Nigerian Masa (Fermented Rice Cake Balls) Recipe

A northern Nigerian specialty, masa (also known as waina) are spherical fermented cakes often served as an accompaniment to breakfasts, lunches, dinners, or as a snack. Its soft, spongy interior, crunchy shell, and sweet-sour flavor is particularly delicious when served sweet with a drizzle of honey (or any sweetened syrup) and fruits, or savory with suya (spiced beef skewers), sprinkled with yaji (the spice blend used to season suya), or alongside miya (soups) and stews. 

Despite growing up in Nigeria, I didn’t learn of masa until I lived with my children in Wassenaar in the Netherlands. We often enjoyed poffertjes, small spherical pancakes made with wheat. At the time, I hadn’t heard of our own Nigerian masa, which are made in clay or aluminum pans called kasko that resemble the aebleskiver pan used to make poffertjes, but have wider wells. A few years later, I moved back to Nigeria. After reading about masa online, I traveled to Abuja, the capital, where I had my first taste of it at Yahooze, a popular suya spot. I fell in love with their sweetness and chewiness, and have spent the past several years learning how to make them.

A basic masa recipe uses a combination of soaked tuwo rice (also known as masa or sinasir, a Nigerian rice variety similar to Thai jasmine rice; long-grain converted rice can also be used), cooked rice, yeast, sugar, and salt. There are also versions made with rice flour, millet, cornmeal, wheat, and semolina. The batter can be sweetened with sugar and honey, flavored with onions or ginger, or it can even have both (if you add onions, take note that the aroma and flavor are pronounced and may not be for everyone). My favorite masa is sweet with a slight tang from the addition of yogurt, which aids fermentation. Masa batter can also be used to make the dish, sinasir―airy, flat pancakes also from the north of Nigeria that resemble thinner, larger crumpets that are enjoyed in the same way as masa.

Over the years, I’ve experimented with masa, from the classic and traditional to more modern takes. I’ve found that you can flavor and color the batter while achieving the same texture. I’ve added ground turmeric and ground cinnamon for delicious results. I’ve even used cooked masa as a gluten-free alternative to traditional wheat buns for sliders, and I’ve made great hash with cut-up leftover masa,  stir-fried with suya, tomatoes, red onions, bell peppers, and served with yaji and a peanut butter dipping sauce. And, though not all my tests have been successful, I think crackers made with dried cooked masa would be another creative way to use any leftover cakes. 

Making masa takes time. The great thing is that most of it is hands-off, and you can break up the steps to fit your schedule. During the process, you’re bound to notice bubbles forming—the telltale sign of active fermentation underway. In this recipe, ratios are important: adding too much water or cooked rice may lead to masa with soft, gummy interiors. My recipe strikes the right balance between the two. 

The first step involves soaking raw rice for at least 6 hours until softened. To do this, I like to begin the night before, washing the rice and letting it soak overnight. This initial long soak provides an opportunity for wild yeasts to begin to eat the sugars in the rice starch, leading to a sufficient population of microorganisms to really get the batter going later. I blend the soaked rice with cooked rice (which helps contribute to chewy masa), onion (which I’ve made optional), yogurt, sugar, instant yeast, salt, and water. Blending whips air into the soaked raw rice to make a thick, creamy batter with a touch of grit when rubbed between your fingers. I then let the batter ferment for a couple of hours in a warm place until the batter has a sweet rice smell and is doubled in volume. 

When cooked, the resulting masa will be sweet with aromas of cooked rice. If you want a more sour-tasting masa, you can let your batter ferment for longer. It’ll go through a rise-and-collapse cycle (you will see a ring on the inside of the bowl showing the level of the batter before it collapses) and the batter will smell yeasty like beer. The longer the ferment, the more liquid the mixture becomes, and the more bubbles form from the microbial activity. If you listen, you’ll hear it bubbling away.

Once the batter is fermented to your liking, you stir in a bit more sugar and baking powder, which helps produce fluffy masa. Whisking might seem counterintuitive, but rice starches settle over time, and this step ensures that the batter is uniform prior to cooking.

To cook the masa, you can use an aebleskiver pan, or a kasko pan if you have it. The batter goes into the wells, cooking around the edges and forming bubbles on top before it’s time to flip. The finished masa is mostly golden, with white from the rice peeking through. Crunchy on the outside and spongy on the inside, masa reminds me of sweeter, chewier, and slightly softer crumpets with the fragrant aromas of rice—sometimes with a yeasty, sourdough tang. I like to let my masa cool just slightly until I can comfortably eat them warm with some suya, yaji, sliced tomato, and red onion. Or, I’ll dip them into some miyan taushe (a savory soup made with sweet orange pumpkins) and wash it down with a tall, cold glass of zobo (hibiscus tea).