Muthoni’s Dilemma

By Don Thayù

We who live today have inherited a war. It is a war in which our ancestors lost. It is a war that very few people even know is being fought. It is the war for our freedom. It is the war for human independence.

This war was won by the pirates among our ancestors, long ago, but there’s always hope. As Etienne De La Botie said so beautifully in his Discourse on Voluntary Servitude, over 500 years ago, “There are always a few, better endowed than others, who feel the weight of the yoke and cannot restrain themselves from attempting to shake it off…Even if liberty had entirely perished from the earth, such men would invent it.”

As parents, most of us are familiar with the eternal complaint from their children, “Why?”

“Why do I have to do chores?”

“Why do I have to read?”

“Why do I have to study?”

“Why do I have to learn these construction techniques?”

“Why do I have to help on the farm?”

The answer is a simple one, but one that most parents never know or want to share, because they have become victims of this war. I will articulate it here, before proceeding.

The answer to these whys, the answer lost to our minds today, yet clear in the minds of all the warriors of our past, and in the minds of those few who still fight today for freedom and liberty, is this: You must do these things, my child, because we are at war, and if you want to make it through this war and remain human, you have to live the life of a warrior.

For the “Whys” that will inevitably follow such an answer, here is some of the rest of the “adult education” a warrior-parent could share with their child:

“We live in a world where our entire society is designed to tell you that you are a slave; that your property is only yours by permission, not by right. You’ll be told to strive for adulthood, and then discover that it is a scam, that true adulthood is too dangerous to be permitted. The only adulthood you’ll experience is a watered down version that will be licensed to you by your masters, and can be easily taken away. Your slavery will be sold to you under the flag of freedom and liberty, but, nonetheless, you were born into slavery and you’ll remain a slave. You’ll be given one of two choices, to either be a slave, or to be a master. I want to be free, and I refuse to be either one. I am determined to give you that same third choice. I want you to be free, and that means I have a duty, as your parent, to help you become a warrior. You also must do these things because freedom and liberty are not prizes to be won, but are merely the successful escape from different types of prison. Should you win your freedom and liberty, the real work begins, and your skills as a warrior will then be put to their proper use, in the continual fight against entropy. You’ll fight for creativity, productivity, efficiency, knowledge, understanding, empathy, wisdom, and joy. These things aren’t free gifts from the universe. If we want to live as humans, we have to fight. We have to fight other people, in order to avoid the pirates among us, and we have to fight against nature in order to build the life we love, and to make the world a better place for me and for you. That’s why you must read, work, learn, practice, fail, iterate, and succeed. I want you to be a healthy human being. The alternative is the norm we see all around us–confused slaves, looking for better and better victim stories, hoping the universe will somehow help them endure life until the blessed release of the grave grants them their reward in heaven. I want to live, and I want to teach you to love your life. That means, we’re warriors, not slaves or masters.”

The answer could go on for quite a while, and understanding will probably take a long time, but if we want our children to be human, it’s the only way.

Parents today don’t share these things with their children because the pirates among our ancient ancestors achieved a major victory. Out of a need to survive as pirates, they became humanity’s intellectuals. The institutions we all use and depend upon every day were either designed, or heavily influenced, by them. 

Today’s parents are the children of the children of many generations of victims. They are conquered warriors who have lost their true identity. The identity of a warrior had become very dangerous, so they replaced it with something that felt safer. The world over, they have accepted the identity of a slave, or of an eternal child.

Instead of arming our children with the very simple knowledge of the fact that they are participants in an ongoing struggle, we instead add to their burden by perpetuating the moral fog in which we all live.

Slavery never went away. It is too profitable. It simply and smoothly transformed into something much less obvious, and far more profitable–the incremental slavery of democracy.

This war has produced an endless stream of victims and consequences. One such consequence I’ll describe here as “Mùthoni’s Dilemma”.

Mùthoni’s Dilemma

Mùthoni is a very smart and beautiful young woman, age 13, who found herself caught up in a game and a project that was instigated by her father, and his friend.

Mùthoni’s father is a very radical Chef, with ideas he hopes to spread to as many people as he can. His ideas are controversial, and he holds them very passionately. This passion has spilled over into his parenting. Thus, Mùthoni has the burden, and privilege, of being raised by a slightly fanatic, yet loving, father.

The game I'm referring to is a health game. Mùthoni’s father has, through long experimentation and thought, developed his own gourmet cuisine, as well as a weight loss program, designed to help people reach their ideal body weight. Mùthoni and her brother, age 11, were often on the receiving end of these food experiments, and as a result, they have eaten nothing but the best quality foods their father could find. She will have to be the judge as to the flavor and personal appeal of her father’s cuisine, but without exception, the nutritional quality of the food she has grown up eating has been top tier.

Mùthoni is attending public school in the United States. She has friends and acquaintances from her school, and from time to time, the subject of health, and specifically, weight, is brought into their daily conversation. One major aspect of U.S. schools, an aspect deliberately designed as a key part of the structure by John Dewey himself (inventor of the Dewey Decimal System), is the system of peer pressure. Much like the pecking order in a chicken coop, school kids naturally sort themselves into tribes. This peer pressure nearly always surpasses the power of its institutional predecessor–family pressure.

An emergent property of US government education is the fact that nothing is more central to young women of Mùthoni’s age than self image. Body weight is a very significant factor in these calculations.

