This afternoon at lunch I found myself craving dried fish with my Fufu. On my first eight or so visits to West Africa the sight or smell of dried fish immediately turned my stomach. I even avoided walking past them laid out on the ground at the market. But in September, Churcher dared me to try a bite of his. And today I was almost disappointed that the dried fish was “finished” at Osofu Mommy’s Chop Bar.
I still give the fish head to Churcher though. That is my current line in the sand.
