Akara Is Not “Bean Cake” SERIOUSLY! — And Other Culinary Crimes Against Culture

Let’s talk about a global injustice. No, not climate change. Not the economy. We’re talking about people translating Nigerian food names like it’s a UN conference.

Akara is not “bean cake.”
Moin-Moin is not “bean pudding.”
Garri is not “cassava flakes.”
Akamu is not “pap.”
Eba is definitely not “baked cassava flour.”
And Abacha? Please. The day you call it “African salad,” a palm oil spirit somewhere cries.

We’ve all seen it. You’re having a conversation with your foreign friend, and they ask:
“So, what did you have for breakfast?”

Instead of proudly saying, “I had Akara and Akamu,” you respond:
“Oh, just some bean cakes and corn pudding.”
Excuse me, what?! Now it sounds like you had brunch at a colonial boarding school, not a fire combo from your grandma’s kitchen.

Let’s get one thing straight: food isn’t just what we eat—it’s who we are. You don’t see Italians translating their food for our benefit.

Have you ever heard someone say:

• “Oh, I had flatbread with tomato sauce and stretchy milk for dinner.”
  Nope. It’s Pizza. End of story.

Or the Japanese say:

• “Tonight, we’re serving ‘fermented soybeans with salty fish broth and noodles.’”
  Nah. It’s Ramen or Miso Soup. We learn their names, we say them with chest.

Even the French, who barely pronounce their own words fully, don’t adjust for anyone. We all just learned how to say:

• Croissant (not “curved butter bread”),
• Crème brûlée (not “torched custard”), and
• Ratatouille (not “vegetable confusion in a pot”).

So why are we over here calling Tuwo Shinkafa “soft rice mold” or Ofada rice “local rice with sauce that looks angry”?

It’s giving self-editing. It’s giving culture dilution. It’s giving “I’m trying too hard to impress my oyinbo boss.”

Let’s stop the madness. If someone asks you what you had for lunch, say:

• “I had Nkwobi.”
• “I demolished some Amala and Gbegiri.”
• “I cleared one big bowl of Okpa.”

And if they don’t know what it is? Smile, look them in the eye, and say: “Google it, darling.”

Because guess what? That’s how we found out about Pad Thai, Kimchi, and Tiramisu. We didn’t cry for translations. We went to Google like adults and educated ourselves.

Moral of the story?
Translating Nigerian food into English doesn’t make you cosmopolitan—it just makes your food sound like something from a biology textbook.
Say it with your chest. Say it with pride. Say it in your language.

Let Akara be Akara.
Let Moin-Moin be Moin-Moin.
Let Eba stretch and slap the way Eba should.
And may we never again hear “bean pudding” at the breakfast table.

Nigeria to the world.

Culture on a plate.

Say it as it is.