When her Chef father and his friend, over speaker phone, began discussing their different weights, both their current and recent measurements, Mùthoni was caught up in the dialogue. Soon the scale was brought out, and everyone was weighing themselves. Her father’s friend had been 254 lbs a little over 3 weeks ago, and had lost a good 25 pounds with a combination of fasting and breaking his fasts with her father’s cuisine. He now stood just under 230 lbs. Her father weighed in at just over 150 lbs. Mùthoni and her brother got in the game, reporting 109 lbs and 70 lbs, respectively.

Now Mùthoni was caught. Her self-image had her standing somewhere around 100 lbs. This was sort of like a grade, regarded by herself, and by her school friends, as a significant part of their self images, and of their view of each other. Mùthoni was caught by surprise, seeing the scale sit at 109, and her immediate response was, “I need to lose some weight!”

I’m writing this article to connect a few things that may benefit from a close examination. What is going on in Mùthoni’s mind? What do we know? What is her environment? What can we deduce?

The pecking order of government education, perhaps all over the world, but specifically in the good old USA, is a fierce thing to experience. The peer pressure of government schools is a culture in and of itself. It overwrites much of the other cultural influences a child or young adult may experience. Family culture, national culture, religious culture, and many other influences crash like waves upon the rock of peer pressure.

Mùthoni’s response to the scale had strong implications to her. She saw it in light of the friends she associates with at school. The opinion of her parents and her brother pale to insignificance when compared to the impact the opinions her school friends will have. Should that number get out, what would they think? Out of self defense, she knew she must lose a few pounds to regain her ideal, the ideal constructed by her self-image.

But Mùthoni was missing a key factor. Her father had identified a major problem in human society. As a side effect, she had become immune to the physical effects of this problem. She was not, however, immune to the psychological effects, as the scale proved.

Mùthoni’s Chef father had discovered a problem so vast that it actually qualifies as one of humanity’s grand challenges. He named it the “food system”.

Mùthoni’s father grew up in Kenya, and had experienced village life, eating the indigenous food, and speaking the Kikuyu language of the culture there. Never using refrigeration or the canning process, his food experience was based on a living food supply chain. Traveling to the US as a young college student, he experienced the food system of Western Civilization. He tasted the refrigerated milk, the canned and frozen foods, and the fast foods that were the product of our present day centralized global food supply chain. He was not impressed. Not only did the food disagree with him, but over the course of a few short months, he began to feel the ill effects on his body. Shortly thereafter, he searched out and found the local food growers, and began eating as close as he could manage to the indigenous diet which had served him so well in his childhood.

His experience was so profound that it shaped his college education and his purpose. He has worked for the past three decades to learn the depths to which the global food supply chain’s nutritional value has dropped. He learned that the quality had dropped to such a level that not only was the nutritional value pathetic when compared to the organic indigenous food he grew up with, but it was, in many cases, actually toxic. He linked this poor and dangerous state of the global food system to the global health crisis being experienced in every nation that has adopted it. Because of these findings, he was determined to find the highest quality and the least contaminated food available here in the US.

This is exclusively what he has been eating for the last 30 years, and that is the food that Mùthoni and her brother have eaten, as well. Her father has done his best to prevent her and her brother from even tasting what he now calls “fiat food”, determined to keep their pallets and microbiomes hungering for the virtuous, and distaining the viscous.

This epic “food fight”, instigated by her father, and taken up passively and actively by nearly everyone Mùthoni has met, is a constant battle. Mùthoni, unlike her father, is a stranger in a strange land, not because of any cultural misalignment, but simply because food is such a powerful connective tissue of society. Her food is so different from that of her friends, their families, and nearly everyone she knows. This incompatibility contributes to the dilemma she faces every day–to get along with Dad, or to fit in. Both choices have dire consequences. In some ways, especially as a young woman making her way through the chaos of the US government “education” system, it must seem like a no-win scenario.

But what Mùthoni has yet to discover is the depth of her good fortune. For all of her friends at school, weight is going to be a constant battle. Mental health, physical health, and body weight are severely impacted by the quality of one’s food. The fear that almost oozes from the pores of her friends is well-founded, and our US culture is flooded with that fear. Should I eat that donut? Should I take one more helping of spaghetti, or one more slice of garlic bread? How much am I going to have to pay for the choices my appetite forces upon me?

For those of us stuck in, and addicted to the fiat food system, food is always a win-lose scenario. What makes our taste buds happy destroys us, and our medical system is severely overloaded with the consequences.

Compounding the problem is the fact that our medical system has evolved not only to cope with an ever-increasing load, but to defend the fiat food system that is its cause. We never hear doctors talking seriously about a patient’s weight. We don’t see scales at Walmart, but heart and blood pressure monitors. There is no profit in people responsibly managing their weight, but there are billions to be made in managing the symptoms of the overweight.

Here in the United States, we believe to our core that obesity is a natural part of getting older, and our medicine is designed to manage our ever expanding weight. It is forced to cooperate with, or to go to war with our food system, and the global food system, as Mùthoni’s father learned, is far too profitable and well-established to make such a fight seem wise.

Besides, there never was a better win-win scenario than a financial alliance between the food system and the medical system. One sets up the body to fail, and the other specializes in profiting from the sick care of failing bodies.

