Two scruffy scaffold poles driven into the yellow sand support a wind-battered tarp tied with fishing wire to what is little more than a hut on the beach. From 200 yards away, it looks like a fishing hut but, as my toes scratch through the sand towards it, I hear a transistor radio and see the large plywood sign with hand-painted bubble graphic writing that reads Chop Bar. This tells me I am at the right place and the smell of frying tilapia fish in ginger wafting through the air makes me pick up my pace.
Chop houses are not only the perfect place for the budget traveller. They’re also a mainstay of Ghanaian eating out – essentially “chop” means “eat”. These small canteens or roadside eateries are wonderfully simple places for good, thrifty, home-cooked food, sitting somewhere between a street-food cart and a restaurant. This is a positioning that inspired both my restaurant in Brixton and my street-food stalls (which we also call chop bars).
Usually there will be a scattering of mismatched formica-topped dining tables, plastic school chairs, and even upturned oil drums for seating. Almost everything is served with fufu, banku or konkonte (ground and pounded cassava, maize or groundnuts). If you’re lucky, you’ll be given a bowl of water in which to wash your hands between pinches.
The salty sea air drifts over my face and clothes, leaving an invisible residue of the Atlantic all over my skin, and nestles in my nostrils. Emmanuel, my companion and guide, has recommended this place to me before we head into Jamestown. There is only one other diner. Emmanuel greets him like an old friend shouting out “chale chale chale!” (“hello, mate”), but I imagine that’s how he greets everyone with his loud and gentle manner (a contradiction I find characteristic of many Ghanaians).
The cook is a stout man with enormous smiling eyes squashed into his round cheeks. I ask him what’s good to eat – joyfully he replies “everything!” – so I ask for the tilapia and a small bowl of hot pepper soup. He laughs and tells me I need feeding. I ask if I can watch him cook. He glances over to Emmanuel – why does this light-skinned woman want to watch me cook? Emmanuel says something in twi and pushes me through the strips of plastic leading into the kitchen. My initiation begins.
I have found this to be very common in Ghana. Open kitchens make it easier to speak directly to cooks. I’ve often asked to “go backstage” to see their secrets. Flattered and eager to share their recipes, no one has said “no”. From the man at the beachside chop bar to Mary at the White House in Ho with her chicken gizzard skewers, and Antoinette in a tiny village near Adulka, who demystified fetri detsi (light okra soup with chicken), these generous Ghanaian cooks have inspired many of my own dishes.
This idea of the open kitchen is something I really love and, without really realising it, an arrangement – or dynamic, for that is what it really is – to which I have stayed faithful since I started working with food. From supper clubs and pop-up residencies to the restaurant in Brixton, the places I’ve cooked have all had an open plan kitchen into which diners can peer. This, I think, creates a positive and personal interaction between the cook and the people they are cooking for, building confidence on both sides of the pass. People want to feel at home in restaurants, and that’s something that Ghana has always got right.
Jamestown grilled prawns
Emmanuel led me to a group of women who showed me how they smoked fish on large smokers. We were invited to an impromptu lunch and, suddenly, I was on a low stool, my knees by my ears, eating prawns cooked on a makeshift wire grill over a coal bucket. We ripped off heads, peeled off shells, and dipped the curl of white flesh into sh*to hot pepper sauce alongside a pot of coconut rice. We shared a meal as perfect strangers and left each other as if we might do it all again the next day.
Serves 6 (2–3 prawns each)
1kg raw king or tiger prawns
2 tbsp coconut oil
For the marinade
1 onion, finely shredded or grated
Juice and zest of 2 lemons
2 tbsp thyme, chopped
1 heaped tsp ground ginger or fresh root ginger, grated
1 tsp garlic, grated
2 tsp ground hot or cayenne pepper
1 heaped tsp ground shrimp powder
1 tsp salt
1 Wash the prawns, leaving the heads and tails on for presentation. You could use a sharp knife to “butterfly” the prawns to create a greater surface area for your seasoning: score down the belly and open out. Rinse thoroughly and pat dry. (Or ask your fishmonger to prepare the prawns for you.)
2 Mix together the marinade ingredients. Add the prepared prawns to this mixture and turn gently to coat them all over with the marinade. If you have time, cover the bowl with clingfilm and refrigerate for 30-60 minutes. Meanwhile, light your charcoal barbecue and wait for the coals to burn down until they are covered in a grey ash. Alternatively, preheat a gas barbecue to medium-high.
3 Once the barbecue is ready, thread the prawns on to skewers, taking care not to knock off the heads.
4 Brush the barbecue grill well with some of the reserved coconut oil and also drizzle some over the prawns, coating each side. Grill the skewers for 3–4 minutes on each side.
Spiced baobab butter
The citrus notes in the baobab fruit – which dries naturally on the tree – give it a wonderful fruity acidity.
Makes 125g
125g salted butter at room temperature, cut into chunks
Zest and juice of ½ lemon
1 tsp ground hot or cayenne pepper
1 tbsp baobab powder
½ tsp ground cinnamon
A pinch of black pepper
1 Place all the ingredients in a bowl and mash together with a fork. Check the seasoning and adjust to taste.
2 Spoon the butter along one end of a sheet of baking parchment, then roll up into a mini log, twist the ends to seal and chill in the fridge until firm so that it’s easy to slice and serve.
3 Smother on some grilled corn on the cob just before serving.
Coconut rice
Serves 4
300-400g basmati or other white rice
Salt, to taste
300g of organic coconut milk
Coriander or red chilli, to garnish
1 First prepare your rice – I always go for at least 100g per person. Wash thoroughly in cold water to remove as much starch as possible (I wash it in at least 3 changes of water until the water runs clear) then drain and place in a large, heavy-based saucepan. Pour in just enough water to cover the rice and add salt to taste – I use about ½ tsp. Cover and cook over a medium heat for about 5 minutes until it starts to boil – this allows the grains to open up.
2 Shake the can of coconut milk thoroughly before opening, then add 200ml of it to the rice and stir. Replace the lid and cook for a further 10 minutes over a medium-high heat.
3 Add another 100ml of coconut milk and stir in, then reduce the heat and simmer for about 7 minutes until all the liquid has been absorbed and the rice is tender and fluffy.
4 Serve with coriander or chilli, and the prawns and corn.
