I spotted some shells that looked exactly like mussels on the shore by the Bani crossing the other day, so I asked one of the Bozo fishermen to bring me some. Noone eats such things here, but since there is no accounting for the strangeness of toubabs, he didn’t even raise an eyebrow and arrived with a bagful of them last night. I had downloaded a recipe from the internet, and was ready in the kitchen with Papa, a glass of white wine and some chopped shallots . I was hoping that our experimentation would add a new winning starter to the Djenné Djenno restaurant repertory. I mean, how chic would that be: Moules Marinières on the menu!
I made sure they were all closed at the beginning, and that they opened during the boiling time, and just in case, I informed a doctor who happened to be staying in the hotel.
Alas, although they did me no harm they were very disappointing. I should have known: the name even means, after all, that the mussels have to come from the sea: it is the marin in the marinière that gives all the taste. The salt of the sea was missing of course and the mussels were very bland.