As a young adult, Mùthoni is not only profiting from the excellent health of youth, but from the excellent quality of her food. The fears that plague her peers and that she sees in the media all around her are not applicable to her. Her weight is not only healthy, but the threat of fatty liver disease, obesity, and heart disease we see in more and more young people is something she will completely dodge, if she continues in her diet as she has begun.

Her father has learned that fiat food spreads so much of the physical disease and disorder we see, and that this sickness has a strong and pervasive mental aspect to it, which spreads just as easily. Mùthoni, because of her diet, is immune to the physical diseases caused by fiat food, since she does not partake of it. But the psychology of fiat culture is much more difficult to dodge.

In writing this, I’ve had to assume much about Mùthoni’s life and thought process. I beg her forgiveness. I could be completely wrong. Of course, I am the friend of her father I mentioned above, and I’ve just begun what is turning into a lifelong journey of abstaining from fiat food. I’m learning to support my health with gourmet food from her father’s cuisine. I can only imagine what it must be like for her and her brother, being raised by a Chef who is so driven by his vision. But that vision is contagious. It only takes a brief look to see the truth about our food system. Her father is trying his best to be a warrior parent, and to raise warriors instead of slaves or masters.

Mùthoni’s dilemma, as I see it, is that she must choose whether or not to continue to eat the food of her childhood. Should she value it, along with the flavors and the health benefits, she will continue to be an outsider. Food is so integral to human interactions that it will take a strong character to make such a fundamental social choice. On the other hand, she could choose to lessen the mental pressure, and to avoid all the arguments, explanations, and inconveniences imposed by nearly unique dietary requirements. She could become all-American, and enjoy the party that fiat food offers.

I was so fascinated to hear her response to the scale. I have adult female friends who now weigh more than I do, and who aspire to reach an ideal body weight of 150 lbs or so. The funny thing, from my perspective, about Mùthoni’s situation, is that she has absolutely nothing to worry about physically. The problem I see she must face is all psychological, and I hope she has the strength of mind and character to see what a unique opportunity she has with a chef as a father, and not just any chef, but THE Chef, Master Kabui. I know of no one else who is doing the work he is doing, and I think his cuisine and philosophy is going to take the world by storm.

Mùthoni’s school friends, as long as they stay plugged into the fiat food system, will always be battling with the monster consequences of fiat food. But that monster will never set eyes upon her if she continues as she’s begun.

It’s such a unique problem that I wanted to write about it. It must be something like growing up in a liquor store, surrounded by drinkers and alcoholics, but refusing ever to drink. She must see the delicious flavor combinations and the very powerful advertisements, and continue to live as if they didn’t matter. That would require a strong character indeed. Or maybe it’s like a religious convert living among heathens, or an atheist surrounded by religious fanatics. What a thing to ask of your child. What a thing for Mùthoni to ask of herself.

But what is your health worth? To a young person, health is quite often a free gift. As a man in my early 50’s, my gift of health is well-worn and falling apart. If I could buy a new one, I would. But maybe, just maybe, in a way, I can. If, as Chef Kabui says, our food system in Western Culture is not designed so much for our health as it is for mass production, appeal, and ever-increasing sales, then the best way to recapture the lost health of my youth may be through my food choices, and a deliberate decision to return to my ideal body weight.

I’ve been a fan of life extension technologies since I first learned about the subject. Stem cell research, Elon Musk’s Neuralink, miracle pills to manage the telomeres of our chromosomes–it all sounds fascinating. It makes me wonder if I’ll live long enough to see medical research solve aging itself, and allow me to live a healthy life for several hundred more years. But realistically, I probably won’t.

However, since meeting Chef Kabui, I’ve realized that he may well be right in his belief that our global medical crisis is almost exclusively a function of our failing food system. If he’s right, then the best shot I have at life extension is to lose another 60 lbs, and to eat as uncontaminated, and as nutritionally sound food as I can find.

We are at war for our freedom. Chef talks about food justice, food literacy, and the terrible power of the fiat food system. This is just one aspect of the fight for our freedom and liberty. Chef believes that at present one of the best moves for any warrior is to fight for the quality of our food. It isn’t toppling any government, or changing any presidencies, but it just might change our world for the better, and free us from the horrible trap of fiat food.

I wish Mùthoni and her brother the best in their fight. They have a unique position to either defend or abandon, depending on what their strength allows. I’m rocked every day as an addict to fiat food, trying to recover my health and learn a new way to eat. They are looking at this battle from the other side, having the experience of many years of good eating, and now having to exercise the willpower of maintaining such a solid stance in the face of a world of food junkies. I honestly don’t know which is the tougher fight, but I'm happy to do my part.

The Economics Of Eating

The one lesson of good health


By Don Thaayù

To eat, or not to eat. That is the question.

There is a great movie out there called A Beautiful Mind. It was my first intro to the mental state of paranoid schizophrenia. It’s a story about a brilliant guy who just happened to see imaginary people from time to time. It led me to learn more about multiple personality disorder, and helped fuel my interest in philosophy and neuroscience.

It’s funny now, from my current non-religious perspective, to see how quick we are to label people as “crazy” or “wicked”. More often than not, we just want people to submit to our will, to our moral conclusions, so we categorize anyone who doesn’t agree with us as “crazy”, or some similar categorization.

