One of my earliest childhood memories is hearing the vendors chant “Attiéké chaud! Attiéké chaud!” or “Hot attiéké!” when they walked through the streets of my neighborhood, holding large baskets of this national delicacy on their heads.
Fast-forward 25 years, and women carrying individually wrapped portions of fermented cassava couscous still walk around Abidjan, Ivory Coast’s largest city, selling the UNESCO-recognized dish.
As an alternative to rice, it’s hard to find a hotel restaurant in Côte d’Ivoire that doesn’t serve attiéké. From the simplest of eateries to the fanciest of restaurants and even on the beach, it’s everywhere.
Attiéké’s popularity has spread beyond the country and can now be found throughout Africa, especially in French-speaking countries.
It’s also very popular in neighboring Ghana and my home country of Sierra Leone, where there are some pretty unusual serving suggestions.
Attiéké’s distinctive tangy flavor comes from cassava tubers mixed with fermented cassava, giving it a unique flavor and texture.
Cassava is grated, dried and then steamed before serving.
Hearty and versatile, Ivorian chef Rose Traore describes its texture as “fluffy yet granular, similar to couscous.”
Mr. Traore adds that the slight spiciness of attiéké gives dishes a unique depth, perfectly balancing spicy or savory sauces.
For Paul-Adil Beke, an Ivorian chef who appeared on the British TV show Masterchef: The Professionals, “sour, hot and sweet” are the words that come to mind when she describes the taste of attiéké.
Gluten-free and available in a variety of grain sizes, the best is often the most expensive. Some places even sell red attieke that has been soaked in palm oil.
Eaten with a variety of dishes, the most popular version is with grilled chicken or fish, a simple spicy tomato-based sauce and salsa made from chopped tomatoes and onions.
This was one of the first dishes I made for my husband when we met 15 years ago. He liked it so much that he offered to open a restaurant serving just that.
Attiéké is unpretentious, although traditionally reserved for special occasions such as weddings and birthdays, people now eat it every day.
Ms. Beke, who comes from a family of attieke masters, explained some of the nuances.
“Our coloring will be a little more yellow than some other regions because of the proximity to the sea,” she said.
A native of Jacqueville, a small coastal town where attieke is cooked, she often features it on the menu at her New York supper clubs.
Although I left Côte d’Ivoire at the age of 14 when civil unrest broke out, I could never give up attiéké.
In London, I would drive miles to Congolese shops to retrieve packets of attieke from the permafrost at the bottom of the freezer, hoarding them for dinner guests I could evangelize.
When I moved to Nigeria, I instructed my relatives to bring me aid packages from Abidjan or Freetown, the capital of Sierra Leone.
It was one of the first things I looked for when I moved to Johannesburg, South Africa three months ago.
Where to find it is always one of the first questions I have for any Ivorian I meet outside of Côte d’Ivoire.
