Fantastic Fast Food, West African Style, in Brooklyn

By Hannah Goldfield

What exactly is Funso Akinya doing back there, in the kitchen at Akara House (642 Nostrand Ave.; $5-$16), his tiny takeout counter in Crown Heights? The first time I tried his food, I looked up from my cardboard container in stunned silence. None of the short, straightforward menu descriptions, hand-painted on the wall—"bean based burger," "yam porridge (& beans)"—came close to conveying the culinary wizardry at play, though a passerby nailed it: "They got the good food in there!" he shouted through the open door.

And how! But, seriously, how? For his interpretation of akara, a veggie fritter of Yoruban origin, Akinya, who was born and reared in Nigeria, whips beans—a variety known in Nigeria as ewa oloyin, or honey bean—with salt, ginger, garlic, onion, and jalapeño, plus a few secret ingredients. Then he slips scoops of the mixture into a deep fryer, where they bubble and sizzle into gorgeous golden patties with crackly edges, lacy as spun sugar. The akara are light, almost fluffy—"creamy," Akinya says—but substantial, too, pleasingly chewy and hefty enough for a sandwich that was inspired by Akinya's observation, during a stint fulfilling online grocery orders, that New Yorkers love veggie burgers. He designed the sandwich to find common ground with McDonald's, the first place that he worked in the U.S., and with Popeyes, layering each akara with mayonnaise, cucumber, American cheese, and his unctuous "Nigerian red sauce" (tomato, habanero, garlic, ginger, onion, bay leaf), in a roll akin to agege, a soft, sweet yeasted Nigerian bread.

Instead of French fries, there are fried sweet plantains, with Nigerian red sauce for dipping. Plantains also figure in the yam porridge, adding sweetness to a stick-to-your-ribs mash of honey beans with tender chunks of puna yam—a mild-flavored tuber also known as Ghanaian or Nigerian yam—plus more garlic, ginger, and jalapeño. Part of Akinya's gift is his ability to rely on a tight larder of ingredients, rearranging the same few building blocks to make simple starches sing. Another porridge, called ogi, which has the texture of whipped potatoes, is made from fermented corn. (The tang is strong, and only slightly offset by honey.) For an extremely satisfying dish called moi moi, Akinya steams, in a banana leaf, the same mixture he fries for his akara. The moi moi—soft, crumbly, tamale-adjacent—is served alone or over jollof rice, with a handful of kale salad.

The single misstep I encountered at Akara House was the chicken suya, featuring cubes of white meat that were unfortunately overcooked, though wonderfully seasoned. Suya refers to a peanut-and-chili-based spice mix used on meat skewers, which is popular throughout West Africa and, increasingly, in New York—Brooklyn Suya (717 Franklin Ave.; $9-$20), another excellent Crown Heights takeout counter, opened in 2019. Both the chicken and the steak there were quite juicy one recent afternoon; the salmon, glazed in a peanut-based sauce, better still. Each protein (there is also tofu or shrimp) is served in a bowl, over rice or kale, with a choice of sides that include avocado, hard-boiled egg, and sweet plantain. The finished plate is dusted in one of four suya mixes—ranging from atomic (super spicy, but complex) to mild.

At Akara House, Akinya serves a striking, pithy lemonade, made by boiling whole lemons, limes, and oranges and letting them steep for hours. Half a mile north, at Ginjan Café (333 Nostrand Ave.; $10-$20), a new Bed-Stuy outpost of a Harlem spot opened by two Guinean brothers, you can further explore West African beverages, plus an astonishing array of homey, delicious food, made off-site and warmed up to order, including a lamb jollof rice, topped with lollipop chops and a green-olive sauce. Drinks include ginjan, a traditional cold-pressed ginger juice, punched up with pineapple, lemon, vanilla, and anise, and a cold-brewed bissap—hibiscus tea, heady with nutmeg, cinnamon, cardamom, and cloves, and brightened by fresh mint. ♦