We all know someone bougie. The guys that are a little bit extra fancy. These guys that wear fake it till they make like colognes and accessorize it with accents from Cadbury chocolate wrappers. These guys can piss you off, referring to chipo as fries. Even when they are clearly referring to that joint along Moi Avenue; you see that joint you can’t call what they serve there fries. Not when the oil they use is residue from Abel’s sacrifice. That’s just chipo. But then there’s the real bourgeoisie. The ones whose accent rolls out of their tongue like a red carpet. For me my original bourgeoisie is Angela.
I know she is going to almost kill me when she reads this, but, she is always almost killing me anyway. I always pull shit like this and say something funny about her; which is confusing for her because she does not know whether to laugh or get pissed. So she ends up saying my full name and pointing at me then says a resigned “ni sawa” followed by her signature shoulder shrug.
The first time I learnt she was bourgeoisie (pronounced bushwazee) was a little of two years ago and we were talking restaurants. She vouched for sushi. I had only ever heard of sushi in Chinese (sushi is actually Japanese but who is counting?) Kung-Fu movies and did not know that stuff existed. But here she was talking about it like some prince charming. Hands on chest, head raised up, and eyes closed punctuating her sentences with shit like “Oh my God”, “aki you are joking” and “it’s just. I don’t know. It’s just good”. Fellas tip; in case you want to shoot your shot with her; Sushi. Now me, might be the Eastlands in me but the closest I have come to raw fish is when mathe pale kwa round-a-bout is heating up her oil to fry hers. I do not get how raw, skinned fish, rolled in some black leaf thing, stuffed with rice sijui veggies and dipped in soy sauce can be edible. Only thing that should be had raw is… never mind.
But there’s been many instances after that; like when we had to throw a house party for a colleague’s birthday, Faith. The plan was simple; get lots of booze and food. Unofficially I was in charge of the alcohol; I think it is because I am good with money. They cannot be another explanation. Angela was put in charge of food. That damsel can throw down. It’s like her dreams are episodes of cook shows. So we are at Junction getting supplies. At the liquor section as I am loading the trolley with bottles of vodka she throws in an amarula, chocolate bars and a wine. Casually. It is like people at parties between vodka shots ask for Amarula. But hey, who cares we get it anyway. Then we head over and get other supplies including jello (I was trying my hand at this bourgeoisie so I was gonna make jello shots).
Preparing jello shots is as easy as the tutorials say it is. All you do is pour the powder, add hot water, and then pour in the liquor. You let it cool then freeze. After a few hours (depending on the efficiency of your freezer) you have a sweet alcoholic treat ready.
Angie fires up the cooker, throws a pan on it and then starts breaking the chocolate inside it. I am just staring at her wondering what sorcery this is from the Hogwarts School of Kitchenry. So I ask her what she’s doing; and she effortlessly, like a light breeze she says “I’m making fondue.” Casually. Like it is something I should have already known. I mean how obvious does it get? A pan, cooker, broken chocolate? It’s fondue dumbass. So I still look at her; wanting more than just “I’m making fondue.” I needed to know what that was. Was it edible? Was it related to Feng-Shui? But I stopped asking as soon as I saw her pour in the Amarula. To me; as longs as you put booze in it we gon’ be alright. You could make the worst food ever but serve it with a glass of whisky; I will not complain. Like this one time I woke up lazy and could not whip up a proper breakfast so I chugged down a cold beer and microwaved slices of pumpkin.
So she goes about her stuff making fondue. I am having so much fun saying that word. Fondue. It feels like a name you would give a large stuffed teddy bear that you bought for your girlfriend but realized you needed the warm hugs more. Fondue would be the teddy that welcomes you home after a rough day and hushes you telling you everything will be fine. But then it will be the teddy you deny owning and when your boys come across him you blame some ndeche who lived in the same plot but hamad but has never kujad for it since she asked you to keep it coz the picko did not have enough space.
Guests arrive for the party. It is mostly girls as is with girl hosted parties. Unless you live in Eastlands then girl hosted parties have more guys than girls. I don’t understand how that works. Anyway; guests arrive; I break out the vodka. I want guys to first have a round of the concentrated stuff before trying the jello shots. People tend to be picky about these things. Like some guy wit dreads who kept making fun of jello shots calling it juice for ladies. But three shots later he became Ken Wa Maria’s back-up singer.
This is not in chronological order because my mind does not work that way; but Angela brings out the fondue. Which is basically hot chocolate mixed with Amarula and skewered marshmallows to dip in the chocolate. It looks good. From the plating to how it is served. But Kenyan house party goers are not appreciative. They all stare at the stuff like an alien just pooped it in front of them. Now, Angela is a sensitive; they do not make Sensodyne for her type yet so she’s just about to catch. She catches actually. So what do people like me do? We enjoy fondue. Like it is something we have eaten our whole lives. Like I go out to a club and ask for tusker mbili baridi na fondue. I am sure Nancy the bartender would slap the Eastlands back into me. But here I don’t care.
Also we are not keeping score but people loved my jello shots more than the fondue hehe (this just cost me but hey; if friends don’t fight?)