Day 2: Tuesday Foodsday

The first person I met in Zimbabwe was my cab driver from the airport, who’s first language was Shona and who’s English was very broken, but I still managed to pantomime-ask him what I needed to eat while here.

“Sadza.”
“Saldsa?”
Sad-za.”
“Sald-za.”

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Breakfast

On Sunday mornings, Lee and I cook. He does my pancakes, and I do him homefries and eggs. One of the saddest ironies of our lives is that Lee is a master pancake chef, and yet he does not care for pancakes.

More for me.

I wanted to do quinoa pancakes, because I had a fridge full of red quinoa that I wasn’t sure I’d get around to using. I found a recipe online, and after the first cake failed under Lee’s skillful spatula, we tweaked it. Recipe after the jump.

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