The fact is that a split-, or multiple-personality is kind of the norm for human beings. Every desire or value that we invest in, over time, develops its own personality, of a sort. For example, there is the “me” who wants to be really productive. If that were the only me, I’d probably be doing pretty well, though maybe traumatized in other areas. But that’s not the only “me” in my head. There’s the gamer me, the parent me, the procrastinating me, the responsible friend me, the sad me, the tired and hungry me, the planner me (that’s the one who conspires with my procrastinator, telling themselves that making plans is the same as production), and several others.

I don’t think I'm alone in this situation. I suspect that, to some degree or other, most humans have a kind of political, or economic battle going on inside their heads all the time.

Another version of this is the story of feeding the right wolf, where a native American chief counsels his warriors to give their energy only to the version of their internal “wolf” which serves them, rather than to the one that will destroy them and those around them.

Multiple wolves, or split-personalities, the human mind is a bit of a battle ground.

This brings us to the economics of eating. Almost. First, I have to reference one of my favorite books, Economics in One Lesson, by Henry Hazlitt.

In this book, Mr. Hazlitt describes his “one lesson” like this: any economic policy is “good” if it serves all people at all times. If either of these conditions are broken, then such an economic policy is a “bad” one. For example, a reverence for and a defense of private property is a “good” economic policy, as it serves and benefits all people at all times, harming only those who wish to profit at another’s expense, against their will. Private property is, in principle, good for all, only harming those who wish to prey on others.

Another “good” policy would be one which promotes and enforces a general non-aggression policy, one in which anyone who initiates the use of force against another is stopped and punished. This moral and economic code is good for all, ensuring general peace and welfare, and is harmful only to those wishing to initiate the threat or the actuality of harm to others unjustly.

An example of a “bad” economic policy is taxation, or one of its many fruits, such as government welfare or a social security program. Taxation is theft, benefiting only those with the power to enforce it, at the expense of those who are forced to pay it. Welfare and social security benefit specific interest groups at the expense of others, without their consent.

I love his analysys. He describes his “one lesson” right away, then spends the rest of the book supporting his thesis. I find his arguments self-evident and very instructive. Now we are ready to eat!

If you live with a sort of political system within your mind, then a wise “economic” policy would benefit you very much. For example, we could say there is a special interest group located in your mouth. It’s your taste buds. They are lobbyists who constantly petition your mind for control over the jaws and the hands at specific times. When the foods they love are available, they team up with your slobber to make a strong case for their benefit.

Another part of your personal economic makeup is your stomach. It is supported by your heart, your vascular system, your liver, kidneys, pancreas, your lungs, and more. Pretty much every part of your body’s physical composition outside of the mouth is the citizenry, so to speak, that makes up your body politic. They are the ones who reap the benefit of the taste buds, the teeth, the salivary glands, and your chewing and swallowing muscles. They are also the poor slobs that get taxed to pay for poor economic eating choices, enforced by the mouth lobby.

My buddy and mentor, Chef Njathi Kabui, has, through the effort of decades, identified a serious problem with our food. Rather than the solved problem we’ve been sold, our global food system is anything but safe and supportive of human health and growth. The details are amazing, scary, and discouraging. But he has provided a fix and a wonderful alternative in his Afro-Futuristic Cuisine. Not only is his food delicious, but nutrition and purity are at the core of his “just food” approach to eating.

I bring up my association with Chef Kabui because it gives us a solid dilemma to chew, along with our food. Before he came along, the advice of the best nutritional and medical authorities was “diet and exercise”. Oh, and pills. And regular checkups. Now, fortunately, we have access to a full analysis of the scope of the failure and dangers of our global food supply chain, as well as locations for emerging supply chains with the potential to reverse a deadly situation. In other words, with his thesis and ongoing work, we now have a clearer picture of what we are up against when hunger strikes, and we are fully able to make use of the “one lesson” Henry Hazlitt spoke of, and apply it to our own internal political situation.

When we take a bite of anything, it has the short term consequence of providing certain services to the lobby (the mouth and appetite), as well as medium and long term consequences to the overall health of the entire cellular body politic.

How are you doing with your economic knowledge? If you don’t know about how bad most of the food available in our markets and restaurants is, I suggest you attend some of Chef Kabui’s lectures and classes. If you know, then let’s ask this question: are you making use of the “one lesson” as you eat? Is the bite you’re taking right now serving the lobby only, at the expense of the body politic? Is the bite you are chewing creating a tax that will be imposed on the rest of your body, a fiat load, as soon as you swallow? Are you satisfying your friends and family as they pressure you to “pick your poison”, to “eat, drink, and be merry, for health insurance covers everything”? Are you employing, with each bite, a policy that serves one specific part of your body at the expense of the rest?
I love my Chef Kabui. He offers a priceless commodity in allowing us to once again think of our food supply chain, our recipes, and our meals, as a solved problem. He offers the food abundance and flavor that we crave, but without the tax of fiat food. By applying the economics of eating that he teaches, we are able to, with every bite, satisfy the lobby in our mouths, while passing on great benefit and power to the rest of the body politic. This is the economics of eating. Let’s learn this “one lesson”, and apply it with every bite.

Decolonization of Salad Outfit



This might be my last recipe I will be creating for the year. It was inspired by my first student who paid for my class in cryptocurrency back in  February 2021. That essentially made her the first entrant and practitioner of my thesis of Just Food  as an antidote to Death Worship. The concept of Just Food and Unjust Food( also referred to Colonized Food) are the polar opposites in my classification of the food system along the binary of Life Worship and Death Worship as the main foundation of of my thesis relating to the broader topic of Food Justice. All that is a story of another day. Since then, a handful of other practitioners have followed suit and completed the whole course with amazing results. I have learned just as much as I have shared as I have experimented on taking indigenous concepts about food and fashioning them in a modern global food system.


