In Uganda, katogo is more than sun-dried cassava and memories

“We have two more bunches”, I shouted so that my younger sister, who was in the other room, could hear me as I carried two hands of fresh green bananas (locally known as matooke) from the front door to the kitchen. It was the second time that week that we had received bananas from generous neighbours and now we had a heap of four hands to eat our way through.

Preparing green bananas for cooking is a tedious process, so I suggested we sit on the verandah to peel them while we still had daylight as it was late in the afternoon. Armed with the best knives we could find, my sister and I sat down, put on a podcast, and started peeling the bananas. The plan was to peel all of them and then store them in the refrigerator to be used for katogo later; prepping, as most cooks will tell you, is everything.

As I haphazardly, unevenly, peeled one finger – something that was expected, especially if you are still considered an amateur – I remembered the many times that I, as a clumsy child, watched my mother peel matooke to make katogo with effortless grace. Her process was a rhythmic flourish between hands, knife and banana fingers. She would do more than just grip the knife, she gently held it in position, just so, so the peels glided off the bananas in an impressive swoop.

My greatest desire as a child at that time was to grow up so I could know how to peel matooke perfectly, like my mother. That was how we learned to cook, that was how knowledge in general, and food knowledge in particular, was handed down through the generations. You watched a lot, then practised and practised until you knew how to do it.

As a curious child, that was how I learned the food knowledge that would kick-start my interest in food and eventually food storytelling. Fast forward to now, I love talking about food, writing about it, cooking it, photographing it, and eating it....