An Embarrassment of Mangoes
Page 14
Steve has walked over to the shack to get us each a Carib to drink as we work. It’s also a good excuse for him to make sure he hadn’t accidentally offended local sensibilities by introducing a gaggle of noisy, splashing kids into Sunday’s laidback beach scene.
“No problem, mon,” Phillip tells Steve as he rummages in the bottom of the cooler for the coldest beer. “Dey from our village, dey our friends. We hear you invite dem out to deh boat.” It becomes clear that our hospitality was unusual enough to be talked about in the village and, as a result, Steve and I have been deemed “okay.” Locals apparently don’t get many invitations to foreign cruising boats.
Steve, meanwhile, has been eyeing some long sticks with wire loops at the end that are leaning against the shack. “What are those?”
“Lobsta sticks, mon. You need a lobsta stick? Come back tomorrow and I’ll show you how to make one.”
We haven’t been completely dependent on gift lobsters; since lobster season opened, Steve has gone on a couple of expeditions with other cruisers and brought back dinner on the end of his five-foot-long aluminum pole spear. The complex of skills lobstering requires is way beyond my abilities. For starters, each hunting trip below the surface has to be done on a single breath of air, because it’s illegal for visitors (although not residents) to use scuba tanks. Lungs filled, you have to dive down—usually a good 15 to 20 feet here—poke under rocks and coral ledges, find a likely dinner prospect, get off a shot, retrieve the spear with dinner on the end, and get back to the surface—all before you run out of breath. Since the water slows down the spear, you need to be very close to your prey, too, before you shoot: mere inches away. And the whole time, although your lungs are burning and every split second is important, you have to swim calmly and gently so as not to scare off dinner.
The pole spear, which is also used for shooting fish, works on a similar principle to a slingshot. On one end is the sharp spear tip; on the other, a loop of surgical tubing. With the tubing anchored in the crook between your thumb and index finger, you pull the pole back, stretching the tubing, and then release your grip when you’re almost on top of your prey. Sproing. Thwack.
The locals, however, scorn spears. “Don’ want shoot he with a speargun—deh hole let all deh flava’ out, mon,” Phillip tells Steve when he returns to the Hog Island beach the next day. “Dat’s why you need a lobsta stick, mon. Dis way.” And he leads Steve into the scrub behind the beach.
A “lobsta stick” is a 3- or 4-foot-long branch with a fine, stainless wire noose on the end that allows you to snare rather than spear your prey. Instead of shooting the lobster, you lasso it by one of its antennae. When you tug on the stick, the noose tightens. A fishing swivel between the stick and the noose allows the lobster to spin and flail its powerful (delicious) tail without snapping the wire. It’s firmly captured live. No hole, full flava’.
“A female bush best,” Phillip says, cutting a couple of thin, flexible branches with his cutlass. Before Steve can inquire about how to distinguish the gender of Hog Island’s bushes, Phillip is on his way back to the beach to rig the sticks over a cold Carib.
“You need a groupa stick, too?” While Steve is still trying to work out what a “groupa stick” might be, Phillip assumes the answer will be yes and starts to trim one of the branches with his pocketknife so there’s just a small fork at one end. This stick isn’t for catching groupers, it turns out, but for holding the ones that are speared. It will allow Steve to keep the dead fish at a distance from his body as he swims back to the dinghy, in case a barracuda or shark smells blood and decides to investigate.
A couple of days later, dinner is on Receta. Steve has gone diving with two other cruisers, and they return with a decent haul: four good-sized spiny lobsters and one huge coral crab (also called a king crab, or a channel clinging crab, and the largest species of crab found on Caribbean reefs)—all with holes obvious in their shells, through which the flava’ is no doubt rapidly escaping.
“The lobster stick requires more bottom time,” Steve confesses. “And it takes a bit of finesse to get the noose properly tightened so the lobster can’t slip away. Didn’t want to risk losing dinner—so I stuck to the spear.”
I’m the designated cook. By popular request (these North Americans!), I’ll steam the lobsters right at dinnertime and crack them into pieces, so we can dip the succulent meat in melted butter. But one lobster I’ll cook ahead: I have my heart set on a decadent side dish of lobster pizza.
