I Love Yogurt

Above, one-quarter of the glorious yogurt isle in Carrefour.

Dairy products - outside of 1-gallon milk jugs, pre-sliced American cheese and ice cream - being completely absent from my Chinese mother's kitchen, yogurt probably made a very late appearance in my life. I don't really even remember eating yogurt, much less enjoying it, before living in France. But I do remember suddenly liking yogurt very much the semester I studied abroad - so much so that I wrote home about it on several occasions. Why the change? Possibly because there is a significant difference between when Americans eat yogurt and when the French eat yogurt; Americans eat yogurt as a breakfast food, or as a snack whereas traditionally, the French eat yogurt as a dessert. There is something particularly satisfying in a cool, sweet, light dessert after a meal. But mostly because there was a significant difference in taste. I remember eating tiny tubs of unctuous stracciatella from Danone, fruit tarts in yogurt form from la Latière... I even enjoyed the creamy prune yogurt!

One of the pleasures, then, of living in France is the yogurt. Besides the typical strawberry-, peach- and cherry-flavored yogurt, there are more local flavors available in the supermarket aisles here.

Above, Danone's Velouté Fruix, Yoplaît's Caresse and Littée's Mixé.

Danone's Velouté Fruix has Guava, Coconut, Mango, and Passion Fruit/Peach. Yoplaît's Caresse has Guava, Piña Colada, Litchi, and Passion Fruit/Peach. Littée's Mixé has pineapple, mango, guava and vanilla. Veoluté Fruix and Caresse are fairly similar - quite tasty - and when we are at the store, we choose whichever one happens to be on sale at the moment. Littée, whose neon-colored labelling might serve as indication, is a bit too sweet.

Occasionally, when there is some pineapple in the house, I will cut up some pieces and add them to some coconut yogurt, with a splash of rum. A bit rich? ... not at all.

Passion Fruit

Above, left, a passion fruit (Passiflora edulis), right, a water lemon (Passiflora laurifolia).

I tasted my first passion fruit during my first trip to Guadeloupe. Before that, I had only known passion fruit as an artificial flavor, like the way most city kids - myself included - know the taste of blue and red before they've ever had real blueberries or cherries.

Passion fruit (fruit de la passion in French, but known locally as maracudja after the Spanish name) are quite common on the island, found in backyard plots, or its vines running along a roadside fence. For those who do not have their own passion fruit vine, or who do not benefit from friendly relations with neighbors who do, passion fruit are also sold in local markets and sometimes even in supermarkets. There are also a range of food products with passion fruit derivatives, such as passion fruit-flavored yogurt, passion fruit juice, or passion fruit mousse tortes at the patisseries.

Far less common is the water lemon (pomme liane in French), another variety of passion fruit from the genus passiflora. This water lemon was purchased at the market in Basse Terre from a woman from Dominica who specializes in selling native fruit.

Passion fruits and water lemons are quite similar. The passion fruit is round to oval in form with an airy foam-like rind and a very smooth light yellow skin. The water lemon is round to ovoid in form with three distinct sides with an airy foam-like rind and flocked goldenrod-colored skin.

Above, left to right, a passion fruit and a pomme liane, both cut in half.

Inside both fruits, a mass of small black seeds encased in thin sack of juice. At first glance, it is not convincingly appetizing, the insides resembling embryonic creatures - tadpoles, maybe - , something vaguely sinister.

Above, a close-up of, top, passion fruit seeds, and, bottom, water lemon seeds.

The difference in flavor is advertised by the difference in color. Passion fruits are tart, acidic. Water lemons - in opposition to its name - are sweet, floral like roses. Because I like my fruit to be sweet but sharp I prefer the taste of passion fruits. I dislike water lemons for the same reason I dislike Turkish delight - I don't eat soap. M. happens to love water lemons precisely for its less aggressive flavor and so keeps the woman at the market in a steady business.

Marie Denise's Fruits and Vegetables

Marie Denise's fruits and vegetables stand at the market in Basse Terre:

Above, papayas, soursops (guanábana), passion fruits, star fruits, bananas, cucumbers, bell peppers, giraumon, scotch bonnet peppers, piments vegetalien, tomatoes

Above left, bananas, star fruits, passion fruits, soursops, papayas
Above right, watermelons, papayas, zucchinis, chayote, eggplants

Above, pineapples, plantains, yams

Plantain Pancakes

Sundays are made for extravagant breakfasts. Having successfully made plantain crepes, I tried making plantain pancakes. I used the Barry Farms recipe I had found while researching plantain flour. I halved the recipe, since I was only making pancakes for two. I also substituted melted butter for the cooking oil, since, I do love the butter.

