In the south of Zanzibar, far from the polished menus of resort kitchens, lunch begins with a walk. Mango trees heavy with fruit, wild lemongrass brushing against your ankles, and women weaving through the bush with baskets half-full—already halfway to a meal. Nothing is rushed. Octopus, still warm from the fire, is served beside jackfruit cooked in coconut cream, its sweetness cut by the salt of the sea air.