Food and Wine Adventures

I had planned to eat mopane worms tonight, but instead I’m facing a hamburger and fries. I am not amused. Having traveled thousands of miles across the African continent I have arrived in a country with the exotic and lyrical name of Zimbabwe, land of the fabled Shona chiefs. And now see me sit here in a restaurant called the Silver Spur.

My store of expat life patience is exhausted. It’s not only the chicken, the water, the electricity, the tiny fridge, the heat, the dull knife, the lack of kitchen drawers, the dead rat in the garden this morning, but . . .

Wouldn’t you think that finding olive oil in Palestine would be easy? Of course you would. But I have news for you: It isn’t.  Well, it wasn’t for me when . . .

“I want to go abroad,” I told my husband one steamy tropical day after we’d been living in Ghana, West Africa for what seemed like ages and I was beginning…

Why is this man here, in Ghana, running a restaurant? Is he a refugee from the law in Italy? Running from an Italian wife? The mafia? All three?