Ingredients
1 cup plantain flour
1 ½ tsp baking powder
dash salt
1 ½ tbs sugar
1 egg
1 ½ tbs melted butter
½ cup milk

The batter is ashen in color, somewhat less appetizing than the creamy yellow color of a regular wheat flour batter. The recipe gives an incredibly thick batter. I ended up adding a few tablespoons more of milk just to thin the batter out. The pancakes turn out quite nicely, though, the ashen color turning golden brown in the pan. There is no perceptible difference in cooking time, and the edges crisp nicely in the butter. The texture is smooth, and dense, resembling bread. There are slight differences between the plantain pancakes and wheat flour pancakes, but I think the satisfaction is about the same.

My favorite type of pancakes are those made with buttermilk. I'm thinking about trying the recipe again, but replacing the milk with buttermilk. From the information I've found, plantain flour seems to rise less easily than wheat flour. I think the buttermilk might help to make the pancake fluffier, less bread-like. I just have to figure out how to make buttermilk, a product unknown in France, and certainly unknown in Guadeloupe.

Other Uses for Colombo Powder

When I first decided to make colombo six months ago, I had purchased a 250g bag of colombo powder at the supermarket. Two hundred and fifty grams of colombo powder is actually a lot, and certainly constitutes more dishes of colombo than I am ready to eat. So, what to do with all that powder? I had moment of food inspiration when I realized that I could use the colombo powder in Singapore Noodles.

Singapore Noodles is a fairly popular dish found on menus in almost all Chinese restaurants. It should be noted that the dish isn't actually from Singapore, but is rather an interpretation by (immigrant) Chinese cooks of the spicy noodle dishes common in Singapore. In any case, Singapore Noodles are usually made with vermicelli noodles, dyed a bright yellow by the turmeric in the curry powder, sauteed with peppers. The remaining ingredients - which can include shrimp, roast pork, strips of fried egg - depends largely on the cook. The recipe for BBC Good Food for Singapore noodles includes both a vegetarian and a meat version. Below is my recipe for Singapore Noodles. I change the quantities depending on what is available, whether or not the dish is supposed to be a stand alone dish, whimsy...

Ingredients:
Angel hair pasta
1 medium-sized onion, thinly sliced half moons
1 large bell pepper, julienned
3 - 4 piments vegetaliens (1), de-seeded, julienned
2 eggs, beaten
2 slices of ham, cut into strips
2 cloves garlic, crushed
1 tsp grated ginger
3/4 tsp colombo powder
green onion, chopped
soy sauce

1. Boil a pot of water, cook the angel hair pasta according to package directions. Drain and set aside.

2. Heat some oil in a sauté pan. When the pan is hot, pour in the beaten egg.

3. Swish the beaten egg around to ensure an even layer over the bottom of the pan. Cook until the egg is set on the pan side, then flip the egg to cook the other side.

4. Remove the egg from the pan and cut the egg into thin strips.*

5. Heat some oil in a wok or sauté pan. When the oil is hot, throw in the garlic and turn down heat to medium. Cover and allow the garlic to cook for a minute. Then add the ginger.

4. Turn the heat back up to high. Throw in the onion, bell peppers, and piments. Stir the onions, bell peppers, and piments to make sure there is even cooking.

5. Once the onions and bell peppers have slightly softened, add the colombo powder. Stir to mix.

6. Turn the heat down to medium. Throw in ham strips, egg strips, green onion. Stir to mix.

7. Add angel hair pasta. Combine all ingredients. Add soy sauce and combine to coat.

* To save time, you do not have to cook the eggs separately. After sauteeing the onions and peppers, push them to the side, and pour in the beaten eggs. Stir the eggs. Once the eggs are scrambled, combine the egg with the onions and peppers. Add colombo powder and continue with the recipe as detailed above.

I like eating my noodles with Huy Fong sriracha, a veritable luxury given that a regular 17oz bottle costs almost 10€ (2). The noodles pictured above also have roast pork, but that is an additional step that requires a bit of planning. Sliced ham is a good stand in.

Singapore Noodles is something I would have never made before. My parents are from southern China, and this type of oil-heavy, spicy dish is not part of our cuisine. I don't associate it as food I would eat at home; It was always something we ate at canteens in Chinatown. But its been several years since I've moved out of my parents' home, and the food I cook is no longer defined solely by the ethnic background of my parents. Still, cooking Chinese food - and, in particular, Chinese food that I would have eaten at restaurants only - is challenging. I don't mean that technically, of course - any regular home cook with the right ingredients can manage Chinese food. I mean that it requires rearranging fixed ideas about my own abilities, and how I interact with my environment. Like learning to cook Korean food, daring to cook Chinese food is a definite gain.




