Plancha

Plancha started as a single grill and a borrowed truck outside a construction site in the warehouse district. The crew needed real food — not a sandwich from a bag, not a box of fries. They needed tô. They needed brochettes that smelled like home.

The shea butter comes from a cooperative in Bobo-Dioulasso. The millet is stone-ground. The charcoal burns hot and slow, the way it does in a Ouagadougou courtyard at noon. Nothing is frozen. Nothing comes out of a squeeze bottle.

We move every day — construction lots on weekdays, festivals on weekends, wherever the smell can reach someone who has been waiting for this plate without knowing it.