Longing for Home: A Love Letter to Zimbabwean Food

Longing for Home: A Love Letter to Zimbabwean Food

There’s a popular saying, "You will miss me when I’m gone." Well, today, that quote hit me hard—but not in the way you’d expect. This morning, I woke up in actual tears, not because of heartbreak or homesickness in the usual sense, but because I was craving sadza. Yes, sadza! That warm, comforting, soul-nourishing staple of Zimbabwean cuisine. And not just sadza—sadza and mazondo, tsunga vegetables, rice with peanut butter, sadza and fish, muboora, and don’t even get me started on sugar beans and butternut!

Look, before anyone says, “But Jez, you can find mealie meal in Japan, just make your own sadza,” let me stop you right there. Yes, I can make it, and yes, I’ll try. But here’s the truth—it does not hit the same way as the one back home! There’s something magical about Zimbabwean food, a deep, rich flavor that’s not just about the ingredients but about the experience.

Back home, eating wasn’t just about satisfying hunger. It was about tradition, about sitting together as a family, about conversations over a steaming plate of food. There was something sacred about gathering around the table, sharing stories while savoring a plate of well-cooked sadza rezviyo with rich, peanut butter-infused muboora or perfectly grilled fish. The flavors were bold, fresh, and authentic—no shortcuts, no substitutes.

I find myself reminiscing about places like Gavaz Restaurant, KwaTerry, and Garwe Restaurant, spots where we indulged in the purest, most traditional Zimbabwean meals. The aroma of slowly cooked beef stew, the earthy taste of freshly pounded peanut butter, the perfect balance of spices—these are the things I long for.

Now, don’t get me wrong—Japanese food is great. The sushi, ramen, tempura, and even the sweet, delicate flavors of mochi have their charm. But nothing compares to the deep satisfaction of eating home-cooked, Zimbabwean food made with love, patience, and tradition. It’s the kind of food that hugs you from the inside, the kind that makes you close your eyes and savor every bite.

Being away from home has made me realize that food isn’t just food—it’s a feeling, a memory, a reminder of who we are and where we come from. Every bite of sadza back home tasted like warmth, like laughter, like late afternoons spent in the kitchen helping mhamha prepare vegetables while the radio played Oliver Mtukudzi in the background. It tasted like family, like culture, like belonging.

I might be able to make sadza in Japan, but it will never quite taste like home. And that’s okay. Missing it just means that it meant something—it was never just food; it was an experience. So, until I return to Zimbabwe, I’ll keep reminiscing, keep craving, and maybe, just maybe, keep attempting to recreate the magic of home in my little Japanese kitchen.

But let’s be honest—it will never slap like the real deal!

If you’re away from home, what’s the one dish that haunts your cravings? Drop a comment and let’s talk about our love for food! Because if there’s one thing we all can agree on—food isn’t just food; it’s home served on a plate.