A cooking lesson in Colombia

She smiled as she watched us trying to copy her technique. “Like this”, she patiently showed us again. It was a warm evening and the aroma of the salty sea air was infused with coconut as we learned how to peel and grate the tropical delight. Outside we could hear the crackle of the open fire and the sound of running water falling into the river on which the house was perched. We were at the home of an Afro-Colombian family at a typical beachside town on the Pacific Coast of Colombia learning the secrets of making the delicious local cuisines.

The rest of the family were going about their regular evening activities while Orbe and her daughter attentively taught us their recipes. Another woman bathed a young child and got him ready for bed while two older children ran up and down the creaky timber stairs playing, occasionally sneaking into the kitchen to spy on us, the two strange white girls who had been invited into their home. There were no men in the house, the women’s husbands worked in the military and had been posted in another state.

After the preparations were complete we moved out to the balcony where the fire was burning strong, its orange flames invoking a feeling of homeliness. We cooked and listened as Orbe sang us a song, trying desperately to catch all the lyrics and translate the Spanish as best as we could. It was a song about dancing around a fire, a sacred fire, which one never tired of watching. A feast of coconut rice, fried banana, fish and fresh juice was prepared, a typical Pacific Coast meal made from the freshest local ingredients.

We ate together in the small kitchen while answering each other’s questions about our own cultures and traditions. The food was comforting but also refreshing. The flavours complimented each other perfectly and Orbe, in a motherly way, insisted on refilling our plates more than once. We left that evening with smiles, full bellies and a twinge of sadness at having to leave such beautiful, warm hearted people.