The sign in front of Tunu's Place says, "African American Cuisine," so you're excused if you step in expecting Southern soul food. But if you peruse the offerings, get over your disappointment at not being able to have ribs, and order one of the half-dozen main course items on the chalkboard, you're in for a smile at coming full circle. The soul of the West African cookery that introduced America to yams, okra, and gumbo is alive and thriving in this simple Liberian restaurant.

Tunu Moore immigrated two decades back, but it was only a year and a half ago that her children and their friends, whom she'd been feeding so well for so long, talked her into opening a restaurant. From day one, the food all but walked out the door on its own as take-out, when it wasn't stuffing happy customers who couldn't wait. This is the picture painted by Tunu herself -- far more modestly, of course. She's the friendly woman in the kitchen, who, if it isn't too busy, may serve you and answer your questions about the food.

West African cuisine is very time-consuming to prepare, she explained to us, a party of four that sat down with hearty appetites, inquiring minds, and a six-pack of Jamaican Red Stripe beer. The spice blends are complex and the main dishes often combine many ingredients. So Tunu offers only six daily entrees from the 14 listed on the take-out menu, all priced at $7. Most entrees can be served vegetarian -- the menu says all -- but some have meat gravies. A large number are presented over rice, which is often mixed with spices. Some items are indeed reminders of Southern cooking, such as collard greens. Moroccan couscous is a reminder of a neighboring influence on Liberian cooking, and the peanut butter sauce of the mafe (meat over rice) is widespread in West Africa.

Two of Tunu's most traditional offerings -- palava sauce, made from jute leaves, and thiebou djeun, in which fried rice comes with fish and vegetables -- were not available during our visit. She was also out of two items about which we were curious, fried dough balls, called kalla (three for $1), and homemade ginger drink ($1.25). Maybe this is the proprietor's clever way to get us to come back.

In the end, even the fussy eaters among us didn't have any complaints for what we wound up having. In my experience, this is unusual in places that grow out of home kitchens, where informality can slip into hastiness. Across the table from me, the "special dry rice with fried fish" ($8.50), was the only entree priced above $7. Dried, smoked fish was mixed with what we took to be ham, but was actually minced "lunch meat," according to Tunu, accompanied by a small bone-in fried fish that was a little dry. The taste of both was mild. To my right, "cheques rice & gravy" consisted of a bowl of chicken, beef, and fish sautéed with onions, green peppers, and tomatoes. The sauce to mix with the plain rice was mostly oil, but its tantalizing and unidentifiable flavor drew no complaints from the friend consuming it.

As luck would have it, my favorite dish on the table ended up being set before me. My palm butter and rice was hardly as plain as that sounds. It contained falling-off-the-bone chicken, beef -- a little too fatty for me -- and a bite of reconstituted dried fish, plus dried turkey that was in token quantity or just used as a flavoring agent. Red palm oil and spices offered another unfamiliar yet delicious flavor. Vying for tantalizing taste was Johnnie's fufu and soup. A steamed white mound of pounded plantain and potato starch was accompanied by plenty of chicken in the plain, red-broth soup, to be combined at will. Some mashed okra and a wedge of lime smartened things up. Ask for some ground sesame seeds, which, sprinkled on the fufu and a spoonful of broth, make for quite a convivial party of flavors.

As for dessert, at the beginning of the meal we had inadvertently ordered some. It was rice bread ($1.25) -- listed next to the corn bread -- moist, like carrot cake, but much sweeter. We would have had the traditional dessert, thiakry ($3), but there had been a run on it earlier in the day and none was left. It consists of couscous and sour cream, flavored with vanilla and topped with fruit. From the look on Tunu's face when she described it to us, we were probably really missing something.

Nevertheless, our party of culinary explorers ended up fattened and happy. And we did get some soul food after all. Not from Alabama, but from Mother Africa herself. It traveled very well.

Bill Rodriguez can be reached at billrod@reporters.net.

Issue Date: September 27 - October 3, 2002