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.
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.