as a first step.

Mali, like much of West Africa, is filled with beautiful odors and a long tradition of using incense of one variety or another for all kinds of ailments and preventions. My wonderful neighbor gifted me this beautiful burning pot after we bought some ...? I don't even know what to call the incense that is sold here. It is surely natural from plants and barks and other organic matter but it has a sticky, smooshed together quality that I can't really describe. Hash is the closest I can come. I don't know how it is made. (I know, I really need to step up my game. I have forgone all curiosity and have moved into naive acceptance. It's what they do here, so me too.)

Much more than I imagined...a beautiful gift
It isn't the Senegalese thioraye that I prefer, but it does have a nice scent. My authentically Dutch neighbor presented me the pot and said, "Just mix a little sand and charcoal and you can burn that on top." Her view of everything is positive and simplistic. It's all so easy.

For her. For me, starting the charcoal was an hour long affair. I enlisted the help of my painting partner, Drissa, a Malian who I assumed had experience with the tea-making process. The tea ritual involves charcoal burned in a little metal cook stove that is generally swung back forth which allows air to fan the coals and get them burning. Driving through the city at tea time, you can see any number of tea swingers- young children, to older boys or men, involved in grand sweeping gestures with their metal pots. My new incense vase was definitely not swingable.

Drissa, ever a willing friend, went off to buy some charcoal and returned ready to whip this thing together. An hour later, we were still ripping bits of paper, trying to start a miniature campfire on my front porch. I employed all my long forgotten campfire skills to no avail. I laughed at his attempts and wondered aloud if he really knew how to make tea (something close to an insult here in Mali, surely.) I had images of marshmallows and long sticks foolishly filling my mind, a mismatched moment of culture clash.

Mbalia got in on the effort, using all her 3 1/2 year old strength to squeeze the trigger on the lighter and throw random bits of paper into the well. We blew, we fanned, we juggled the vase and rearranged the charcoal. I couldn't imagine having to invest this much time and effort for sensory relief, or even for a cup of tea (although, admittedly, that is a long, drawn out social affair - they've got a rhythm down that we didn't quite achieve.)

the blow-on-the-top method

Mbalia adding bits of paper and incense

Vigorous fanning
Drissa started commenting on the grades of charcoal- obviously this was the hard-to-light grade but, he assured me, once it got going it would burn for hours. Even all night.

Finally we declared success and dropped in some incense, our hard efforts rewarded by soothing smoke emanating from the top.  It was a far cry from the thuribles of Catholic mass, that I have fond sensory memories of, and it didn't last nearly as long as he'd predicted.

Charcoal- not burning. Incense- unscathed
Obviously I have miles to go in acquiring the African skill of a charcoal cook pot that women and most young children seem to master with ease. 10 years in and still not quite in.