Thinking a good pot of jollof rice required little skill wasn’t the only incorrect assumption I made. I also assumed that it was Nigerian in origin, given that I grew up there and it was a mainstay of the table. But in 2009, when my interest in cooking consistently better pots of jollof deepened, I began researching West African foods and how they traveled the world. It was then that I learned about the roots of this dish in the kingdom of Jolof, a historic 15th- to 18th-century state in the Wolof-Senegambian region, on the southern edge of the Sahara far to the west of Nigeria.

So how did jollof find its way across the sub-Saharan coast? According to James McCann in Stirring the Pot: A History of African Cuisine, the Dyula ethnic group, famed merchants who established trade routes throughout the region centuries ago, were responsible for the dispersal of jollof south of the Sahara, taking it with them as they traveled. Today, every country in West Africa has a version of jollof, each reflecting its particular history and influences. Several regions beyond the African continent also have versions that speak to how far it has spread, particularly via the transatlantic slave trade—Lowcountry red rice and New Orleans jambalaya in the American South are both descended from jollof rice.

Jollof can take many different names depending on the region. In its birthplace of Senegal, it retains its Wolof names of thiéboudienne or ceebu jen, and in neighboring Gambia it goes by benachin. The people of Mali call it zaame or nsamé. In the rest of French-speaking West Africa—Guinea Bissau, Guinea, Ivory Coast, Burkina Faso, Niger, Benin, and Togo—it’s called riz au gras (“riz gras” for short). In English-speaking Sierra Leone, Liberia, Ghana, and Nigeria, it is called jollof.

There are also endless shadings of difference from one version to the next. While Senegalese and Ghanaians go for varieties of fragrant Jasmine rice, Nigerians prefer parboiled or converted varieties, such as Golden Sella basmati rice, which cooks more quickly and is less prone to mushiness and clumping. In Nigeria, Caribbean-style curry powder, dried thyme, bay leaf, ginger, and garlic are common seasoning ingredients. Contrast that with the popular Senegalese seasoning of rof, a fresh parsley paste mixed with other aromatics and used in combination with fermented seafood. A Guinean friend of mine, meanwhile, adds fresh tamarind to her stew base.

Whole vegetables like carrots, eggplant, cabbage, okra, white sweet potatoes, and potatoes feature in thiéboudienne and other versions from French-speaking West Africa, but not in the Nigerian and Ghanaian versions.

There are a number of details that work together to deliver stellar jollof rice, which I would define as rice that’s stewed and seasoned to perfection, with an orange-red color and separate grains that are neither hard nor mush; jollof should not be creamy like risotto. To prevent this outcome, I stir only occasionally to facilitate the absorption of the sauce without developing the creamy starchiness that heavy stirring (a la risotto) creates. I also cook it on low heat for the majority of the time. When the heat is too high, the pot of rice will cook unevenly and be at risk of burning at the base.

Some browning on the bottom layer of rice is desirable, however. Jollof rice is traditionally cooked on the stovetop or over firewood. Abroad, in the diaspora, many West Africans have explored and mastered oven-baked methods, while others have made use of rice cookers and InstantPots to come up with even more approaches. While the outcomes are similar, stovetop and firewood versions are the easiest route to “party” jollof, a version that is defined by its smoky flavor and presence of “bottom pot,” the crispy, toasty layer of rice that forms on (as the name makes clear) the bottom of the pot, akin to Spanish socarrat. The direct heat from below is just what’s needed to create that caramelized, roasty underlayer.

Jollof rice is not considered a side, but the main dish. It is often paired with beef, chicken, goat, and fish (fried, grilled, or stewed), or eggs (boiled, fried, or scrambled). In Nigeria, it is served with a salad that resembles an amped-up version of coleslaw. It may also be accompanied by moinmoin, a steamed dish made with skinned, pureed black-eyed beans wrapped in the moinmoin leaves that give it its name, or dodo—fried, ripe plantains. At least one or more of these accompaniments is considered standard.