In this part of the world, if you want pizza, you have to make it—from scratch—yourself. I set to work on a batch of dough. And of course we’ll need appetizers to go with rum punch before dinner, so I also cook the crab ahead and pick out the meat for deep-fried crab toasts. And since I’ll have the oil going, it’s only logical to deep-fry some plantain “spiders” for appetizers too. (Unlike its close relative, the banana, the starchy plantain needs to be cooked to be consumed—and frying is our favorite way.) This snack gets its name because the shredded vegetable emerges from the hot oil looking a bit like some crispy brown multilegged critter.
Just one problem: When you’re cooking for six in a space four feet square, a menu that involves boiling, baking, and deep-frying is a little ambitious, creating a lot of heat and a mountain of dirty pots and pans—without either a dishwasher for the cleanup or an endless supply of fresh water from the taps.
But tonight it doesn’t matter. We eat in the cockpit, where the breeze is gentle and the air comparatively cool, leaving the mess out of sight below. The light is soft, a combination of an almost-full moon and the glow of our cockpit oil lamp. The piping frogs provide the background music. Time is flexible, expandable; I can take all day tomorrow for the cleanup, if I have to, catching water during the regular afternoon rainy-season downpour to replenish our tanks. And everyone agrees the food is fabulous. Especially the lobsters—despite the holes.
Dingis’s Curried Lobster
This treatment showcases the flavor of the rich meat without overwhelming it with melted butter. Serve the lobster over rice.
1 large lobster (about 2 pounds)
1 small onion, sliced thinly
1 large clove garlic, grated
1 small cubanelle or green bell pepper, thinly sliced
1⁄4 teaspoon seeded and finely chopped hot pepper
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 green onion, smashed and chopped
2 teaspoons white vinegar or lime juice
1 teaspoon (approx.) curry powder
1 tablespoon ketchup
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1. Cook the lobster in boiling water. When it is cool enough to handle, remove the tail meat (and claw meat, if you’re using a clawed lobster) and cut into small chunks. (Reserve the rest of the lobster to make Lobster Broth; see below.)
2. Toss the rest of the ingredients, except the oil, with the lobster meat. Taste and adjust seasoning, adding a little more curry powder if necessary. (There should be just a hint of curry flavor.) Refrigerate for a couple of hours to allow flavors to blend.
3. When ready to serve, heat the oil in a heavy pan or wok until very hot. Stir-fry lobster mixture for a minute or two. Add about 1⁄2 cup water to create a bit of sauce and allow to cook for just a couple minutes longer. Serve over rice.
Serves 2
Tips
• Dingis’s Lobster Broth needs to be made with a large Caribbean spiny lobster, because the parts that remain after the tail is used still contain substantial meat. Break the remainder of the steamed lobster into pieces and put in a large pot. Add a couple of potatoes and carrots (and green figues, or half a plantain, if you like), cut into chunks. Season with salt and pepper, and add a tablespoon or two of butter or margarine and an inch of water or light fish stock. Bring to a boil, lower heat, cover pot, and simmer, stirring occasionally, for about 30 minutes or until vegetables are tender. After the broth is at a simmer, drop in dumplings, if desired. (To make dumplings, combine 1
cup all-purpose flour with 2 teaspoons baking powder and 1⁄4 teaspoon salt. Cut in 2 tablespoons butter or shortening to make small pieces, then add 1⁄2 cup milk all at once. Stir to mix thoroughly and make a soft dough. Knead gently with floured hands about five times until smooth. With floured hands, shape dough into 1-inch balls and drop into hot broth. Cover pot and simmer 15 minutes. Don’t peek during cooking.) Serve Lobster Broth in deep bowls.
• If you have access to a West Indian market, substitute sive (West Indian chives) for the green onion and a seasoning pepper for the cubanelle (or green bell pepper) and the hot pepper.
Lower Woburn Stewed Lambi (Conch)
The hardest part of making this dish (once you have the recipe) is getting the lambi out of their shells, cleaning and tenderizing them. So buy your conch cleaned—or pass the job on to someone else.
4–5 conch, cleaned, tenderized, and cut into 1-inch (approx.) pieces
1 lime, cut in half
1 onion, chopped
1 cubanelle or green bell pepper, chopped
1 green onion, chopped
1 teaspoon chopped fresh thyme, or 1⁄2 teaspoon dried thyme
1 clove garlic, chopped
2 celery stalks, tops only
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
1⁄4 teaspoon ground cloves
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
11⁄2 tablespoons burnt-sugar syrup or browning (see Tip, below)
2 1⁄2 tablespoons curry powder
1 cup thick coconut milk or coconut cream
1–2 teaspoons cornstarch (optional)
1. Squeeze the lime over the conch, and rub with the pithy halves. Toss the conch with the onion, pepper, green onion, thyme, garlic, celery tops, salt, black pepper, and cloves; refrigerate for a few hours.
