#BTColumn – Deconstructing cou cou

The views and opinions expressed by the author(s) do not represent the official position of Barbados TODAY.

by Dr. Peter Laurie

Cou cou is supposed to be the national dish of Barbados.

Of course, every Bajan knows that’s a joke. The national dish is pie. Mac pie.

I love my cou cou, though.

I now eat cou cou four days a week. That’s why I’m going to deconstruct it for you and then reconstruct it.

First, though, you may wonder why I eat cou cou so often.

Well, since the pandemic struck, I began working a half-acre piece of ground outside my gate — good physical and spiritual exercise. One of the things I planted was okra. Not only because I love okra but also because it’s a hardy plant that requires no coddling.

I should explain that in my agro-forestry patch (fruit trees of all kinds intercropped with veggies and ground provisions), I don’t water, fertilise or apply pesticides. I leave it all to nature (and yes, monkeys are part of nature). And the volcanic ash has proved a blessing in disguise.

Anyway, okras grow fast and furious. And the monkeys don’t trouble them. I was  picking about twelve okras a day.

So I began making cou cou.

There is a ton of misinformation associated with this dish.

One definite piece of nonsense originated with my grandfather. He told his credulous grandchildren there was only one way to achieve a perfect bowl of cou cou: it must be stirred with a cou cou stick made from the wood of the cordia tree, by a 21-year-old left-handed virgin, when the moon was full and no dogs were barking or cocks crowing within ten miles of the house.

Right! Tell me, where the ass in Barbados you going find a 21-year-old left-handed virgin? And please, if there are any of you out there, do not call, whatsApp or email me.

This was the same grandpa who for every ailment had one specific remedy for his grandchildren: a rub down with shark oil and turpentine (ole time paint remover!). You had a cold? Shark oil and turpentine. Your belly hurting? Shark oil and turpentine. You pining for the girl next door? Shark oil and turpentine.  My brothers and I desperately stayed healthy.

As for Grandma, her remedy for any and everything was the dreaded cou cou stick.

And they say schooldays are the happiest days?

By the way, I bet you have no idea where the cou cou stick came from. While cou cou comes from Africa, the cou cou stick comes from Scotland. It’s called a ‘spurtle’, one version shaped exactly like our stick, and is used by the Scots for stirring oatmeal porridge to prevent it getting lumpy. Doubt me? Google it.

So how did it get here?

My great-great-great-great grandfather brought it over on a ship from Scotland with other ‘immigrants’. While all the other Scotsmen brought with them a jug of whisky, he brought a spurtle and a haggis wrapped in a newspaper.

Most of you probably don’t know what haggis is. It’s the national dish of Scotland: one of the least appetising foods on the planet. It’s a ‘pudding’ of sheep organs too obscene to mention, fat, and oatmeal, boiled in a sheep’s stomach. Fortunately, just as the ship dropped anchor in Carlisle Bay, the haggis crawled over the side and swam back to Scotland. We were spared this invasive species.

And please, any Scots out there, do not call, WhatsApp or email me. Cou cou is part of our glorious African heritage. It’s a truly pan-African dish, from the North, where the Berbers came up with couscous (made from semolina); to the South, where the Shona enjoy something very close to our cornmeal cou cou; from the East (ugali); and from West Africa where it’s known by many names, including fufu and fungi. Basically it’s a dish of boiled grain (usually corn) or mashed ground provision — like our breadfruit or green banana cou cou —  served with a meat or fish sauce. In essence, ‘cou cou’ refers more to the preparation (a stirred pot of mash) than the ingredients.

Once, in Zimbabwe in the early nineties, we went to a restaurant at which the dish of the day was sadza with kapenta. It turned out to be cou cou (without okras) made with white cornmeal, and served with a stew of dried salted sardines. Ah, sweet mystery of love…

The genius of our Bajan ancestors was to mix the cornmeal with okras (it’s the slime, stupid), another African import. The okra also features in two favourite dishes of mine: callaloo and gumbo (both from Africa).

Because I was eating cou cou so often, I began to experiment. First of all, I got tired standing over a hot stove stirring and stirring, then having to scrape and wash up the pot afterwards. So, I decided to try the microwave.

I got the idea from the late Pauline Beckles’ forthcoming cookbook, Secret Ingredient, which I was privileged to preview. I don’t know when this book is going to be published, but make sure you buy a copy. This is the definitive Bajan cookbook, right up there with Rita Springer’s Caribbean Cookbook and Errol Barrow’s Privilege.

It’s not just a comprehensive cookbook with over eighty recipes; it’s a loving and often funny memoir of growing up in ‘ole time’ rural Barbados, and an endearing philosophy of life. All laced with much love and subtle humour.

Pauline was first prize winner of a nationwide Macaroni Pie competition and winner of several Gold Medals in the Culinary Arts Division of the Barbados National Independence Festival of Creative Arts (NIFCA).

I’ve always envied my good friend, Wilfred ‘Babba’ Beckles, for his many achievements but marrying Pauline was hands-down the greatest.

Talking about cookbooks, the Caribbean OnePot Cookbook that our son Chris and I wrote is available at Cloister and UWI Bookstores, along with some other recent books of mine.

Anyway, here is my basic microwaved cou cou.

Chop up eight okras, put them in a large microwave-proof bowl, put in some thyme, along with salt, pepper, a clove of garlic and a small onion, all chopped fine. Pour in three cups of water and shove it in the microwave for six minutes.

Take out the bowl, add a cup of cornmeal and stir it in with an ordinary table spoon (no pre-soaking the cornmeal or adding it slowly; just dump it in the bowl. Trust me, no lumps). After stirring it in, put the bowl back in the microwave for four minutes.

Take it out, stir to make sure nothing is sticking to the bottom of the bowl, put a tablespoon of butter on top and let it rest covered for 5 to 10 minutes while you roll the wicket with a rum and coconut water.

Eat a bowlful. Wash it down with a Deputy. Then go to bed. Without a deputy! Well…that’s your business. So, cou cou deconstructed is simply cornmeal cooked in a liquid with added veggies. So reconstruct cou cou any way you want.

Instead of plain water, use coconut milk or chicken, beef or vegetable stock. If you have no okras to hand, put in tomato or spinach or peeled and finely chopped eggplant, chives, or sweet peppers. Or go Italian by putting in half a cup of cheese when you add the cornmeal.

Some of you are probably beginning to shudder by now. Well, shuddering is good. Does wonders for your digestive system.

So does cou cou.

Dr. Peter Laurie is a retired permanent secretary and head of the Foreign Service who once served as Barbados’ Ambassador to the United States.