When we moved into our current neighborhood, Poppa Trix and I were super excited to see that there was a Senegalese restaurant within walking distance of our house. All the cab drivers eat there, which in my book is usually a very good sign. Unfortunately, it turns out that if you're not from Senegal and/or a cab driver yourself, your meal may take upwards of an hour to eventually find its meandering way onto your table.
Now, that wouldn't be
so bad if the food were stellar. But the kitchen always seems to have just run out of the very thing I want, and the dishes they do have are literally swimming in deep rivers of palm oil. After several attempts to love this place, I realized that I had no choice: If I want Senegalese food, I'm just going to have to make it myself.