2. In a large pot, heat the vegetable oil and add the burnt-sugar syrup or browning; cook, stirring, for a minute or so. Add the conch with its seasonings and sprinkle with curry powder. Stir to coat conch thoroughly and cook, stirring, over medium-high heat for a couple of minutes.
3. Add coconut milk or cream, lower heat, cover, and allow to steam for about 20 minutes, stirring occasionally. If the sauce seems too thin, mix the cornstarch with a little cold water, stir in, and cook a few minutes longer until sauce has thickened. Serve hot with rice.
Serves 4
Tip
• The burnt-sugar syrup—also known as browning or caramel coloring—that’s essential to the deep rich sauce is available in bottles or jars in West Indian grocery stores. It’s also used when browning meats for stews. West Indian cooks often make up a large batch of their own to have on hand by cooking brown sugar with water until it loses its sweetness and is a very dark brown. (Not only did I add too much burnt sugar when I made my lambi the first time, but I also didn’t cook the sugar nearly long enough for it to lose its sweetness.) If you can’t get burnt-sugar syrup, substitute a teaspoon of a North American browning and gravy enhancer such as Kitchen Bouquet.
Coo-Coo (Caribbean Polenta)
This dish, which came to the islands from Africa (“coo-coo” means side dish in a number of African languages), is the Caribbean version of polenta. Serve it with cream of callaloo soup or saltfish fritters (see pages 229 and 250), or any fish or stew, or do as Dingis suggests and fry up slices of cooled coo-coo for a snack.
3 cups coconut milk (approx.)
1 tablespoon butter
1⁄2 teaspoon salt
1 cup yellow cornmeal
1. In a large saucepan over medium heat, combine coconut milk, butter, and salt. Bring to a boil.
2. Gradually stir in cornmeal. Lower heat and cook for about 5–10 minutes, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon to prevent sticking, until the mixture thickens and leaves the sides of the pan. (If it becomes too thick, add a bit more coconut milk or water.)
3. Pour the mixture into a greased 8-by-8-inch pan. Allow to set for a couple of minutes, then cut into squares and serve warm.
Serves 6–8
Tips
• Some versions include okra (though we prefer our coo-coo plain). If you want to include it, thinly slice 4 okras and cook in the coconut milk until soft, about 10 minutes, before adding the cornmeal.
• Slices of coo-coo are also excellent grilled. Brush them lightly with olive oil and set on the barbecue. Cook until lightly crisped on both sides.
Plantain Spiders
Sprinkled with lots of sea salt and served hot, these are positively addictive—better than French fries—and a real happy-hour treat. I’ve yet to make them for anyone who can eat just one.
Watch them carefully while they’re frying, and take them out of the oil when they’re just golden. If they cook too long, they’ll become hard.
2 large plantains, 1 green and 1 semiripe
2 tablespoons very thin slivers fresh ginger
2 tablespoons very thin slivers garlic
Salt
2 cups vegetable oil (approx.), for deep frying
Freshly ground black pepper
1. Peel the plantains and shred coarsely using the largest holes on a hand grater. (You should have about 11⁄3 cups.)
2. Combine the plantain, ginger, and garlic in a mixing bowl with a little salt and toss well to combine.
3. Heat oil to 350°F in a deep, heavy pot, wok, or deep fryer. Using 2 forks or spoons, carefully drop tablespoons of the plantain mixture into the hot oil. (Don’t compress the plantain shreds tightly—you want them to look “spidery” when they emerge from the pot.) Fry until golden on all sides, about 2 minutes total.
4. Using a slotted spoon, transfer to paper towels to drain. Sprinkle with salt and pepper and serve at once.
Serves 4 as a snack
Tips
• Don’t crowd the pot—fry a few spiders at a time and let the oil return to 350°F between batches.
• Plantains, which look like overgrown, sharp-edged bananas, are available in North American supermarkets located where there are communities of West Indians. Judge their ripeness by their color: Green ones are unripe, yellowy-green to yellow ones are semiripe moving to ripe, and yellowy-black ones are very ripe.
