I stumbled upon it not in a tourist hotspot, but at a modest, local restaurant not far from Aburi, a town known for its rich culture and cooler air, nestled in the hills. Just beyond the famed Aburi Botanical Gardens, where towering palms sway over carefully laid paths and flowers bloom year-round, there sits this quiet eatery — traditional, simple, and proud in its authenticity.

Red Red. Beans, red palm oil, plantain.

“ Some meals feed your body, others feed your memory. ”

I’ll return, next time I’m in the Eastern Region.

From the outside, the restaurant was unassuming. The kind of place you might miss if you weren’t looking. No neon signs, no polished menus — just hand-painted lettering and the smell of something good coming from the back kitchen. Inside, it was basic but welcoming. Wooden benches, fans humming in the corners, and a few locals sharing stories over cold bottles of malt and Fanta.

I ordered Red Red after asking the waiter what he recommended. He smiled — a kind, genuine smile — and nodded. “It’s ready,” he said. “You’ll enjoy.”

A few minutes later, the plate arrived. Perfectly stewed black-eyed beans in a reddish palm oil sauce, seasoned with onions and pepper, served alongside sweet, golden slices of ripe fried plantain. The colors were as bold as the flavors — the richness of the beans, the subtle heat, and the sweetness of the plantain coming together in perfect harmony. It wasn’t fancy. It was real. And it was delicious.

As I ate, I took in the rhythm of the place — the slow Ghanaian highlife playing softly in the background, the quiet laughter from the kitchen, and the breeze that carried the scent of both earth and fried food. The staff were friendly, patient, and clearly proud of what they served. It wasn’t just food. It was part of the culture — and they shared it generously.

Red Red may be a simple dish, but in that moment, sitting in a small local spot somewhere between Aburi and memory, it tasted like something much more.

There are many more dishes I have yet to try — groundnut soup, waakye, kelewele — but this one stayed with me. Maybe it was the flavor. Maybe it was the place. Maybe it was the people.

But one thing I know for sure:
I’ll return, next time I’m in the Eastern Region.
And yes — I’ll order the Red Red again.