My approach towards foods may sound highly exaggerated and so I wonder why they should pay for something that is so basic that anyone can figure out almost intuitively. That is not a problem that is unique in my experience but the experience of most new concepts. Knowing that has kept me focused on what my passion and interest is regardless of whether anyone ever pay for it. It was a great breakthrough to gain traction outside of academia and other institutions. Lindsey Thomas started a new phase in my work. 


Now that the consequences of food injustices are becoming more obvious as poor diet causes havoc in the health of more and more people across the globe, my ideas seem to gain acceptance more and more. The biggest news in Kenya about a renowned preacher who spent KSH.460 million shillings on cancer treatment in the U.S over one year must have turned the most heads. My thesis is that humans have been set up by having their food culture colonized in front of their eyes. That colonization has taken the form of food illiteracy that has literally erased the advanced food culture over our evolutionary history that is itself the foundation of our advancement as a species. But for the sake of profits a few powerful idiots are on the verge of destroying all the advances of the man species. Extinction of many species has been the cost we have had to pay, but now humans are facing the same extinction as a reality. 

You do math and tell me how sustainable it is for anyone to spend KSH 460 million shillings for medical treatment. While it is true that some of the illnesses might be related to other things, the truth of the matter is that we know all too well what the side effects of the chemicals we use in our food are. 

So I shared here my best vinaigrette I made for the year. Since I am focused on decolonizing our food, I am closing the year with the decolonization of the word vinaigrette. A French word for a salad dressing, typically made with vinegar, oil and spice. In line with my futuristic thinking of ever pushing the boundaries, I decided to formulate a name that would be most appropriate for salad dressing in my language. I arrived at the name Njuthi. I borrowed the word for sauce, mùchuthi and the first letters from the word, njuthí, meaning raw. Since a salad is a form of raw dish, the word for something that makes the salad much more attractive would be our equivalent to vinaigrette.  Funny enough it is just one letter off from my name. 

Ironically, the first Njuthi was named after my first student who paid for a class using cryptocurrency. She was also the first person to pay for a couple. Though the couple did not finish the class as agreed, they opened the door for the next couple of Kenyans living in Australia. TTLT is her mission name and she is still in the class with great plans. 

That she used cryptocurrency to pay for the class is very symbolic as the whole idea behind cryptocurrency is to offer an alternative to fiat currency which robs the currency holder through inflation. That kind of robbery through inflation is exactly the kind of robbery I have observed in food by pushing food that leaves us poorer, much poorer, over time as the case of KSH. 460 million shillings above demonstrates. It is kind of neat to have the first couple paying for the class in a currency that is designed for the same mission that my food is designed for.  Talking about design, the recipe in focus is the first one since the publication of a book on food design by Franseca Zampollo in Italy that was published this week. Contributed an essay and was profiled in the book. It was great to see a picture of the traditional kitchen in my village home in a big book. 

I therefore named my finest Njuthi in honor of the work she has done over the last two years. 

Please visit my website for the recipe that she had paid for to make it available to all. It is our gift and celebration for all the good things that each and everyone out there did to push life worship.

Eat well and worship life. 

Futuristic Vinaigrette

TTLT Njuthi

Ingredients

4 leaves dried holy basil,

2 cracked pieces of 1 star of anise

pinch of caraway seeds

5 peppercorn

Pinch of salt

Juice from 1 lemon

1 tsp chopped fresh parsley

5 leaves fresh oregano

1 tbsp tamarind paste

1 tsp olive oil

1medium clove of garlic

pinch of grated nutmeg

touch of maple syrup

Process:

Pound all the dry ingredients together

Add the Lemon,oil and Tamarind paste And mix throughly

Grate some Nutmeg as last step.

Serve with salad, boiled beans or radish salad.

Decolonized Salad OutfiT

This might be my last recipe I will be creating for the year. It was inspired by my first student who paid for my class in cryptocurrency back in  February 2021. That essentially made her the first entrant and practitioner of my thesis of Just Food 

As an Antidote to Death Worship. That is a story of another day. Since then, a handful of other practitioners have followed suit. I have learned just as much as I have shared. 


My approach towards foods may sound highly exaggerated and so I wonder why they should pay for something that is so basic that anyone can figure out almost intuitively. That is not a problem that is unique in my experience but the experience of most new concepts. Knowing that has kept me focused on what my passion and interest is regardless of whether anyone ever pay for it. It was a great breakthrough to gain traction outside of academia and other institutions. Lindsey Thomas started a new phase in my work. 


Now that the consequences of food injustices are becoming more obvious as poor diet causes havoc in the health of more and more people across the globe, my ideas seem to gain acceptance more and more. The biggest news in Kenya about a renowned preacher who spent KSH.460 million shillings on cancer treatment in the U.S over one year must have turned the most heads. My thesis is that humans have been set up by having their food culture colonized in front of their eyes. That colonization has taken the form of food illiteracy that has literally erased the advanced food culture over our evolutionary history that is itself the foundation of our advancement as a species. But for the sake of profits a few powerful idiots are on the verge of destroying all the advances of the man species. Extinction of many species has been the cost we have had to pay, but now humans are facing the same extinction as a reality. 


