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Slow-cooked Egusi
Comfort, dressed for dinner. Stewed for four hours, served in a warm bowl.
Soulful, slow-cooked plates and a monthly supper club, cooked from a London kitchen with stories in every bite.
Founder
CFO by day · Chef by evening
By day, she balances spreadsheets as a CFO. By evening, she balances flavours.
Oma's Cuisine began as a quiet rebellion against rushed dinners and reheated weeknights — a young entrepreneur's love letter to the kind of meals that make a house feel like a home. She believes the best conversations happen over slow food, that pepper should be cracked not shaken, and that no one should ever eat alone if they don't want to.
Through Oma's Cuisine she's building a small, soulful table where strangers become regulars, regulars become friends, and every plate carries a story worth telling.
The SignatureSlow-cooked Egusi, the way Sunday should taste.
One long table. Three soulful courses. One signature drink. Strangers seated by the host, not the algorithm. Expect slow food, candle-light, a mischievous game between courses, and stories told the way they should be — over the second glass.
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Comfort, dressed for dinner. Stewed for four hours, served in a warm bowl.

Crisp on the outside, pillow-soft within. The way Lagos mornings begin.

The kind of char you write home about. Fiery, smoky, stubbornly Sunday.
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Lagos meets Bologna, on a Tuesday. A quiet love affair in a bowl.
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Cold, creamy, a little dangerous. Bottled by hand on Sunday afternoons.
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Wok-fired, generously peppered, finished with a whisper of yaji.
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Avocado, herbs, a quiet citrus glow. Lunch with its hair down.
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Pink, sharp, and sage-bright. Two welcome drinks, one warm hand.
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Rainbow stir-fry, ginger-warm, ready in seven blistering minutes.

Crisp-skinned bass, sweet potato wedges, a quick stir of greens. Quiet luxury on a weekday plate.
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Glossy, lacquered, the kind that asks for napkins and forgiveness.
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Caramelised shallots, fresh chilli rings, and a slow tumble through the pan.

Diced potatoes, tender beef, pepper warmth. The bowl that quietly cures Mondays.
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Bell peppers caught at the snap, beef seared just past pink. Wok smoke and Friday energy.
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Cheddar waffles, peppered scramble, breakfast sausages. Slow morning, full plate.
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Buttery, gold-crowned, baked in a single round. The kind that calls for tea.
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Bean cakes still steaming, a bowl of golden custard alongside. Childhood, served warm.
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Whole fillet, fresh tomato-pepper relish, fried plantain on the side. Lagos coast, north London kitchen.
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Carrots, potatoes, bone-in chicken, broth thick as a hug. Bread for mopping, please.
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Shredded chicken, sweetcorn, scallion. Soft wholemeal bread. Lunch, but make it luxurious.
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Two wing styles, three sauces, a mountain of herbed wedges. Made for sharing, finished alone.
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Crisp-edged potatoes, blackened sweet plantain, peppered chicken peeking from the rim.
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Whisked, dropped, drained on paper. Best eaten standing at the stove.
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Slow-braised goat, root veg, curried broth. Rice on the side, asking nothing of you.
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Whole fish, blistered ata-rodo crown, plantain and yam fries on the board.
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Fried yam batons, ripe plantain, a fish dressed in pepper sauce. Balcony lunch, slow finish.
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Lamb chops nestled in tomato-fragrant pasta. One pan, one fork, no apologies.
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Honey-glossed pancakes, herby pepper omelette, the soft start to a long day.
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Smoky goat tossed with chilli rings, scallion and sesame. Bottle of cold drink, mandatory.
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Pearled rice, plump prawns, peas like punctuation. Wok-tossed, weeknight-fast.
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Pulled thigh meat, avocado, cucumber, a vinaigrette that doesn't whisper.
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Long-simmered ragù, peppers in the mix. The plate everyone asks for twice.
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Curl of noodles, pulled chicken, peppers and scallion. Lagos comfort food, dressed up.
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Egg-laced noodles next to caramelised dodo. The bowl that started this whole thing.
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Dry-roasted tigernuts, plump Medjool dates. The snack bowl Oma keeps refilling.
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Three thick rounds of dodo, a generous swirl of noodles. Kept simple on purpose.
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Melon-seed soup, a fistful of greens, palm-oil glow. The ancestral comfort plate.
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Cracked top, dense middle, the kind that bend slightly when you lift them.
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Same soup, second bowl. Cooked low, finished with a fresh handful of ugu.
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Confetti of peppers, two proteins because we don't choose. Crowd-pleaser, always.
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Whole bream blanketed in pepper sauce, soft spaghetti tucked beside. Italy meets Lagos.
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Plain noodles, a tumble of pepper-bright chicken. Restraint with a flourish.

Silken sauce, button mushrooms, chilli flakes. The bowl Oma makes when she wants quiet.
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Pearl rice steamed with coconut, two roast chicken thighs leaning in. Still water cooking.
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Bacon, sausages, mushrooms, soft scramble, beans. A glass of milk, a long morning.
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Smoky-bottomed jollof, glazed chicken thighs, prawns curling at the edges. The argument-ender.
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Goat braised down to silk, soft pasta nest beneath. Sunday's leftovers, dressed for an encore.
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Mango, a whisper of pineapple, frozen six to a tray. Summer in the freezer.
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Strawberry, blueberry, full-fat yogurt. Three flavours, one tray, no rules.
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Soft yam folded into pepper-tomato broth, fresh ugu, palm oil's quiet hum.
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Glossy chunks, pineapple-bright sauce, sesame finish. Basmati on the side, parsley confetti.
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Curry-warm noodles, a fleet of prawns, halved boiled egg crowning the bowl.
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Plain stack on one side, pink-flushed velvet on the other. Choose, or don't.
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Lacquered, charred at the joints, scallion green for contrast. Cooked low, eaten loud.
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Palm-fruit broth, mackerel, prawn, soft swallow at the centre. Niger Delta in a bowl.
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Coal-spiced beef cubes, blistered prawns, cool tomato and cucumber. The grazing plate.
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Aglio olio, scarlet flecks of dried chilli. Five ingredients. Twelve minutes. Done.
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Slow-stewed in tomato-pepper, onion sweetness, a brave palate's reward.
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Smoky party-style jollof, herbed meatballs, two grilled wings to seal it. House classic.
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Dry-rub, oven-crisped, parsley-flecked. The cleaner cousin of the BBQ ones above.
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Butter-glossed, pulled-coriander finish, grain-board glow. Tuesday's small luxury.
Farfalle, peppers, chilli flake confetti, balcony breeze. The recipe she keeps making.
As Seen In · As Loved By
One short letter, every Sunday morning. New dishes from the kitchen, the next supper club date before anyone else, and the occasional behind-the-pot voice note.
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