Spice, Smoke and Story is a food column by Funke Babs-Kufeji, telling her love story for cooking and food in Nigeria, while exploring everything from restaurant reviews and recipes to fine dining, hosting, and the culture that shapes how we eat.
Easter on a Plate: Lagos’ Best Kept Secret, Frejon
Some dishes belong to a season. Not casually, but in a way that feels fixed in time. You wait for them without even realising it, and when the season comes, nothing else quite fills that space. Frejon is one of those dishes. I am Lagosian on both sides, and growing up, Easter always came with a clear rhythm. On Good Friday, there was only one meal that mattered. Frejon. It was never announced, never debated, just understood. In my mother’s family, the day had its own pace. No meat, that was non-negotiable because it was Good Friday, the day our Lord Jesus Christ was crucified. Meals leaned towards seafood, and at the centre of it all was a pot of Frejon, cooked slowly and with care. Black beans were thoroughly cooked, coconut milk extracted, and the kitchen filled with the scent of cloves and bay leaves. It was a quiet kind of cooking, one that asked for time and attention. There was no rushing it, no cutting corners. You could feel, even as a child, that this was not just food being made, but something being honoured and preserved.
Known in some homes as feijão, this rich, coconut-infused beans dish is deeply rooted in the Brazilian quarters of Lagos, where returnee Afro-Brazilians shaped a distinct food culture that still lingers today. On Good Friday and through the Easter period, kitchens in these communities come alive with the slow, careful preparation of Frejon. It is not rushed. It cannot be rushed. At its core, Frejon is made from black-eyed beans, cooked down until soft, then blended or mashed into a smooth paste. Coconut milk gives it its body and flavour, while spices like cloves and bay leaf add warmth and depth. Depending on the home, it leans sweet or savoury. Some serve it with sugar, others balance it differently, but the essence remains the same. It is one of those dishes that carries both technique and instinct. You can follow a recipe, but it still requires a certain understanding to get it right. The texture, the balance, the timing. Everything matters.
Frejon is never served alone. There was always fried stew, rich and peppery, fried or fresh fish cooked just right, and oven-baked garri, a detail that might sound simple but completed the meal in a way that felt intentional. Everything on the plate had a place. It was the kind of meal you sat down for properly. The kind you remember long after the plates have been cleared. Over time, my mother became known for it. People who did not know how to make Frejon began to rely on her, especially around Easter. Calls would come in, requests here and there. What started as a family tradition slowly grew into something shared. That is how food travels, quietly, from one home to another, from one person to the next. These days, that same tradition continues in a more structured way. For those who want to experience it without going through the full process, it is now something you can order. The same care, the same attention to detail, just without the hours in the kitchen. Silver Spoon has continued that tradition, making Frejon available every Easter for those who know it and those just discovering it. Orders are usually placed ahead of Good Friday, and for many, it has become part of their own routine. If you know, you know. And if you don’t, their Instagram page @silverspooncatering.ng is where many have started.
What I find interesting now is how many people living in Lagos and outside Lagos have never heard of it. You mention Frejon and there is a pause, a slight curiosity, sometimes confusion. And then once they taste it, it becomes something else entirely. It becomes something they want again. There is a certain joy in introducing people to a dish like this, watching it move from unfamiliar to unforgettable in one sitting. In a time where food trends come and go, Frejon feels steady. It does not try to compete, but it stays with you. These days, not everyone has the time and patience it takes to cook this dish the way it requires, but the craving remains. And every Easter, the question still comes up, where will I get my Frejon? Not out of obligation, but out of desire. Because once you know it, it becomes part of your own rhythm. For me, Easter will always taste like Frejon. Some dishes do not need to change. They just need to be shared.
