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NEW BEDFORD — Valdir Baptista Correia poured olive oil into three sauce pans in the kitchen at the Lighthouse Tavern. As the oil sizzled, he turned to the stars of the show.
Behind him were two large stock pots filled with samp, three types of beans, yuca, cabbage, collard greens, kale, and chouriço.
The medley is called cachupa, a hearty slow-cooked stew. But for Correia, like many Cabo Verdeans, it signifies more than just sustenance. It stands for resilience and history.
He reflected on that thread while scooping mounds of the staple food into the hissing olive oil.
“We were given the scraps,” said Correia, an owner of the Lighthouse Tavern who was born in Cabo Verde but grew up in New Bedford. “We took those scraps and made something special.”
“When you say ‘cachupa,’ in the subconscious of Cabo Verdeans, it’s more symbolic,” said Angelo Barbosa, director of the Pedro Pires Institute for Cape Verdean Studies at Bridgewater State University. “The meaning of cachupa is a way to bring the family together, the community together.”
Colonial era origins
It’s unclear when cachupa first came into being, according to Barbosa. What is clear is its roots go back centuries to colonialism and survival.
“We are close to the desert, so this of course has caused drought over many cycles,” Barbosa said. “This of course has caused many cycles of famine in the country.” The Harmattan wind, which blows in from the Sahara, makes Cabo Verde arid.
Cabo Verde’s status as a colony meant that until the 1974 Carnation Revolution, Portuguese authorities viewed the archipelago as a site for economic exploitation. The resulting lack of government responsiveness led to an attitude of indifference when famines occurred.
It also made the dish a point of unity for the island nation. It became a cornerstone of morabeza, the Kriolu word for Cabo Verde hospitality, solidarity, and tradition.
Tradition and community
“I like to really make the point about the symbolic aspect that the food has because it has helped the majority of the population,” Barbosa said. “Even though we have access to so many things [now], we didn’t forget the meal. It has this meaning of community because it creates cohesion.”
Traditionally, and still to this day, cachupa is made at parties called cachupadas, where a host invites friends and family to join in the preparation. Barbosa said the slower pace of life on the islands allows the meetups to happen with more frequency.
The following morning is when the real magic happens, though, according to Barbosa.
“Cachupa in the morning is fried and, for most people, is much better,” he said. “You cannot think about the cachupa guisado (the breakfast form) without the cachupada the night before.”
Meetups such as a March Cachupa fest at the Cape Verdean Vets Hall raise money for a nascent cultural organization run by Isaiah Hoffman. This year, the event included 10 chefs presenting their cachupas for audience taste tests.
“Tradition is the word I would use to describe it,” said Valdir Silva, a chef at the Cachupa Fest who prepared his mother’s recipe. “When we get together to celebrate our culture and our ways, the cachupa’s there.”
The recipe also reflects the diversity of the islands, with every family, every island, and every town having their own standard version of the dish. Indeed, the practice of cachupada has a circular method to reinforce its own cultural significance, according to Barbosa.
Correia emphasized the cultural connection, crediting his mother and avó (grandmother) for teaching him the recipe he eventually built on.
“Credit goes to my mother and my vóvó,” said Correia. “Vóvó still has the best cachupa I’ve ever had.”
The diversity even extends to the name. Many American Cabo Verdeans — especially those descended from immigrants from the island of Brava — call the dish “munchupa,” though the name is no longer used in Cabo Verde.
“That’s a local thing,” Correia said. “I’ve only ever heard it called ‘munchupa’ by people in New Bedford, out to Marion and Wareham. Everywhere else, like Brockton and Pawtucket, where the newer immigrants are, they call it cachupa.”
But “munchupa” still has its adherents.
“I like it; I’m staying with my munchupa,” said Guida Ribeiro at the Cachupa Fest. She is a third-generation descendant of Bravan immigrants.
“It’s how I was raised,” she said. “I’m munchupa, not cachupa.”
Barbosa, a native of Santiago, the island where Cabo Verde’s capital, Praia, is situated, said munchupa is a name he has only seen since he came to the U.S. in 2017.
“People have to create stories, and they probably did that in this case,” he said. “Maybe they couldn’t find the traditional ingredients here that they used back on Brava, but they made it their own thing, and we have to respect that.”
Geographic variation
Another touchstone of the dish is its versatility, with each region having its own recipe. For example, potatoes are a common part of the dish, but not for Ribeiro.
“On Brava, we don’t put potatoes in our munchupa,” she said.
For many locals, though, cachupa (or munchupa) is not only a connection to home, but an extended hand to the world around them. Correia includes a papo seco — a traditional Azorean bread not common in Cabo Verde — with the breakfast cachupa that the Lighthouse Tavern just began to serve on Sundays.
“I’m from New Bedford,” he said, when asked why he includes the bread. “Here, papo seco is just what you go with.”
With that, he fried up two eggs and plated the cachupa refogado, complete with tuna, Peruvian chorizo, and a vegetable medley. He then carried it up the stairs and served it to his guests.
“Here you go,” he said, as he placed the freshly fried goodness before two patrons. “Feito com amor.” Made with love.
Kevin G. Andrade can be reached at kandrade@newbedfordlight.org
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The only thing missing from this article is a recipe. Now I’m hungry!
This article made me smile, remembering the playful debates between my late husband, Zack and me.
I was 2nd generation CV and grew up calling it. Munchupa, as most New Bedford CV Americans did.
Zack was an immigrant from São Nicolau and nearly fainted when ever I said, “Munchupa.”
At first, it was a gentle correction, “No, Dawnie, the correct word is “Cachupa.”
(I was familiar with that term because my godmother, also from São Nicolau always called it that.
But I was steadfast in my “munchupa” which led to a sterned admonishment.
“How many times do I have to tell you. It’s CA- CHU- PA!”
And still later, with a look of complete impatience, his SNOOK would come out, “I don’t know where YOU AMERICANS learned Criolo, but I suggest you visit the Islands for a proper lesson.”
Well, at that, my favorite childhood
dish became, “CACHUPA.” End of story since Zack did all the cooking.