You do math and tell me how sustainable it is for anyone to spend KSH 460 million shillings for medical treatment. While it is true that some of the illnesses might be related to other things, the truth of the matter is that we know all too well what the side effects of the chemicals we use in our food are. 


So I shared here my best vinaigrette I made for the year. Since I am focused on decolonizing our food, I am closing the year with the decolonization of the word vinaigrette. A French word for a salad dressing, typically made with vinegar, oil and spice. In line with my futuristic thinking of ever pushing the boundaries, I decided to formulate a name that would be most appropriate for salad dressing in my language. I arrived at the name Njuthi. I borrowed the word for sauce, mùchuthi and the first letters from the word, njuthí, meaning raw. Since a salad is a form of raw dish, the word for something that makes the salad much more attractive would be our equivalent to vinaigrette.  Funny enough it is just one letter off from my name. 


Ironically, the first Njuthi was named after my first student who paid for a class using cryptocurrency. She was also the first person to pay for a couple. Though the couple did not finish the class as agreed, they opened the door for the next couple of Kenyans living in Australia. TTLT is her mission name and she is still in the class with great plans. 


That she used cryptocurrency to pay for the class is very symbolic as the whole idea behind cryptocurrency is to offer an alternative to fiat currency which robs the currency holder through inflation. That kind of robbery through inflation is exactly the kind of robbery I have observed in food by pushing food that leaves us poorer, much poorer, over time as the case of KSH. 460 million shillings above demonstrates. It is kind of neat to have the first couple paying for the class in a currency that is designed for the same mission that my food is designed for.  Talking about design, the recipe in focus is the first one since the publication of a book on food design by Franseca Zampollo in Italy that was published this week. Contributed an essay and was profiled in the book. It was great to see a picture of the traditional kitchen in my village home in a big book. 


I therefore named my finest Njuthi in honor of the work she has done over the last two years. 


Please visit my website for the recipe that she had paid for to make it available to all. It is our gift and celebration for all the good things that each and everyone out there did to push life worship. 


Eat well and worship life. 

The Herb of the Cross


It was a bit of a surprise to learn that a flower known as Brazilian Verbena that has been growing in our place is an herb with deep roots that extend to various cultures which include ancient Egypt, India and the West.  It’s coolest connection is with Brazil, barely a week after the visit of Professor Paulino from the Amazonia region in Brazil. 

The herb has numerous uses including the calming of nerves and activation of the lactation glands. It is known as the herb of the cross for religious reasons that I seriously doubt ever happened. But that is in the past. Our interest in the plant has to do with its signaling to connections of the future across cultures, and more specifically to the indigenous & Kilombo communities in Brazil. We are delighted to have a herb of the Cross that will hopefully calm and activate the lactation glands of our various cultures in a bid to calm our nerves from centuries of abuse. Incidentally, we have another Brazilian plant which symbolizes the persistent oppression that seems to always reinvent itself. The most vicious form of that oppression is food. The shrub of Brazilian Black pepper is a beautiful shrub but it is also invasive. It has been relatively contained and I am wondering if the app identified the shrub correctly. I didn’t plant the shrub and my parents must have planted it many years ago. How they acquired it and why they planted it will remain a mystery.

What is not a mystery is the world in which we live today is governed by a global system that is invasive and parasitic towards the human rights of the masses. Fewer things symbolize that unjust system than our food and our relationships. That is primarily the cause of sickness and wars. I am of the view that our stomachs are the dumpsite for all of our folly. Plants and animals absorb all the negative energies we emit through industrial processes and chemical farming. We then ingest the same and reflect health effects that mirror our environment. Primitive accumulation of wealth, more mining of natural resources like oil, not even the invention of faster gadgets can turn this futile tide. We have to cross over to a more sustainable and human existence.

Being Black and educated is a tough affair. I almost wish to be blind to keep me from seeing certain things. One of those things are the illusive justice that Africans continue to experience in the most subtle way that allows them to celebrate the shadow of other people’s justice as though it is their own. The problem of justice is complex and it takes more than racial and cultural tones. It comes layered and sexed. Women and men don’t experience injustice. Yet some think that the problem is the other sex, all the while the puppeteer is busy robbing them all. The divisions of color are equally the same. Blacks dream of living the same life as Whites only to realize that the goal post has long been moved by the time they get there. How else do you explain an increasing gap between races even as the economy grows. It doesn’t seem to occur for a minute that the whole system is gamed. The power gap between the races get wider even as more Blacks gain entry into hitherto White fields. Those in power use the power to increase the gap between them and the rest. Those who are behind look at each other and blame each other for their situation. 

The situation is not too bad as long as you go along with it and act like you don’t see. Being a coward pays well in that kind of system. To be African and to wish for change is a complex affair. I often think of the God of the Christians who kills his own son so that man can be saved. In fact, one of the tests of faith in the most important religious guide is willingness to die not for man but for God. A martyr dies for God but God does not die for man.  Man is dying in droves. I have often felt like Black martyrs who like Jesus say crucify me that this suffering may come to an end, but I am rebuffed by many who seem to believe that their salvation can not come from anyone else other than a White person. It matters not how those who come in the name of the various prophets rob and mislead the masses. The way of the book is the one and only way. Nothing else can suffice. 

