Fish and rice. There’s just so much you can do with it, and living on the coast of Sénégal, I get a lot of it. Living in Dakar, a city situated on the Cap Vert peninsula, it makes sense that fish is not only widely available but serves as a critical part of the food economy of the country. I mean, the national dish of Sénégal is ceebu jën - which literally means rice and fish. For this reason, too, the background of this blog is the classic red ceebu jën. Having eaten both the red and white versions of the dish countless times, I thought I had a pretty good grasp on the concept. But, as I mentioned in a previous entry, I am always learning through my experiences with food. Turns out, fish and rice is no an exception to the rule.
On a recent trip to the Casamance, I discovered caldou. Before getting into the food, though, let me take a moment give you some context. The Casamance is the southern-most region of Sénégal just below the Gambia. Since 1982 the region has been in open rebellion, with the majority ethnic group of the region, the Joola, claiming that the Casamance should be its own independent state separate from Wolof-dominated Sénégal. Despite this ongoing conflict, the government has taken measures to ensure that much of the Basse-Casamance (click here for a map) is secure in order to protect the thriving tourist industry. Recently, a couple of my friends and I headed there by boat and in many ways, it was genuinely like entering a new country. The Joola, a largely Christian population while 95% of the country remains Muslim, clearly have a much stronger presence in the region. This dynamic along with the fact that the climate is more tropical and receives more rain than in most other parts of the country, creates quite a distinct food culture.
So back to the food. Caldou is essentially the same concept as ceebu jën – that is, it’s fish and rice – and yet, it is a completely different dish. Pierre Thiam, a Senegalese chef and author of Yolele! Recipes from the Heart of Senegal, explains that caldou is derived from the Portuguese name for clear soup, called caldo. With a mild and relatively simple onion sauce in comparison to the spicy and complex flavors of ceebu jën, caldou is lighter on the oil too. Instead, its heavy on the lemon and pepper and when we had it, the onions were cooked for a long time with more water and a bit of tomato, so that they melted in your mouth and blended well with the sauce and rice. The picture below is of my first caldou experience. Judging from the glow of the room and my face, the dish was pretty awesome. However, it does also make it a bit hard to see the food.
Here's a better picture of the actual food from our second day of caldou.
Let’s break down the two main components of the dish. The fish we ate on the trip was incredible, and contributed to my instant love of caldou. We mostly stuck around the Casamance River, which meant most of the fish we ate also came from this salt-water body of water. At one of the student hotels we stayed in on the Island of Karabane in the river, I was lucky enough to see one of the hotel workers reel in two giant fish right off the beach. They’re pictured here.
On the left: A 'Law croaker' (awesome), known in Wolof as taunon and in French as otolithe
On the right: A 'Lesser African threadfin,' known in Wolof as siket mbao and in French as capitaine.
Another new thing for me – rice from the Casamance. Since the region gets a lot more rain than in other parts of the country, many people rely on cultivating rice, and we were lucky to have gotten to eat some. The rice was much fluffier and lighter, and you could definitely taste its freshness, unlike the broken rice in Dakar that is often imported from Asia (broken rice pictured on the right). I thought it was kind of strange that such delicious rice was available locally in Casamance and yet was still not reaching the markets of Dakar. I asked a couple of people about it, and while people from the area are not likely the most objective sources, they seemed frustrated that not more was being done on the part of the government to make this local rice more widely available and reduce Senegal’s foreign dependence on rice.
Politics aside, I’m now back in Dakar and craving some caldou. So I went to the market and someone selling fish helped me pick out a good type for caldou. Courtesy of Peter Thiam and his cookbook, Yolele! Recipes from the Heart Senegal, here’s the recipe I followed for the dish (pictures are my own):
2 firm, white-flesh fish (carp, tilapia, or bass) (1 1/2 pounds each)
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| I used a small, white-fleshed fish with a Wolof name I've already forgotten |
salt and freshly ground black pepper
juice of 2 lemons
3 cups water
2 cups basmati rice I used the broken white rice found in Dakar
1 tablespoon peanut or canola oil
1 small onion, sliced into ¼-inch rounds
1 tomato, chopped
1 tablespoon fish sauce or one 2-inch piece guedj (dried, smoked fish)
5 to 6 okra pods (optional) I didn’t use them
1 habanero pepper or really any other really hot pepper
1. With a sharp knife, cut 2 or 3 slashes on each side of the fish (about 1 in deep). Rub salt, pepper, and 1 tablespoon of the lemon juice onto the outside of the fish and inside the slashes. Allow to marinate 1 hour in the refrigerator.
2. Meanhwhile, bring 3 cups water to a boil in a pot with a lid. Add the rice, return to a boil, lower the heat, cover and simmer until water is absorbed, 10 to 20 minutes, depending on the variety. Remove from heat.
3. Heat the oil in a large saucepan over medium heat. Sauté the onion and tomato until onion is soft but not brown.
4. Add the fish and enough water to cover. Bring to a boil.
5. Reduce heat and add the fish sauce or guedj. Simmer until half-cooked, about 10 minutes. Add the okra pods and the habanero and continue cooking until tender, about 15 minutes. Remove from heat and add the remaining lemon juice to the pan.
6. Serve the fish on a platter with the sauce, vegetables, and rice on the side.
Bisimillah!
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