Fatou and the Food of Love

Fatou Sedore has been serving food in her restaurant, Food by Fatou, since 2023. (Credit: Tin Belinic)

The bell on the counter rings, and Fatou emerges from the kitchen. The restaurant in the basement of an old canoe-making factory is a dreamy haze of smells, roasted and slow-cooked peanuts intertwined with onions and spice that create a deep blend of scents as chicken and beef steam and sizzle over the ever-busy stove. She is cooking meat pies for a Christmas event catering to over three hundred people. 

Fatou is immediately charming, sociable, and funny. Her hair is neatly wrapped behind her head. Her resting expression is a pearly white, infectious smile. She is wearing a white chef’s jacket with a patch that reads "Food by Fatou," the name of the restaurant and catering business she opened two years ago. She wipes sweat from her brow after spending the whole day over a sizzling stove with the natural confidence of a practiced chef. 

Fatou has always considered food to be a love language, and cooking it is what connects her to the world; she shares it every day in her restaurant, which is neatly tucked away in downtown Fredericton, New Brunswick’s capital city, where the streets are carpeted in a kaleidoscope of vibrant colors and the gentle gust of wind and the sharp scent of the St. John River linger in the air. She has come a long way to bring it here. 

A proud Senegalese woman, Fatou Sedore, embodies the word teraanga, which is at its core the foundation of Senegal, a word that encapsulates Senegal’s identity and whose reach extends far beyond translation. Teraanga is a way of life, the spread of generosity, openness, and care visible in daily interactions. The act of giving itself becomes inseparable from belonging.

This is something Fatou herself has carried across the ocean all the way to Canada, turning her restaurant into a living reflection of Senegalese culture. 

The extensive York Street runs steadily through the heart of downtown Fredericton. Just past the YMCA and the local Fire Department, on the edges of Dundonald and Victoria Street, lies an ancient brick building built for the purpose of housing the Chestnut Canoe Company. Now just called the Chestnut. The building was refurbished and reused for local businesses long after it served its original purpose of housing canoes. 

A jeep sits idly in front, and a purple sign above marks an entrance through a narrow metallic door, where once pushed open a flight of stairs gently beckons whoever enters down into a warm and pleasant basement, while the vivid smell of the kitchen almost drags you by the nose, leading you towards undiscovered flavors; the scent settles in the throat, familiar even to those who’ve never known it.

Think of when you were a little child, and your grandmother would leave fresh apple pies out on the windowsill to cool down. 

Long before Fatou stepped off a plane into the cold embrace of Canada and the unknown, before Fredericton and the bust of kitchen life, preparing meals for the food market and establishing her own restaurant, there was Senegal with its luscious grasslands, a magnificent and seemingly endless oceanfront, the baobab trees serving as a source of life with their water-filled trunks, and the proud lion stalking the land; its luscious mane dangling from its head. The county is famed as the land of peanuts; they serve as the spine of the country’s vast economy and cuisine, incorporated in virtually every meal.  

The country, located in western Africa, nestled between Mali, Mauritania, Guinea-Bissau, and Guinea, owes its name to the one thousand-and-twenty-mile-long Senegal River bordering it to the north and east. Along the coastline edges of the Atlantic Ocean lies the capital of Dakar, and just about fifty-six miles south of that rests the humble and quaint town of Somone, Fatou’s hometown, with its stunning beaches and lagoon reserve. 

It was in Somone where Fatou spent her youth and fell in love with cooking. Her childhood days were spent running around town and the beach, feeling the sand beneath her feet and the scorching heat of a million suns as she would move across the lagoon to deliver food to her father while he worked, but most of her time was spent alongside her mother, observing and learning how to spread the act of love through food as her mother cooked for relatives, loved ones, friends, and neighbors; no one was ever turned away, but rather they were gently invited in to their home.

It was this silent generosity that shaped Fatou’s upbringing; food has always been a way of expressing love and fostering connection in her family. 

“Cooking chose me. Not the other way around.” She passionately points out, smiling from head to toe; her eyes are like stars beaming across the gentle night sky. 

As she grew older, she began to understand the importance of community and family; she began to understand sacrifice, something which goes unnoticed for many teens and children: the hours spent peeling vegetables and preparing dishes over the demanding heat of the stove, something which only fully became heightened as she reached adulthood. 

By the time she was fifteen, Fatou had become her mother’s right hand in the kitchen, preparing meals and stirring pots large enough to feed thirty people at a time. The scent of the kitchen followed her through her teenage years, and it was during this time that the love of food and nurture came about. A fond memory Fatou holds dearly and looks back on joyfully is an encounter with her father during her teenage years, where he teasingly remarked that her food was just edible enough to survive on. She turned that remark into a challenge; she pushed herself to improve her cooking game and worked harder than ever before to prove him wrong.  

“From now on,” she told him, “no one else will cook for a month until I do better.”  

