Every dish has a journey. And along that journey, a story can be told. A story of the past melding with present, and future. This recipe originates from a farm village in my mother’s native Cameroon. My mother prepared this dish with her grandmother, whom I’m named after. Rural farm life forced her family to make do with what they had. And what they had were an abundance of red lentils and goat meat, which they use to make a hearty meal. My mother perfected this dish. When she left for America at age 23 in 1981, she didn’t take many things with her. But she brought a strong culinary sense and this recipe. Throughout the 1980s, she cooked this recipe and oscillated between the original version to that with an American flair, corned beef. Once the mid-90s hit, I encountered this recipe at age 9. I never asked how it was made, but I would watch inquisitively as mama diced each vegetable into perfection. And that unforgettable aroma would fill the kitchen along with the sound of Saturday morning cartoons blaring in the background. Once I left for college in Canada, it was my turn to take on the recipe. I failed miserably on my first attempts. A simple phone call would help me understand the subtle nuances. Once it did, I unlocked a piece of my lineage in Cameroon. I had finally learned how to make what my great-grandmother made. The traveling recipe hadn’t made its final round. When I left for London, I took many things with me and this recipe was neatly written in my mind. It was there for me when I struggled while writing my Master’s dissertation. It provided me the energy to sit countless 12 hour days in the library for months. Simply put, it’s resilient. The recipe survived its meager beginnings in rural Cameroon to the bustle of America, to Canada’s capital city, and to the ornate history of London. This generational lentil stew is a lasting legacy. A versatile recipe that leaves a lasting footprint and a new experience in each country it touches.