I want to introduce you to what is perhaps the one dish that strikes a vivid and often cold twinge of nostalgia in me: fufu. Commonly mispronounced, 'foofwee' as it is called, manifested itself in a kind of mini panic attack, when my Mum would announce this 'delicacy' at oft dinner times. I recall as a kid being served huge bowls of this peculiar white mass of tasteless rubber. I always resisted, I threw a tantrum, I even tried to hide the stuff in the baggy pouches of my five year old cheeks, but my Mum always found a way to get me to eat it; namely through bribery, with the alluring promise of a Toffee Crumble or a Fab (remember those?) They never materialised and you'd think I would have sussed out my Mum's cunning fufu ruse; but no, I ate the stuff with full, gullible gusto. I never quite understood why my Mother refused to eat it herself?