(1)






(2) I imagine that the price is high because the sauce is twice imported: imported first by Frères Tang in Paris, then on to Guadeloupe by local importers.

Mammee Apple and Almond Tart

Encouraged by a successful pineapple coconut tart, I thought I might try another recipe from Sophie's tarts book (1). With pineapple and coconut as its main ingredients, that recipe was rather tropical to begin with. This time, I thought would use one of Sophie's more traditional recipes, but with local fruit and local flavors.

From Marie Denise's stand at the market in Basse Terre, I purchased a large abricot pays, or mammee apple (2). Abricot pays translates simply as 'local apricot.' It is almost always comic when comparing the 'original' fruit and its local namesake since there never seems to be much in common - one characteristic at most. The mammee apple is round and somewhat larger than a grapefruit. The skin is tan to dark brown in color, dry and hard. It peels off easily with a knife to reveal a beautiful deep orange flesh.

The color is similar to an abricot...or to a mango, or to acorn squash. The flesh must be cut away from the large round pit, a wet and messy procedure that recalls emptying a pumpkin of its seeds. The pit fits nicely in the palm of the hand like a ball of thin string pressed tightly together with great force. Cut into small pieces, the glistening fruit resembles some unknown precious stone.


The fruit smells curiously like royal jelly. It has no particular taste. But it slides slippery soft and sweet down the throat.

I decided to use Sophie's recipe for pear and almond tart (tarte aux poires et aux amandes). Two mammee apples and rum replace the can of pears in syrup and the pear liqueur.

Ingredients:
1 shortcrust pastry
2 mammee apples
100g crushed almonds
100g softened salted butter, cut into small cubes
1 egg
20g slivered almonds
2cl rum

1. Preheat the oven to 180°C. Roll out the shortcrust pastry over the tart pan. Gently press the pastry into the bottom and sides of the tart pan. Set aside in the refrigerator.

2. Peel the mammee apples. Cut the flesh away from the pit. Cut the flesh into thin slices.

3. In a medium-sized bowl, mix the sugar, butter cubes, crushed almonds, egg and rum.

4. Spread the crushed almond mixture in the bottom of the tart. Lay the mammee apples slices over the mixture. Sprinkle the top with the slivered almonds

5. Bake for 30 minutes.

I hadn't realized how large the pit was, and had only purchased one mammee apple. So my tart was a bit lacking in fruit. The tart was still edible of course, but the small flavor of the fruit was a bit overwhelmed by the quantity of tart. I am certain that bigger taste could be achieved with more fruit.

When cooked, the fruit wrinkles a bit like a raisin. I didn't find the wrinkles incredibly attractive, and so I would recommend mixing the mammee apples into the almond paste before pouring the entire mixture into the tart pan. I don't believe there is a technical reason behind laying the pear slices on top of the almond paste. And since the deep orange color is quite strong, it would still show up nicely underneath the paste.



(1)
Dudemaine, Sophie. Tartes et Salades de Sophie. Geneva: Éditions Minerva, 2004.



(2) Mammee Apple

Plantain Flour

Recently, I discovered plantain flour in the supermarket. I wasn't looking for it, but the colorful label caught my eye. Even though plantains are a staple in Antillais cuisine, plantain flour doesn't seem to be. After turning it over a few times I added it to my grocery cart.

Mostly, I was thinking about my mother. After a lifetime of eating wheat and wheat products, my mother discovered that she was allergic to wheat about a year ago. Its not a serious allergy, she can allow herself to eat wheat occasionally, but its preferable for her to avoid it. Giving up pasta and bread was not easy, but it was certainly easier thanks to a wide range of rice- or soy-based products found in Asian food stores.

Could plantain flour provide another wheat flour alternative?

Somewhat surprisingly, I wasn't able to find much information online. With the seemingly exponential increase of wheat and gluten allergies, I simply assumed that plantain flour would be one of many proposed alternatives, along with chickpea flour, soybean flour, fava bean flour, etc. Still, I was able to find some interesting tidbits:

*****

The Post-Harvest Compendium, an initiative of the UN Food and Agriculture Organization, has an interesting page on post-harvest operations for the plantain, including the production of plantain flour. Here is a description of how plantain flour is made:

Unripe plantain is traditionally processed into flour in Nigeria and in other west and central African countries. This traditional technology is equally present in Amazonian Bolivia. The preparation method consists of peeling of the fruits with the hands, then cutting the pulp into small pieces, and air drying them for few days. The dried pulp is then ground in a wooden mortar or a corn grinder. The flour produced is mixed with boiling water to prepare an elastic pastry (alama in Nigeria and foufou or fufu in Cameroon) which is eaten with various sauces. The colour of the flour obtained is more or less dark due to the action of browning enzymes. Some improvement of this traditional method, by blanching the plantain pulp at 80°C for 5 minutes and cutting them into round pieces, [...] followed by draining and drying in a drying oven at 65°C for 48 hours or in the sun for some days resulted in the production of a more or less whitish flour. Plantain flour containing 10 percentage of residual humidity and hermetically packed in plastic sachets can be kept for many months without deterioration of its qualities.

