A Taste of Home: Christmas Through the Eyes of a Global African Chef
December in Lagos doesn’t tiptoe in — it arrives with rhythm. It’s Detty December: that glorious, golden stretch of time when the whole city hums with energy. There’s music in the air, smoke from street grills, and laughter spilling out from open gates. While the rest of the world pulls on wool coats and warms up by fireplaces, Lagos turns up the heat — literally and figuratively — with food, music, and connection that feel like sunshine.
Growing up, Christmas meant one thing: Jollof rice. Slightly spicy, cooked over open fire, with grains stained red and kissed by smoke. It was the heartbeat of the season — a dish that connected families, neighbours, and every “you must eat something before you go” moment. But as Lagos evolved, so did its Christmas table — keeping tradition alive while inviting new flavours to join the feast.
These days, roast turkey often takes centre stage — golden-skinned, marinated with suya spice, garlic, and butter, brushed with a light honey glaze that catches the harmattan light just right. Around it sits a celebration of Nigerian sides: coconut rice with toasted flakes, peppered goat sizzling in its own oil, and moi-moi steamed in banana leaves, fragrant and delicate. Fried yam cubes dusted in herbs, caramelised plantain glistening like gold, and a small bowl of spicy stew for dipping — everything on the table sings with familiarity and flair.
While London winters call for fireplaces and mulled wine, Lagos offers something warmer — a heat that comes from togetherness. Tables stretch outdoors beneath palm trees, plates are passed around to old friends returned from abroad, and laughter travels faster than the music. In Lagos, the celebration doesn’t hide indoors — it lives outside, in the open, in full colour, with plates that never seem to empty.
And as night falls, bakers across the city bring festive joy to life with an array of pies, flaky pastries, and indulgent creations like Oreo banana bread. On every table, there’s a sweet something beside the savoury — brioche pudding drizzled in rum sauce sitting next to a platter of small chops that vanish almost as quickly as they appear. This is Lagos hospitality: lively, generous, unapologetically full of flavour.
Yet beyond the rich spreads and endless playlists, the real magic of Christmas in Lagos is found in its heart. It’s in the aunties who insist you take food home even when your plate is still full. It’s in the way every household seems to have an open-door policy. It’s in the quiet satisfaction that comes from feeding the people you love.
As someone who has celebrated Christmas in both cold London kitchens and humid Lagos gardens, I’ve learned that the meaning of Christmas is the same no matter where you are: it is warmth — not from weather, but from people. Because whether you’re serving roast turkey with Nigerian sides or that slightly spicy pot of Jollof that never fails, Christmas will always taste like home — full of spirit, spice, and soul.
