Cooking disasters, anyone? I was once faced by a culinary fiasco of mystifying proportions while living in an African village. Defeated by a pan of petrified green split peas, I was flummoxed and distraught, until enlightenment struck.
Food and Wine Adventures
The mystery of sex: How can you be grumpy on a Italian summer evening sitting on a moonlit terrace with a stunning view of the Bay of Naples? At the table next to us sits an American couple in their sixties with bad body language and no love hormones running rampant . . .
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.