More reasons for me to patronise Njoro’s mutura base
Last week, I spent a huge chunk of my afternoons musing. Or rather, I was busy patronising Njoro’s mutura banda.
You see, Njoro is like the village NIS, with every whisper and murmur unlikely to pass his dish-like ears. His antenna, like I always tell him, is always up, picking every gossip.
He is the sort of fellow who can tell you that the charcoal dealer, Obadiah, sent his wife of three years away because the family’s last born apparently resembled Manu, the boiled eggs vendor who has made friends with all the village dogs for obvious reasons.
However, Njoro’s intelligence-gathering expertise, and how he uses that information to his advantage is a story for another day.
Delicacy ingredients
I was telling you that last week I ate more of his delicious mutura more than any other villager. His mutura is made from pieces of lung, tripe, fat, blood and all these are spiced with onions and tiny pieces of chilli.
As you can see, it is a cocktail of sorts but not for the faint-hearted or those with sensitive stomachs. If your stomach is weak, you keep off this delicacy or your system will keep on rumbling like a regiment of soldiers on the march.
How Njoro’s grandfather, the late Kiongo Kiarie, taught him to mix the ingredients in the correct proportions is a secret he keeps close to his heart. That is one way he has kept competition at bay.
The only reason I eat Njoro’s mutura in copious quantities is that I know for sure he troops to an abattoir in Njiru to buy the offals to keep his ardent patrons happy, yours truly included.
Another reason I have become a more than regular eater of his cow hooves (this is beef, too) is the discovery that there is nothing inherently wrong with red meat. Haki!
If you doubt, ask a fellow we call Man Giddy, or Gideon Moi. Did you not hear him telling us the other day that nothing came between his father (man Toro) and meat, especially goat ribs? Now you know why the so-called goats of Mogotio are famous. But more of that later.
Apparently, Giddy’s dad loved his meat, and was enjoying it to the last days.
I also love my meat, whatever variety it is but you see, doctors have put the fear of God into us that red meat will be our undoing. If red meat is all that bad, how and why did Daniel Toroitich Kapkorios arap Moi live to the ripe old age of 95?
Something is amiss here.
Also, if you listened carefully to the speeches during Moi’s funeral, you must have heard his doc, or such a bloke, saying the old man enjoyed some wine with his meals. So, who created this misleading rumour that the old man was a teetotaller?
And how come this little but highly illuminating secret remained so for all the years he bestrode the length and breadth of Kenya like a colossus? There is a conspiracy theory targeted at those of us who imbibe the frothy stuff in brown bottles that we are headed for doom. Washindwe! Washindwe tena!
In case you are not listening, the point I am trying to make here is that there is nothing wrong with enjoying akoho, as the young generation calls it, plus especially nicely roasted, juicy goat ribs, complete with a lump of steaming ugali and some kachumbari to act as a catalyst once the entire mix is in the stomach.
If you sweat a little after stashing away this stuff, ignore it. Your science teacher must have told you that digestion, (or was it metabolism?) produces heat as a by-product. You are doing just fine. Just make sure you are at the verandah, for some breeze, if your local pub boasts such luxuries.
More chillies
I am told by the village drunks, which I believe to be true, that the more chillies there are in the kachumbari, the more deadly the entire mixture is for worms. I am not saying I harbour worms but I am sure you get the drift.
All the folks who told us that beer and meat (especially together) are bad for us owe us an explanation.
Meanwhile, things will never be the same for me again. The supplier of goat meat to Man Njoro has better take note. I will eat more of that stuff. Damn all the doctors who kept me away from this happiness! Washindwe!
Have a goat ribs-filled week, folks!
– The writer is Special Projects Editor, People Daily