The passage goes on to describe various end products, such as fritters and cakes.

Plantains may be staples in many African countries, transformation of plantains into other products seems relatively new. In an issue of African Journal of Biotechnology (1), Nigerian researchers report on the use of wheat and soybean/plantain composite flours. The purpose of the study is to find an alternative to wheat flour bread, whose consumption is steadily rising in the country. As an imported product, wheat is expensive, and so efforts are being made to find alternatives that utilize locally grown produce. The researchers found that plantain supplemented breads had "comparable sensory and nutritional qualities," but required a high proportion of wheat flour to be able to rise.

Another Nigerian study sheds light on the reasons why the use of plantain flour is not widespread (2). They conclude that plantain flour would have to sell for almost twice the price of imported wheat flour in order to be profitable. This clearly illustrates the challenges of introducing a product that competes with wheat. Because there would be both economic and social benefits to weaning Nigeria off imported wheat, the authors of the study recommend government subsidies to encourage the production of plantain flour and plantain four products.

*****

Anyway, I thought I would start with something simple: crêpes. I used my sister Js recipe for crêpes, which calls for regular wheat flour. I substituted the wheat flour with plantain flour 1 for 1.

3 tablespoons plantain flour
3 teaspoons sugar
1/3 cup milk
1 egg
pinch of salt

The flour is somewhat ashen when compared to regular wheat flour. The seeds in the plantain are not removed and so add black specks to the flour. Plantain flour also has a different odor; it smells slightly sweet, oddly sour. Otherwise, it seems to look and feel quite the same.

The crepes turned out well. Crepes lend well to the substitution because there is no rising action required. There was no particular banana taste.

I'd like to try some other recipes, but I'm a bit reticent to find myself with some soggy, mushy mess. The packaging includes a recipe for a cake, but calls for a mixture of plantain and wheat flour. I also found a recipe for plantain flour pancakes on the website for Barry Farm, a producer in Ohio that carries a wide selection of wheat flour alternatives. Its been a long time since I had pancakes, my last box of pancake mix finished months ago. I think I'll give the plantain pancakes a go*. Its got a nice ring to it, doesn't it?

* I made plaintain pancakes two weeks later.


(1) Olaoye O. A., A. A. Onilude, O. A. Idowu. "Quality characteristics of bread produced from composite flours of wheat, plantain and soybeans."African Journal of Biotechnology Vol. 5, No. 11, 2 June 2006, pp. 1102-1106 (here)

(2) Ogazi, P.O. and K.G. Vaidya. "The Place of Plaintain in Bakery Products Production - Economic Aspects." ISHS Acta Horticulturae 123: VI African Symposium on Horticultural Crops. (here)

L'Iguane Café

Supposedly one of the best restaurants in Guadeloupe, l'Iguane Café certainly doesn't look the part from the outside. The road abuts the entrance, and diners have a choice between a view of a side road, or surrounding residences. Better situated restaurants with prettier views, however, would have a difficult time measuring up to the cuisine that is served here.

The dining room is spacious and charming. A generous area furnished with low, wide couches is reserved for pre-dinner drinks. Exposed wooden beams support a high sloped roof, allowing for natural cooling. The decor demonstrates a traditional colonial sentiment but a more contemporary taste. Iguanas in all forms - statuettes, paintings - can be found throughout the restaurant.The service is attentive and professiona, but friendly. L'Iguane Café is proof, perhaps, that table linens and crumb scraper do not oblige the staff to be completely self-effacing.

Above, champagne cocktail with rose rum and grenadine; the amuse-bouche of a sweet and savory shrimp salad served with a one-bite campaillou.

Above, raw tuna squares covered in toasted sesame seeds, smoked tuna, accompanied by a cup of mascarpone wasabi froth, and a napa cabbage roll with fresh mint, spiced with Asian five spices; phyllo tulips stuffed with goat cheese, smoked spiced duck breast, and peppery fig compote, accompanied by mixed salad with pine nuts (1).

Above, young rabbit served in a ginger cream sauce and mustard seed jus, served with sauteed curried pineapples, accompanied by mashed sweet potato; Crispy sesame chicken served with mango chutney on basmati rice, accompanied by mesclun salad with mango vinaigrette (2)

Above, frothy arabica mascarpone, with crumbled coffee biscuits, meringue and chocolate shavings, emulsified Bailey's cream, served in a tall glass (3).

