The Water That Remembers

Smoked water.
It’s a story — one that begins with Auntie Buernorkie, a woman whose quiet wisdom and hands-on teaching continue to shape my culinary journey.

I still remember standing in her yard, watching her create this extraordinary water. She moved with a rhythm that felt like ceremony. Palm flowers were laid on glowing charcoal, smoke curling upward, winding its way into an earthen pot. That pot, porous and patient, absorbed the smoke like a secret. When she filled it with water, it became cool and perfumed — smoky, earthy, and clean — thanks to the natural cooling power of clay and the coastal breeze.

In her community along Ghana’s coast, smoked water was hospitality. It was purification. It was memory.

I’ll never forget the moment she looked at me and chuckled,
“What could you possibly learn from me, the fancy chef?”
Everything, I thought. Everything.

Auntie Buernorkie passed away a few years ago. Every time I serve smoked water at a Midunu dinner — the first sip guests take as they arrive — I think of her. I think of how fragile these traditions are. How easily they can slip away if we don’t take time to listen, document, and share.

One night, I offered this water to a fellow chef I deeply admire. She lifted the cup, took a sip — and stopped. Silence. Her eyes filled with tears.
“My grandmother,” she whispered. “I haven’t tasted this since her.”

That moment stayed with me. It reminded me that food isn’t just about flavor — it’s about memory, inheritance, and the emotions that tie us to our roots.

To honor Auntie Buernorkie, I created a chocolate truffle infused with smoked water. It bears her name — Buernorkie — and remains a crowd favorite, smoky and soulful.

The truth is, flavor is fragile. Stories are fleeting. If we don’t preserve them, they may vanish with the people who carry them.

This week, I’m honoring her gift — and asking:
What flavor or ritual do you hope someone will remember? And imagining the future it might still grow.

📬 Want the full story?
Read the original Substack letter: selassieatadika.substack.com