She kept her promise, and that month turned into years of dedication. It was these exact memories, the hours spent cooking and providing for her family, her father’s words, and her mother’s undying commitment to the kitchen and serving food and the powerful yet silent spirit of teraanga, that guided her along the way, even years later, as the opportunity to move to Canada arose due to her husband’s budding work prospects. 

Canada was meant to be a fresh start, an exciting new journey filled with opportunities ripe for the taking, but it was also filled with the gloom of separation and leaving home. Fatou missed her parents, her siblings, the comfort of her small hometown, its sandy beaches, and the chirping of pelicans and herons as they splashed about the lagoon, but most importantly, the sensation of cooking food alongside her mother.  

Ontario marked the first step of a new life and a gateway to the Canadian experience. It was here that she made friends and got comfortable with her English, but it was moving to Fredericton where she found a forever home. At first, she was unsure of the journey, unsure of what it would bring.

She didn’t expect to love it here: the small town, the almost five-thousand-mile distance between the world she knew and the cold unknown of Canada. But, in time, the small-town world of Fredericton opened its doors to her. Slowly, she began to build something familiar with the unfamiliar. She brought the warm flavours of her hometown into a new world.  

Before there was a restaurant on York Street, there was a small market booth in the historic garrison district of downtown and a borrowed kitchen shared with four other people; Fatou cooked for the local Fredericton markets, finding enough time to keep up with both the demands of the Boyce Farmers Market and the Northside Market. In the start, she worked alone most days, cutting onions, carrying trays of rice and strong-flavoured sauces as the rich hint of peanuts being cooked filled the stalls.  

It was there, among the chatter of more than a handful of vendors and the clatter of the weekend crowds roaming the streets, that people first began to know her name. Still, it wasn’t easy; sharing a kitchen with other people proved a challenge, as Fatou would spend hours preparing trays of African dishes: yassa, jollof, and fatayas. She would sell her dishes to whoever was curious enough to try.  

Her love for cooking has led Sedore to open a restaurant on York Street and share her culture with the Fredericton community. (Credit: Tin Belinic)

At first, many weren’t, but that didn’t stop Fatou. She kept cooking, persistent and restless, hopeful. It was this attitude that became her greatest strength. Coming from a background of hospitality services and working in hotels, Fatou understands that patience is the greatest virtue.  

“When you give people something they don’t know,” she points out, reflecting on her success, “you have to give them time.”  

Some would try her food and spread the word to their friends. As weeks went on, familiar faces would come back, bringing someone new with them. Slowly, but surely, the line grew. Fatou didn’t give much thought to opening a restaurant. With her busy routine, who would have the time to think of it? Between cooking, catering, and caring for her growing family, there was hardly any time for herself. But then, an opportunity came knocking. A neighbouring vendor at the market mentioned a space for rent on York Street, hidden inside a brick building. Fatou was unsure at first, but her husband saw it differently.  

“Are you crazy?” he told her. “This is an opportunity for you; you have to take it.” 

And she did.  

Sedore serves authentic West African dishes from Senegal, alongside specialty coffee and pastries, with vegan options available. (Credit: Tin Belinic)

The restaurant opened quietly, just as her market stall had before. In Senegal, when a guest enters your home, you take care of them; it’s not born out of a feeling of obligation but out of joy, reflecting the nation’s identity as caregivers. Fatou brought the same spirit to Fredericton. Some days at the restaurant were slow, some were packed. Through it all, she cooked and expanded her culinary experience. 

The menu has grown and continues to grow as the years pass; it could be seen as an introductory map of Senegal itself. Each plate is carefully prepared, carrying something more than just spices and ingredients. The lamb Jollof arrives steaming, the rice a deep and rich red; its texture and taste blend with sweet peppers, fiery habaneros, and Senegalese seasoning.  

Onions are thinly sliced and sautéed until they reach a crispy, glazed brown. The caramelized onions are tossed with the sharp taste of mustard; together they wind around the tender chicken before being plated with a handful of white rice. Thiebiudieun, the one-pot rice and fish dish seen as the national dish of Senegal, fills the air with the earthy aroma of spices and slow-cooked white fish as it marinates with herbs and garlic, releasing its juices and adding extra flavour to the vegetables. The meal is prepared in stages; each ingredient, from the fish to the rice and vegetables, is utilized in the same pot.

None of the flavours goes to waste. 

The restaurant, however, also offers vegetarian meals such as dishes cooked with chickpeas or bean sandwiches on flatbread, demonstrating Fatou’s attention to the customer’s needs but also staying loyal to her Senegalese roots. Meals such as spicy grilled chicken, chicken jollof, and kebabs are accompanied by crispy and golden plantains, simply known as cooking bananas, which pack a starchy taste but also add a sweet contrast to the savoury layers of the seasoning and meat.  

Long after the customers leave the basement of the old brick building on York Street, the aroma of roasted peanuts, the sizzle of the hot stove, and the powerful spices continue to drift together through the air. It’s more than just the smells of Fatou’s kitchen; it’s a message to her new home from the bottom of her heart.