THE STANDARD
"The Mama left Lagos in 2009. The scent left with her. This is the story of how it came back."
I was born and bred in Surulere, Lagos.
My mother, whom we call The Mama, made chin-chin by hand. Every batch. When the oil hit the dough, the scent filled the kitchen and drifted into the street. My brother and I would wait for it to cool, fill our pockets, and disappear. It never lasted long. The children on the street always knew.
As I grew, I stood beside her. I learned the weight of the dough. The temperature of the oil. The feel of it before it went in and after it came out. I learned why the neighborhood showed up.
In 2009, The Mama left Nigeria for the United States. The kitchen remained. The ingredients were still there. But the intuition was gone. The scent left with her.
For years, the recipe existed only as a memory.
Pictured: The mama (middle), my friend (top right), my brother (bottom left), and me (top left) making chin-chin in Benin.
In 2013, at a family gathering in Nigeria, I saw chin-chin on the table. The texture was off. The grease showed. Someone laughed and asked if I could do better.
I said yes.
I bought the ingredients on the way home. That first batch took hours. I knew it was right before I tasted it.
When I brought it back, the room went quiet.
Then came the sounds.
Hmmm, hmmm.
"This is it." "Call it Mikey's." "Grandma's recipe."
The room named it before I did.
They told me to make it a business. So I did.
Soon, I was selling to people with an acquired taste. People who knew what chin-chin was supposed to be and had stopped being able to find it. They carried it across borders I hadn't crossed yet. Dubai. The Caribbean. The United States.
In 2017, Mikey's Gourmet found its home in Los Angeles.
Today, we make it the same way it was made that first night in Nigeria. Carefully. In small batches. The recipe hasn't been rushed or reinvented. It's been kept because it works.
The Mama is in Los Angeles now.
She can smell it again.
Michael Lawanson
Conservator, Mikey's Gourmet