Be Happy, Have Pepper Soup

By Pita Okute What’s with pepper really? How did it climb up the culinary ladder from a common garden plant with no special beauty or fragrance, to become a “must have” in every Nigerian recipe for soups and sauces? Perhaps, I exaggerate a little or too much, which is quite in sync with the aura of pepper-too little or too much, rarely just adequate in soups and sauces. And many are the health benefits of the humble pepper. No, I take that back; must be sheer conceit that makes pepper impose itself on the palate in that hot fiery manner,

if one takes too much liberties. I’ve read that it helps prevent cancer, improve digestion and weight loss, check flatulence, can give clear skin, clear away dandruff as well as a stuffy nose. Pepper, they say, relieves cough, buoys up a healthy appetite and the assimilation of nutrients by the body. That’s the reason, I presume, why pepper soup is de rigueur in our corner of the global kitchen, for nursing mothers in the immediate post maternity months, or omugwo, as it is also known. But here’s the bit that’s rather amazing: Pepper is a natural anti-depressant, the experts say. How, you wanna ask, can the frequent roasting of one’s tongue be the source of happiness, unless you accept the Shakespearean jive, that ‘fire drives out fire’? Could that be why I ask, Nigerians are voted the happiest people on earth? Because, we eat so much pepper soup? Could that be why we lack the spunk to get angry at our leaders for their blatant fiddling while the masses are seeing pepper, so to speak? Voila! The wind does it, you know. One rascal of a warm breeze or a gentle puff of air, but there it is, knocking at the first doors of the senses. Yah… the smell of soup, warm pepper soup, borne with such delicacy as would please the most fastidious of perfume makers. Here now, gone again- it dissolves, reappears, sending those aroused nostrils on fanciful flights down the fields of gastronomy. Chicken chops, cow tail or leg, goat parts and fish- the avid pepper man knows them all. For one, he may not wish to spare a cold sniff, yet would walk an extra mile for his favored bite. Bokoto does sound like something straight out of juju slang. But it’s plain cow leg! And the invitation posed by a plateful of cow gut would take some courage to ignore. Unusual courage! See? The “towel” has soaked up the soup. Its mushy sweetness complements the rubbery toughness of those rounded parts. Hmm…wash these down with a cold drink…watch your shoulders shed their load of daily worries. Indeed, life may have its parallel in any bowl of indifferent pepper soup. The high points coincide with those bits and juicy pieces. The bones would mark its opposites: from the intractable extremes of a cow’s heavy hooves, to the flimsy but crunchy demands of chicken legs. Hmmm… my dog eats chocolates. This ring of fire round my lips? Tells a tale of pains endured to cross many obstacles, the dangerous tips of life’s own fish bones to drink its heady soups of achievement. Sometimes, the tangy presence of basil and other spices complements the narrative of sweet, sweat and … sighs of satisfaction. Do you see then that life is a ration of pepper soup? Whichever is your preference, try finding out if you have more bones on your plate. And how is the pepper, my friend? Quite a pity, you know: but some people find that the pepper in pepper soup is somebody’s elegant mistake. How can one noun qualify another, their manner appears to suggest. You bet, these folks never heard of sandpaper. This, mind you, is how soups can taste, when coming from the stoves of untutored, inexperienced cooks. Some would prefer too, that the pepper be less a qualification than the decorative index for a salubrious condiment! But then, pepper soup is pepper soup! And some fellows like it that way too! A few inns cater for those kinds of palates, like Madam T K down the road whose stuff is such an energizer. The liquid flame beats a path of roaring alertness down the throat, through the chest and further down as beads of sweat pop out of the skin in its wake. Still, it is a guaranteed enlivener, such as during a party, when the guests are beginning to succumb to the booze. But there are not many who know how to deal with pepper soup. A man of culture you always could tell by the way he does this. Some would rush at it with the gusto and drive of a Tyson; no pause, no breaks, save perhaps for the essential seconds when they grind at the meat. Others there are, mostly females, who respond to the aroma of their plates with a measure of frigidity. Under their frustrating slowness the contents would go cold and assume the character of pitiable rejects. But the true connoisseur handles the project with the seriousness it deserves, neither too fast nor very slow. He adopts a tactical approach, much like a warrior after some strategic objective. Long time ago, a police officer berated Nigerian military officers for spending all their time at pepper soup joints. But many know this trick who have never seen the insides of a military training school. And this evening at Madam’s, this man is doing sweet justice to a plateful of steaming goat parts. The fellow has style- a directness bordering on ingrained behavior. First, he takes care of the little bits, then attacking the flanks by turns, he drinks from a beer mug by his plate; chews, swallows, sips in this same order as he pushes through the main axis of his heaped up bowl. Another patron takes one sip of soup and goes into a coughing fit. “Ah”, he says, but before he complains further Madam cajoles him without mercy. “One spoon of soup, na’im dey shack you?” There you are! Be Happy, Drink…