Mango Crisp
The perfect dessert when you have an embarrassment of mangoes. (And when you don’t, you can substitute berries—blueberries, raspberries, strawberries—for some of the mango.) Although not an option on Receta (our boat freezer wouldn’t keep ice cream), the crisp is delicious with vanilla ice cream. Alternatively, serve with lightly whipped cream, lightly sweetened sour cream or yogurt, or crème fraîche. (See Tips, below.)
For the topping
1⁄2 cup flour
3⁄4 cup quick-cooking or old-fashioned oats
2⁄3 cup packed brown sugar
1⁄4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
2 tablespoons finely chopped crystallized ginger
1⁄3 cup cold butter
For the fruit
6 cups sliced ripe mango (about 3–4 mangoes, depending on size)
11⁄2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lime juice
1⁄4 cup packed brown sugar (approx.)
2 tablespoons flour
1. Preheat oven to 350°F. Butter a 2-quart (8-inch-square) baking dish.
2. Prepare the topping: In a large bowl, combine flour, oats, brown sugar, nutmeg, and crystallized ginger. Cut in cold butter until mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Set aside.
3. Toss the mango with the lime juice. Combine sugar and flour, and toss with fruit. Taste and adjust sweetness if desired. Spread fruit in the prepared dish.
4. Sprinkle topping evenly over fruit. Bake in preheated oven for about 40–50 minutes, until the fruit is bubbling and the topping is crisp and lightly browned. Serve warm.
Serves 8
Tips
• For a nutty topping, toss about 1⁄2 cup slivered almonds with the topping mixture.
• To make crème fraîche, combine 2 cups whipping cream and 1 cup sour cream in a nonmetallic bowl, cover with plastic,
and let stand at room temperature for 16–24 hours or until thickened. Refrigerate until serving.
• To make your own crystallized ginger, peel ginger, slice into 1⁄4-inch-thick slices, and boil in cane syrup or sugar syrup (see page 149) for 20 minutes. Remove from syrup, drain, and roll in granulated sugar. Allow to air dry on a rack, then keep in a tightly closed jar.
That Demon Rum
One part sour,
Two parts sweet,
Three parts strong,
Four parts weak,
Five drops of bitters, and nutmeg spice,
Serve well chilled with lots of ice.
TRADITIONAL WEST INDIAN RECIPE
FOR RUM PUNCH
Mid-morning in the anchorage at Hog Island, and I hear the unmistakable sound of a visitor approaching: the buzz of a small outboard, first getting louder, then changing to a gentle putt-putt-putt, followed by a squeak as an inflatable dinghy bumps our hull. With this advance warning, I’m already up the companionway in my bathing suit—usual onboard attire these days—before the visitor has a chance to rap on the hull and shout hello.
It’s Treesha, off the big catamaran from California called New Tricks, which she shares with her husband, Tim, and Bubba, a slender, well-coiffed standard poodle.
“You’re invited to a rum tasting tonight. On New Tricks. Around five. Bring yourselves and a bottle of rum.” Before roaring off to spread the word to the next boat, Treesha explains that “the Minister of Rum” is behind the tasting. He’s asked New Tricks to host it “because our cockpit can hold more people than anybody else’s in the anchorage.”
We’ve heard tales about the self-styled Minister of Rum, and I’m curious to meet someone who’s been clever enough to make a career out of sailing and drinking. “We’ll be there,” I tell her.
By the time we arrive at New Tricks that evening, a line of dinghies is already strung behind each of the catamaran’s hulls and more than a dozen couples are lounging in the cockpit. We add our aged Brugal rum from Luperón to the two-dozen or so bottles already sitting on the cockpit table, presided over by a clean-cut, sober-looking man in his mid-forties with aviator-style glasses and a droopy mustache. His papaya-colored polo shirt bears a crest on the pocket: a rum cask with “Office of the Minister of Rum” embroidered beneath it. He is intently stirring a bit of amber liquid in a glass with a swizzle stick that actually is a stick: a twig that he’s just finished trimming with a pocketknife so the end branches into a circle of spokes. His demeanor implies the gathering is not merely an excuse for a party. Edward Hamilton, the Minister of Rum, is clearly quite serious about the business of drinking at hand.