From Khartoum to New York: A Taxi Driver’s Journey Through Sudanese Food

Bismillah... It Starts With Food

Every morning before I start my shift driving my yellow cab through the busy streets of New York, I drink a hot cup of cinnamon tea, close my eyes for a moment, and imagine home. Sudan. My Sudan. Not the Sudan you see on the news, but the one that lives in the smell of roasted peanuts, the bubbling sound of mullah on my mother’s stove, and the sharp, warm taste of kamounia cooked with love and fire.

They say when you leave your country, your stomach never does. That is true for me. I came to New York ten years ago, driving taxi day and night, but my heart – and my appetite – stayed in Khartoum. For years I tried to recreate the flavors of my childhood, but something was always missing. Then, alhamdulillah, one night during a slow shift, I found a website called myplanetfood.com. That night changed everything. I finally found so many Sudanese recipes, written in simple words, with pictures that almost made me cry.

So today, let me take you on a small ride – not through Brooklyn or the Bronx, but through Sudan. Through its food. Through its soul.

Mullah: The Heart of the Table



Let’s begin with the queen of Sudanese cuisine: Mullah. In Sudan, mullah doesn’t mean one dish – it’s a whole family of sauces and stews, usually served with kisra (a fermented pancake made from sorghum) or asalya (a soft, cooked sorghum dough).

Every family has its version. There’s mullah bamia made with okra, soft and slimy in the best way, stewed with beef or lamb. There’s mullah tagalia – my favorite – cooked with ground meat, tomato, spices, and sometimes crushed peanuts. My mother used to cook it in a heavy iron pot, her hands moving fast, eyes never looking at a recipe. That smell used to bring the neighbors knocking.

In New York, I tried making tagalia with American ground beef and store-bought tomato paste. Not the same. But when I found the myplanetfood.com version with real Sudani-style measurements, I tried again. I added a bit of peanut butter to recreate the flavor, and suddenly, my apartment smelled like home.

Tagalia: Food of the People

Tagalia is not just food – it’s a memory. In Sudan, it's the dish you eat at funerals and weddings. It brings people together. My father, Allah yarhamo, used to say, "If there's tagalia on the table, the family is still together."

In New York, I invited two of my fellow cab drivers – one from Bangladesh, one from Ghana – and made a pot of tagalia. They both asked for seconds. Then thirds. My Ghanaian friend said it reminded him of groundnut stew from home. I just smiled and said, "This is Sudan."

Kamounia: The Bold Cousin

Let me introduce you to kamounia, the rich and spicy beef liver stew cooked with cumin (kamoun), onions, garlic, and oil. It’s bold, strong, not shy at all. In Sudan, we say it "kicks your tongue awake." It’s a dish mostly loved by adults, especially men, and eaten with bread, usually late at night or on a Friday afternoon with tea.

The first time I made kamounia in New York, the smell filled my small apartment so much that my American neighbor knocked to ask if I was burning something. I told him, "No my brother, that is just how cumin talks."

He asked to try it. He coughed a little at the spice but then smiled and said, "This is deep." I told him, "In Sudan, even our food has poetry."

Shaiyah: For the Meat Lovers

Ah, shaiyah! Simple, strong, beautiful. Just grilled or fried pieces of meat – lamb, goat, or beef – usually seasoned with salt, black pepper, and sometimes garlic. No sauce, no hiding. In Sudan, shaiyah is what you eat during Eid or when a guest comes and you want to show honor. We say, "Shaiyah makes the guest stay longer."

In the U.S., I buy halal lamb from a shop in Queens, slice it thin, season it with love, and grill it on my stovetop. The smell makes me feel like I’m back at my uncle’s house, where the kids run barefoot and someone is always roasting meat outside on charcoal.

Kisra and Gurasa: The Carriers of Flavor

What is mullah without kisra? Nothing! Kisra is like a thin pancake made from fermented sorghum flour. It has a sour taste, a soft texture, and it's the pride of Sudanese women. My mother used to ferment the dough in a covered pot for two days. The house would smell strange and beautiful at the same time.

Kisra is not easy to make in New York. Sorghum flour is hard to find, and the climate is different. But I found a version on myplanetfood.com that uses a mix of flours and short fermentation. Not the same, but close enough to bring tears.

And gurasa? That’s our Sudanese bread – soft, spongy, and thick like a pancake. It soaks up sauce like it was made for that purpose. I once made gurasa and served it with mullah bamia to a friend from Yemen. He dipped it, ate it, and said, "This is good food, wallahi."

Asida and Rob: The Comfort Duo

When I was a child, whenever someone got sick, my mother made asida. It’s a thick porridge made from wheat or sorghum, stirred for a long time until your arm hurts. Then it's served with rob – fermented yogurt sauce – or a rich meat stew. It’s soft, easy to digest, and full of care.

Now in New York, when I have a cold or I’m just tired from long shifts, I make a small pot of asida and pour warm rob over it. I sit on the floor, eat with my hands, and for a few minutes, the city disappears. I’m back in Bahri, sitting with my cousins, sharing one big plate.

Street Food: Tamiya, Ful, and Ta’ameya

Let me tell you about Sudanese street food. Cheap, filling, and unforgettable.

Ful is our national breakfast. Cooked fava beans mashed and mixed with sesame oil, onions, sometimes tomatoes, or boiled eggs. Served with bread. Every street corner in Khartoum has a ful stand. People gather in the morning, argue about politics, drink tea, and eat ful together.

Tamiya (Sudanese falafel) is made with crushed fava beans, not chickpeas like in the Levant. It’s green inside and crispy outside. Spiced with coriander, garlic, and sometimes a touch of chili.

I found a tamiya recipe on myplanetfood.com and made it one Sunday. My daughter – who only eats pizza and chicken nuggets – loved it. She said, "Baba, make more of that green donut." I laughed so hard I nearly cried.

Desserts and Drinks: Sweet Like Sudanese Hospitality

Sudanese people love sweet things. Our tea – strong black tea called shay bi na’na’ – is full of sugar and mint. We also drink karkadeh (hibiscus tea), aradeeb (tamarind), and gengerbil (ginger juice).

As for desserts, we have basbousa, date balls, and simsimiyya (peanut and sesame candy). But the real magic is in simple things – dates stuffed with peanuts, or bread soaked in sweet milk.

I sometimes pack a small tin of simsimiyya in my cab. When a passenger looks sad or tired, I offer one. Not many take it, but the few who do always smile. One even said, "This tastes like sunshine."

Final Thoughts: Sudan Lives in Our Kitchens

You know, I’ve lived in New York for a decade now. The winters are cold, the city is fast, and sometimes, I miss speaking Arabic for days. But food – akilna – keeps me grounded. It reminds me of who I am.

Websites like myplanetfood.com are doing something beautiful. They’re keeping our food alive across oceans and generations. Thanks to them, I now cook tagalia with confidence, serve shaiyah with pride, and share ful with friends from everywhere.

If you ever ride in my taxi, and you’re hungry, just say the word. I might not have hot mullah, but I promise you – I’ll have a story to tell and maybe a piece of simsimiyya in my glove box.

“Fee aklna ruhna” – In our food, we carry our soul.
Come eat with me. Come taste Sudan.

By Md Abu Arbaab ( Taxi driver , food writer! and a expat Sudanese ) Guest post

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