I thought everything was quite tasty and everything seemed to be the product of real effort - an impeccable staff, an innovative menu. I was particularly impressed with the mascarpone wasabi froth served with my appetizer and the ginger cream sauce on my entrée.

I wasn't quite sure how to eat the froth, I assumed it was sort of like a dipping sauce for the tuna. But I didn't mind just dipping my fork into the cup and licking the froth off with my tongue. The wasabi gave it a bit of chalkiness, against the creaminess of the mascarpone.

As for the ginger cream, I liked it so much, I tried making it myself at home several days later.
Above, my attempt at ginger cream sauce.

There is a reason why the professional kitchen dedicates one person to making sauce. It may not be the most important part of the meal, but it certainly is one of the elements most remembered. And it is so difficult to reproduce! My attempt is a combination of grated garlic, grated ginger, crème fraîche and butter. My sauce lacked the concentrated taste of ginger, the punch of real spicy flavor. It was too garlicky, and too thick. A nice exercise to further justify a pricey meal.

*Addendum* (June 2, 2009): Here is a review of the restaurant from Frommer's.



(1) Thon cru au sésame torréfié et tartare fumé, lait de mascarpone foisonné au wasabi, roulé de choux de chine à la menthe et cinq épices d'Asie; Tulipes de fromage de chèvre et de magret fumé aux épices à la compotée de figues poivrée, petites saldes de feuilles d'herbes aux noix

(2) Cuisse de lapereau à la crème de gingembre et ananas frais poêlé au curry, écrasé de patate douce, jus à la graine de moutarde; Poulet croustillant au sésame, chutney et mesclun au vinaigre de mangue, riz basmati

(3) Verrine d'arabica au lait mousseux de mascarpone, brisure de biscuit au café, meringue et pépite de cacao, crème émulsionnée au Bailey


L'Iguane Cafe
Route de la Pointe des Chateaux
97118 Saint François
Tel: 05 90 88 61 37

Pineapple Coconut Tart

I have been keen to try making some tart recipes from Sophie Dudemaine's Tartes et Salades de Sophie (1). Sophie had had a runaway success with her first book, Les Cakes de Sophie in 2000 and Tartes was her second book, published 4 years later. I hadn't heard of her until almost 6 years after she had published her first book, and by then she was a veritable one-woman corporation with a an entire series of books, a cooking program, tied sponsorships, etc. For that reason, she has been called the French Martha Stewart. The comparison is certainly a marketing gimmick because their styles are complete opposites. Whereas Martha introduced perfectionist cuisine and homemaking to an American public, Sophie does the exact opposite. Sophie introduced French cooks to easy and original recipes. I highlight original because the French are quite rigid in their ideas of food, and Sophie has said that when she first started making and selling cakes, customers were very wary of trying anything except the classic cake recipe of ham and olive (2). She also isn't afraid to use shortcuts in the interest of time and economy; for example, she often uses canned fruits in her sweet recipes, and uses pre-prepared pate feuilletée. She writes in her introduction that she would like to make her recipes accessible, and so takes into account the possibility that not all her readers can purchase fresh ingredients, or have the time to spend hours prepping in the kitchen.

Anyway, with my new electric oven, I am finally able to bake to my heart's delight. I had a bit
of trouble at first since my electric oven heats from the top (unlike a regular oven, which heats from the bottom). I made a few tarts, savory and sweet alike, which turned out with uncooked bottoms. I've now worked out that I must prebake the tart crusts, especially since I use a very pretty, but slightly thick, ceramic Geneviève Lethu tart dish.

This recipe stuck out because of its principle ingredients - it seemed very Antillais. Sophie's recipe calls for a small can of pineapple slices and packaged grated coconut, which is in line with her philosophy of easy cooking. However, I would have felt somewhat ridiculous in using imported packaged pineapple and coconut. It is not simply a question of taste, but a small gesture to support the economic and ecological benefits of eating locally.


Of course, replacing ingredients in recipes is always a tricky matter, and in my case, not always successful (3). But, I'm always ready to give it a shot and hope for the best.

I bought a medium-sized pineapple and a coconut from the market. Marie-Denise's husband was kind enough to remove the coconut flesh from the shell - an operation, he informed me, often resulting in serious injury in the hands of tourists. I'm not a tourist, but close enough!