The quest for justice seems like the story of the overcoat in the story by Nikolai Gogol. In the story Akaky Akakievich Bashmachkin is a low level clerk working for the government. He was in dire need of an overcoat to shield him from the bitter cold. Since he earned very little money working for the government, it took him years to save enough money to buy an overcoat. He was so proud of himself that he couldn’t wait to wear it out to a party for his coworkers. On his way from the party that night, his coat was stolen and he ended up dying from cold. Such is the nature of those who yearn for justice in a world that they complain of but one that still gives them so  much meaning and pleasure. Thinking about the complex web of subterfuge is looked at as boring. Like Bashmachkin, the most likely outcome is much of the same. I therefore stand to the side and watch even as I whisper to keep from annoying the oppressed too much that they might slain me. Maybe the only hope is that the masses will suffer enough to realize that the pain is too dense to be wished away or tolerated. How does one trust a government that comes up with endless amounts of money for wars but is hard pressed to keep its books balanced. The government borrows for the sake of a few but the masses are stuck with the debt.

I have therefore settled to farm and create a space of salvation of our stomachs. Maybe, just maybe, just food might do the magic and remove the vail. Anyone who can convince a person who is eating toxic food and claiming to be living life to stop eating against their best health and wealth can do anything, including taking them to heaven.

Our heaven is the farm. There are few places left where one can be a steward of the earth, a healthy stomach and healthy emotions. I am reminded of the best name of any character in Russian literature. That name is of a character in a short story by Leo Tolstoy entitled Where Love is, God Is. The main character is a shoe repairer working in a room in a city. The room is a basement with a window that allows one inside to see the feet of those walking by the street. The shoe cobbler had been repairing shows for so long that he could identify the people walking across the window by their shoes. He could tell a foreigner by simply looking at his shoes. The character was named Martin Avdeitch. I love the character because like him, I can identify aliens by the way they eat the same way Martin could identify members of his community from their shoes. The good bit is that the story is not about shoes or food.  The story is about poverty and loss of family. Martin had lost his wife and son, making him an angry man. When Martin was later introduced to the Bible, he read it with the hope that God would help him. Martin later realized that by loving his fellow man, he could find the peace he was seeking. 

The only small problem is that they poverty and death that was bothering Martin in early Russia taken taken the form of food and the poverty of food have extended to become the poverty of reason and logic. In that confusion, just food has become alien and old fashion. That means what is love has been turned into hate. The end result is a fiat world where most of the relationships and food is fake. I have now become an alien and many look at me in an odd way when I act with love for self and others in the manner I consume and serve food. But in other more mundane matters, much care and love is expressed that would make those in love with humanity, and just food jealous. I mean, how does someone take a birth twice and change his clothes twice but eat food that makes his stomach so dirty three times a day? Very clean on the outside with expensive makeup, apply foundation so that the makeup can stay on and then spray their arm pits so that they can smell like love and justice to their fellow man. In that kind of world, I am an alien. In fact, I am like a the lady  character that Martin interacted with in the story, that character was an old woman who hawked apples around town. Martin called him Babushka. I am not sure if the Russian use that word out of respect or in a dilatory way, but in the West, calling some like me an old woman or anybody for that matter is not considered a compliment. In our culture, you don’t get old as you age, you don’t get older every successive birthday, only an alien can think so. Whether I am considered an alien or even a Babushka, I will love and grow just food. Anything else is Russian roulette.

In the meantime the bees are having a ball falling in love with Spice of the Cross and this is something worth celebrating. Whether those that have turned their stomachs into alien spaces will cross to the side of justice or I will die waiting, I am at peace.

Kilombo & The Great African Catastrophe

The sun delayed setting today in our village in honor of a most humbling connection. Professor Paulino Itamar was our guest. He is a professor at Federal University of Western Pará but also works closely with 9 Kilombo communities inside the Amazon Forest. These communities of Afro Brazilians, also known as maroons, are populated by Africans who escaped slavery during the painful period of African Catastrophe. Many of these communities were able to resist every effort by the Portuguese to this day.

Professor Paulino has officially invited me to Brazil to give a symposium at his university and also do an event with the Kilombo communities. I understand that these communities are eager to connect with other Africans, something they haven’t done for over 250 years. The communities are in the very interior of the forest and have only been recognized by the government not too long ago. I have spoken to one of professor Paulino’s masters class along with the late environmentalists Wanjiku Mwangi, Professor Sally Nyambura and Thiong’o wa Gachie.

The students shared some of their favorite recipes at the end of our presentation. Some of the students are eager to visit Kenya and also spend a little at our farm and we can reciprocate by sharing some of our recipes made with food that is as close as possible to the food that the first ancestors of the Africans the diaspora ate before they were caught up in the African Catastrophe.

On his part, professor Paulino shared a great story of a Black masquerade character known as FOBO. FOBOR appears at a festival parade and punishes powerful individuals who misuse their powerful positions or resources to oppress others. I was very interested in the story and even wrote a short essay about it. I hope to one day see the masquerade of Fobòr in person. How cool would it be to have FOBOR at my dinner.

In any case we are glad for opportunity at hand. I am focused at the series of dinners on our farm with the community and the African Diaspora.Those first dinners is what I call the Dinner of Return. It’s the closest concept I know to spirituality. By preparing the farm to grow such important food, we are acknowledging the Great Catastrophe in all Africans and all those who perpetrated it and continue to both benefit from it as well as keep it alive, albeit in different form. We then follow that recognition with action and gratitude.

