The Moment a Dish Speaks: How I Listen to Ingredients Before I Cook

People often ask me how I create new dishes so instinctively. The truth is this: the food speaks first.

When I pick up an ingredient—yam, smoked fish, ripe plantain, lemongrass, even something as everyday as onions—I pay attention to what story it wants to tell. Every ingredient carries memory, geography, and quiet knowledge.

A ripe plantain doesn’t just say “sweet.” It whispers Lagos traffic jams, Sunday laughter, oil sizzling in a cast iron pan. Lemongrass sings Lomé evenings—fresh, bright, hopeful. Smoked fish tells a story of patience and fire.

My job is not to control these narratives but to arrange them like a composer. One note at a time.

This is how new flavours are born. Not from complicated techniques or long-winded theory, but from listening. Really listening.

When you honour an ingredient’s story, it always rewards you with a better dish.