I was worried that the coconut might be difficult to grate, and had therefore intended to delegate the job to M. But, he was not around when I began and so, I ended up doing it myself. To my relief, it grates much like a carrot, with the brown skin a bit tougher but all together possible with my flabby arms. While I was grating the coconut, I ate one of the end bits and I was surprised by the taste. I suppose I expected the taste of coconut icees in the summer, or candied slivers from chinese new year's. Instead, it tasted rich and oily and ... not sweet. I thought about the last time I had a fresh piece of coconut, and realized that I couldn't remember. Perhaps never. So strange, I thought, to have lived so long and to have eaten coconut, but not having ever eaten coconut at all.

Its a bit the same with pineapples, actually. I had my first taste of fresh pineapple when I was 18 (!). I was an undergraduate college student working in a campus brasserie that had fresh fruit smoothies on the menu. I prepared my first pineapple before ever having tasted one. I must have prepared a dozen before I finally secretly slipped a piece in my mouth. It was a revelation, that piece of pineapple.

Back to the recipe. In the end, I ended up using about half the pineapple. I could have piled on all of it on top of the tart, but was afraid that the juices might overwhelm the tart and spill over, especially since freshly grated coconut is less dry than pre-grated coconut. As instructed by Marie-Denise's husband, I froze half of the coconut for future use, and grated the other half for my tart. I ended up using less than half for the tart (4).

The pineapple coconut tart turned out extremely well, and is my first baking success here. Certainly the fresh coconut, speckled brown, makes for less pretty presentation, but the taste is clean and not overly sweet.








(1)
Dudemaine, Sophie. Tartes et Salades de Sophie. Geneva: Éditions Minerva, 2004.





(2) As quoted in her bio (in english), l'internaute.

(3) I tried making an apricot tart from the same book using mangoes. The entire thing ended up in the garbage.

(4) What do do with any remainder shredded coconut? Drizzle a bit of olive oil, and sprinkle on some salt and freshly ground pepper and you have a nice little salad. It only seems strange because we associate coconut with sweet - coconut cake, pina coladas, etc. Even savoury dishes with coconut are usually salty-sweet. But there is nothing inherently sweet about a coconut. Try it!

Colombo Update

Its been a while since I made colombo. The shortage of fresh meat was the main reason, but maybe a lack of inspiration, too.

I really should have read my post about colombo before I began. I had worked out all these problems and had come up with some good ideas, all of which I forgot to try (except for the tomatoes). In fact, it seems I began from scratch.

I hadn’t been really pleased with the way the pork was eating - a bit rough. So instead, I tried making it with chicken. I had intended to de-bone some drumsticks, but didn’t have the time and just cooked it on the bone. Chicken seems to be a vast improvement on pork: it simply tastes better with the sauce and the turmeric colors the meat into a nice dandelion/brown whereas the pork took on a brown/gray color.

I added two tomatoes (skinned and seeded) at the very end just a few minutes before I turned off the burner. It was the acidic note I was looking for.

Previously, I served my colombo with rice. Since there was none at the house, I roasted some potatoes with a bit of olive oil as the accompaniment. I reserved two cubes to put in with the chicken to thicken the sauce.

No eggplants, no christophines. But I did add a hard boiled egg. I don’t think that’s ever done with a traditional colombo, but its common in Indian curries.

The dish turns out quite well, even without all the intended improvements - the fresh ginger, the granny smith apple. The meal left me feeling inspired; I think I'll try making it again soon.

La Kaz à Delices

La Kaz à Delices is a cosy and casual restaurant on the street facing the Rivière-Sens Marina just outside of Basse-Terre. It is a perfect lunch place for workers from the surrounding area. The restaurant serves just a few dishes, but the menu changes every day. The day I ate there, there was a dishes such as tomato tart, quiche, chicken in white wine sauce. The cuisine is not spectacular, but it is honest and prepared with care.









See also: Le Sentier du Houëlmont.

Sugar Cane Juice

The color of sugar cane juice certainly isn't very appetizing. The murky greenish brown liquid could easily be mistaken for very dirty mop water. The taste, then, is somehow even more remarkable for its unattractive color: sweet, crisp, and very refreshing.

We bought a bottle of freshly pressed cane juice this morning at the market in Basse Terre from a man and his truck. It comes in reused 1L water bottles for €3.50.

I had my first taste of cane juice in December. M. and I had driven to Baillif to see a special Christmas market. It was no more than a regular market, with vegetables and fruit, but with a few tables selling cakes. Somewhat in the center of the temporary market, there was a truck with the words 'jus du canne' wriiten in large bold red letters across the side. An old man was noisily extracting juice using a sugar cane press. M. and I were excited about buying a glass each to accompany the snacks we had purchased. Unfortunately, you had to bring your own bottle. Having none, we could buy no juice. A steady rain began to fall so we remained next to the truck to take shelter. And the old man, seeing us still there, told somebody to fetch two cups from the bakery across the way. He then served us two plastic cups of cane juice. When M. tried to pay him, the old man shook his head. It was free, he said. This was the famous Antillais hospitality.

