I created an exquisite Afro Futuristic recipe appropriate for the season of celebration of a Golden Bough. The Golden Bough is a most beautiful dinner concept I learned about from a IG friend I met in Berlin during the most difficult time in Kenyan politics in a long time. I happened to have been following the political upheaval from Berlin while at the same time having one of the richest combinations of food, history and friendship that made me feel as though I was amongst the African stars I used to stare at during my youthful years in Gathĩngĩra, my ancestral village. I can vividly remember my thoughts every time we stayed up late enough to catch the distinct sound in otherwise monotonous sounds of nocturnal lowly creatures.
I would always wonder how far the plane was from the stars. I silently wish that my fortune would improve as I grew older to make it possible for me to find out. That wish upon a star came true when I applied to college in the US. I still can completely refute the notion that my ideas about America were not primarily an excuse to fly closer to the stars.
Whatever the case, I will never know for sure. What I did quickly find out was that the people flying in a plane have a poorer view of the stars, unless they happen to be in the cockpit. It was such a disappointment. Luckily, a flight is like a marriage in one significant way. You get into both only with the view of riding to the end.
Luckily, my desire to be closer to the stars became a bit more clearer as I flew through college, books and obviously my “coming of age” period in America. I was a bit wiser then to suspect that my attraction to stars in Gathĩngĩra was a symptom of my family history for attraction to justice and food. The stars, I later theorized, are the constant source of light in the clear sky.
Following that realization, food that shines like bright stars with flavors, colors and justice becomes my new obsession. But every now and then, I still do honor the moon for its feminine energy. Food too is, like the binary stars, is best when consumed amongst kindred spirits as they illuminate each other. This recipe celebrates my Golden Bough. It just so happens that just food, an air flight and my imagination of the Golden Bough all have one thing in common: only start if you intend to be in it to the end.
But every blue moon, the flavors of justice, a flight aboard a midnight plane and a Golden Bough experience might seek and pick you for a ride without much effort. Maybe we should call such an occurrence Magic Star or Njata ya Kereni.