A Marriage of Senegalese and Japanese Cuisine With Delicious Results

Credit…Linda Xiao for The New York Times. Food stylist: Maggie Ruggiero. Prop stylist: Paige Hicks.

Before the chef Pierre Thiam proposed to his wife, the writer Lisa Katayama, he took her to his Senegalese hometown to meet the family, where his aunt cooked them a dish of leafy vegetables with peanut butter. Katayama, who was born in Tokyo, ate it with glee, noting that, “smothered in sauce and placed generously over rice,” it recalled the deep flavors of Japanese curry rice.

“I was so surprised how much she loved it,” Thiam said. The experience — the connection, the partaking, the openhearted reception — embodied teranga, the Wolof word meaning hospitality and sharing for which Thiam named his New York restaurants, as well as a similar Japanese concept, omotenashi.

Recipe: Pumpkin-Peanut Rice Balls With Maafé

It was just one of many points of cultural overlap for the couple, further explored in their book, “Simply West African: Easy, Joyful Recipes for Every Kitchen.” In it, the couple are in sync, with Thiam’s story and recipes augmented by Katayama’s help. But more enticing still are those moments of culinary overlap, as in a karaage-style West African fried chicken, served with moyo sauce, a vibrant relish of tomatoes, peppers and tomatoes; a dish they call “West Africa meets Japan” fonio porridge, served with umeboshi, those lovely pickled plums, and togarashi, the electric Japanese chile powder; pumpkin-peanut rice balls with maafé, a melding of their respective childhoods and a recipe developed with their 4-year-old daughter, Naia, in mind.

Maafé might be the ultimate comfort food. Thiam’s version is especially grounding, thickened with peanut butter. It’s savoriness incarnate, thanks to a sauté of onion, garlic and tomato paste, enlivened with fruity chile, cayenne or Scotch bonnet. A dash of fish sauce, Thiam’s substitute for the more traditional umami lenders (dried fish or the fermented locust bean seeds known as dawadawa), accents the dish. In most cases, describing something as “lip-smackingly delicious” would be a cliché, but here it accurately describes how this maafé coats the mouth and tongue, making you press your lips together if only to taste every last molecule.