Burgers and Fries

There is perhaps nothing more American than a plate of burgers and fries. It’s a real shame, then, that most people think burgers always come wrapped in paper or served from a rectangular cardboard box. Indeed, fast food ‘restaurants’ have done a great disservice to the burger by associating it with inferior quality, stinginess, and poor taste. In fact, a well-made burger - with a nice thick patty made with top-grade beef and a good crusty bun - is both satisfying and incredibly tasty. Certainly, a burger is still rather humble fare (and I do find burgers on menus at expensive restaurants to be rather ridiculous), but it merits a better reputation that it gets outside the US.

I had a craving for a nice cheeseburger for some time. Guadeloupe, unfortunately, serves no other burger than those from McDonalds. Their fries may be unbeatable, but that was definitely not the kind of burger I was craving. So, like my cravings for Korean food, I've had to take matters into my own hand.

The strike, and the subsequent shortage of meat, put those burger-making plans on hold...until last week, when ground beef could be found. To that, I bought some sesame seed hamburger buns (specifically, l'Américain brand buns), and cheddar cheese.

Above, my burger and ‘fries.’ (I forgot to buy some pickles...dommage!)

After an intro lauding the culinary heights of the burger, I am bit ashamed that my burger isn’t made with top USDA grade organic grass fed ground beef, that the bun wasn't a freshly baked bakery roll, and that the cheddar wasn’t from Wisconsin, etc. But, I make do with what I can get, and my humble home-made burger was pretty tasty anyway.

I used a patty of steak haché, with minced onion, garlic, and parsley mixed in. I also added some tomato paste since I don't actually have ketchup in the house. Steak haché is not ideal (something about the texture) but I’m afraid it’s probably the best I can get here. The cows that dot the landscape seem to have more of a decorative or landscaping purpose than providing a local stock of high-quality beef.

The buns came in the traditional package of 8, so I'll have to make a few more burgers to use them up. But, I'm going to investigate some other, crustier, possibilities. It seems somewhat scandalous that my burger has such a bun when supposedly the best bakery in Guadeloupe is the one in my town.

Pre-sliced cheddar was all that was available since the French associate cheddar with hamburgers only. I thought lovingly of the cheese refrigerators at Fairway where I would often get a small orange block of Wisconsin extra sharp cheddar. It’s a bit surprising that the cheddar available in France isn't sharper since the French certainly like their cheese strong. If I was in France métropole, I might investigate whether a better quality cheddar might be available at a well-stocked cheese monger, but I think such a search would be fruitless in Guadeloupe.

The fries were perhaps the one concession to Guadeloupe. They're slices of banane légume (plantain) fried. Maybe I'll let the bananas inspire the burger next time. Guadeloupean burgers, anyone?

Cashew Apple

Above, left to right, unripe cashew apples and a single ripe cashew apple.

Yesterday, our granny neighbor offered us a perfectly ripe cashew apple that she and her daughter had picked from the great cashew tree growing at the end of the street. When the tree first bore fruit a few months ago, M. and I marveled at the bright red fruit with the cashew-shaped 'tail.' We hadn't known that it was a cashew tree. And, actually, at the time, we took one of the fruits that had already fallen off, thinking it wouldn't be missed.

I took a picture of it, with the intention of eating the fruit that evening. But it sat on the table on the terrace, forgotten, and eventually thrown out. There is certainly some reluctance to eat something without knowledge of it being good, at the very least confirmation that it isn't downright unpalatable. A fearless explorer, I am not.

Left, the uneaten (stolen) cashew apple. What is eaten was done so by the bats that flock to the tree.


But this time, the cashew apple was offered as (tasty) food by an Antillaise. She told me to eat it skin and all. The fruit was extremely soft, like a ripe tomato; I felt as if I could squish it entirely in one fist. I cut the fruit in half and was surprised to find that the inside bore an uncanny resemblance to flan or egg custard. M. watched as I placed a wedge in my mouth and chewed. It was smooth and soft like flan, except that there were rather tough fibers. Almost as if someone had placed baked bits of cheesecloth in their flan. Eventually, the fibrous bits went down, but for subsequent pieces, I spat those bits out.

It tasted like very sweet apple. Surprising, given that most of the time, the name of the fruit bares no resemblance - in taste or form - to its namesake. For example, the caimite or star apple neither looks or tastes like an apple. More likely, its name characterized it as an edible fruit.

