A few years ago, I spent two memorable weeks in Salvador, Brazil, a city that was a major port during the Atlantic slave trade and whose culture still retains a strong African influence. Unsurprisingly, my favorite memories are of food, specifically the inordinate amount of time I spent stalking and trying dozens of versions of a dish called acarajé: small cakes of mashed black-eyed peas that are deep-fried in dendê—dark-red palm oil—then split in half and stuffed with a thick paste made from shrimp and cashews.
Acarajé, whose roots lie in West Africa, is sold throughout the streets of Salvador by women called baianas, who are easily recognizable by their distinct round skirts, white blouses, and brightly colored turbans. Within a few days, I found my favorite baiana; she added small, shell-on, boiled prawns, as well as a heaping spoonful of gooey, spicy stewed okra, to her dish. I spent nearly every day I was there scheming to get back across town to eat her acarajé…