Kilombos is our spirit of resilience and resistance. Just food is the fuel that drives that resistance. It is a common thread amongst all those who were against the Great African Catastrophe. We shall overcome. Today we overcame the divide across language, color and culture. In other words we ate as one and we ate Just Food. It’s the least we can do to uphold our humanity in a time of intense darkness. When I make it Brazil, I will light another star in our constellation of Beautiful Blackness that shine. My parents would be most proud of their work to hear that their dreams of freedom, justice and love is being felt as far as the Amazon. Mau Mau meets Kilombo again over the Dinner of Return. In honor of those who have fought so hard using their own marshal arts like capoeira and indigenous spiritual system like voodoo and Santeria, we killed a cock and uttered the peace refrain Thayù Thayú. One Thayü for the Professor and one for the Kilombo communities that have invited me to their community. When I make to Brazil, I will start the same way we ended and the Kilombo will close the best way we know how. The spirit of Kilombo is the spirit of food justice, an integral part of overcoming the Great African Catastrophe. A deep debt of gratitude to all the stewards who have been working on that for all the generations past and those yet to come and those support this vision from a far even though they might never eat a morsel of grain from these farms. To those generous souls, may the FOBO 0f the carnival called life smile on you.

The Chestnut Allegory

By Chef Kabui


Cape Chestnut is one eatery in Nanyuki that sets itself apart from other food joints that I have visited. When I say it is a different space, I mean it in every sense. Let me start by warning anyone with a closed mind and a faint wit that this restaurant is not for them. It is not all in vain for that person(s), for at the very least, they know not to waste their energy going there. However, they surely will miss the palpable love and warmth of the space.


The restaurant is owned and operated by two women, who are also partners. One is an American trained chef and the other is an Indian self-made chef. The eclectic combination of the two cultures, training and passion makes for a perfect recipe of food that adds value to an African culinary tour. I typically would not eat American or Indian food during my tours in Kenya, but this is one experience I truly appreciated. My hesitation to eat these foods are largely emotional as well as political. I grew up with Indian friends and later moved to America where I have been living amongst some solid American friends. In both of these instances, I have matured enough to separate individuals from their dominant culture. I am able to live and thrive in that duality of a White oppressive power and to have some honest friends who happen to be white. A similar binary holds in my dealing with Africans. I now understand, regrettably, that not all Africans desire freedom or are willing to pay the price for it. That ultimately leaves me is a point of discrimination. Yes, you read that right. 


“Discrimination” started as a positive word until it was politicized by the oppressors. These oppressors practiced an illegitimate form  of discrimination to deny other's their rights to their culture, wealth, labor, markets, education and health. Yet, the etymology of the word has nothing to do with injustices, but rather discernment.  In other words, discrimination is the ability to tell differences for the sake of making the correct decision or choice. 


I, therefore, appreciated the restaurant because it represented my food story outside the African experience. The first foreign food that I ate was Indian. The latest influence on my food thinking is American. I call these influences the stem. The root is African, and they all bear fruit that is a synthesis of African, Indian and American, which I call Afro Futuristic Conscious Cuisine. 


I have to confess that the above description is overly simplistic and only useful in my narration of this specific story. Had I enough time and space and patience on your part, I would indulge in an equally interesting exegesis about how each of the three cultural cuisines are equally interconnected at their root. African food is deeply influenced by Indians who came to Kenya to build railways in the late 1800s. America was founded as a result of Europeans desire for Indian spices. Africans had been trading with Asia long before the coming of Arabs and Europeans. 


The connections do not end with the cultural and professional ties of the owners of Chestnut, but also with the word “chestnut”. Chestnuts also have an interesting story for Indigenous Africans, Asians, Americans and even Europeans. The tree contributed greatly to the building of wealth in modern day America. Enslaved Africans were central in the gathering of the nuts for food from the tree, which was sometimes referred to as the “bread tree". Its valuable wood is rot-resistant (though that did not make it immune to an Asian fungus that attacked the American Chestnut tree species that numbered in the billions).  As a tree that starts to produce nuts at 40 years and can live to be 1000 years, it is a symbol of both food security and vulnerability. In America, Indigenous people knew how to make both milk and flour for communities that provided a major source of the starch. Now, science has proven that chestnuts are a superior source of starch and contain other minerals such as selenium. The name, therefore, has an equally complex history that spans a wide period and across cultures. 


The Chestnut Restaurant represents the positive aspects of this long history, that is, the resilience, the nurturing aspects and a healthy dose of uniqueness. The two owners took time to welcome me and share their vision and philosophy. They have a farm in Mauu that provides them with a bulk of their food. That means that they do not have a standard menu. Their kitchen runs around the season. 


One thing that you will not find there is anything plastic. I need not do anything except give a big salute. The restaurant earned a place in my crass heart. That is one team that I would love to collaborate with for a fine dinner because our history, philosophy and destiny are aligned.


I could not hide my excitement about what I was hearing about the restaurant. My sister Wanjiku from Porini had to be a genius to select this as one of the places in Nanyuki to visit. Thinking about the chestnut can create a cultural and historical thesis about food of the triple heritage of the cultures aforementioned. It has not always been fancy but we have enough good to build a culture that is as valuable, transcendent and futuristic as a chestnut.