M. hesitated much before trying it, and did not like the texture at all. I suppose my description of cheesecloth baked in flan wasn't very appetizing. I admit that while it tasted good, the eating was strange. An alien fruit - even when sweet - is somewhat hard to swallow.

Instead of heading to the beach on Easter Sunday like most Guadeloupeans, M. and I went to Morne-à-l'Eau for la Fête du Crabe. Every Easter Sunday for the past 17 years, les Mornaliens have celebrated the mangrove crab with an all day festival with live music, boat rides in the mangrove, ox rides, and of course, lots of crabs.

Above, left to right, a demonstration of quadrille on stage and the various stands participating in the festival.

This is the kind of event that people who grew up in small towns disparage. I revel in this folksy kind of stuff, and made M. bring me. There were some big-name sponsors, including the Bologne distillery and Capès mineral water, and had the support of various regional and local agencies. The entire festival is organized by the clunkily-named Association for the Protection and Development of the Crab and Other Resources of the Mangrove (l'Association pour la Protection et le développement du crabe et des autres ressources de la mangrove, APRODECARM).

Above, the sleek in-color program that was entirely ignored. Click on the image to read.

Manjé krab. Bwé Capes.

Ostensibly, the raison-d'etre of the festival is to to increase awareness regarding the ecological, economic and cultural importance the mangrove. This is perhaps necessary since the largest light industrial and commercial zone in all of France is located in Guadeloupe on razed and drained mangrove. But, everybody knows that the whole point of the festival is to eat some crab.

Smaller fare included crabe farci (stuffed crab), crab puff pastry. Main courses were spooned out from large vats, including Matété, Kalalou, Dombré, and Colombo. According to this recipe, the distinctive flavor of Matété comes principally from West Indian Bay seeds and leaves. For the kanalou, crabs sat in a swampy green sauce made with taro leaves. The dombré was the only dish not to be served with rice. In its place, little balls of flour – perhaps like gnocchi – which are boiled separately, then cooked with the crab stew. This recipe describes the sauce for dombré as tomato-based.

It would have been nice if a tasting plate was offered. Since that was not available, we had to make a choice. M. chose the Matété and I got myself a stuffed crab.


Above, left to right, Matété and stuffed crab.

Both had deep woodsy flavors, and that characteristic smokiness of Caribbean cooking.

I am not a huge fan of seafood, having only begun eating fish in the last few years. I made an exception today because it would be idiotic to attend a crab festival and not eat the crab. I was also encouraged by the fact that I had a very tasty king crab once. Though I do admit I was a bit put off by the little hairs (?) on the crab legs, and the beard. I got a little squeamish when M. purposely toyed with the eyes of my stuffed crab.

The festival spilled out beyond the square and past the police barricades blocking traffic on the street circling the square. On one of the side streets, somebody had decided to make a bit of a political statement:

Left, to catch a political crab...

In a patch of unused dirt, a collection of wooden crab traps, each with the names of political figures. Willy Angèle, the spokesperson for Medef; Nicolas Desforges, Préfet and Yves Jégo, Secretary of State for the Overseas Territories; Jacques Gillot, President of the General Council and Victorin Lurel, President of the Regional Council; Elie Domota, leader of LKP; and Colette Koury, President of the Chamber of Commerce and Industry. Above the crab traps, a play on the abbreviation of Lyannaj kont le profitayson (LKP), Lyannaj Krab Pak.

Besides the crabs, there were a number of stands occupied by artisans, most selling jewelry made from seeds and coconut shells. In the past, I associated this kind of stuff with the 'beach' look of Midwestern teens who live hundreds of miles from the ocean. Or, rasta-hip trendy types. But I've noticed a lot of the Antillais wear this kind of jewelry, to great effect.


Catch the Crab Fever

It was a bit like a New York street fair, except without the funnel cakes and $10 massages. I think that had the festival taken place in the US, there would have been crab balloons, a man in a crab suit, crab magnets, crab ashtrays and more, so much more. Some people might balk at such commercialism, and I would never buy any of that stuff myself, but I believe in going all out. People should really leave with crab-themed household items that clash horribly with everything they own, completely crabbed-out by the end. There is no sense of crab fanaticism, and there is certainly no passion. The feeling instead was more akin to affection, the same kind one might feel towards chicken breast. Maybe that is why one vendor, set up on the fringe of the festival to sell sorbet coco and pineapple cake, said that every year there are fewer and fewer vendors.

Let's hope people catch some crab fever next year.

Green Sauce

I had always considered parsley to be simply the decorative bit of green found on the meat-heavy plates of American cuisine. I did not think of it as a herb, at least not in the way I thought of sage in roast chicken, or cilantro in a Chinese stir-fry. And in any case, I found its taste soap-like.

But tastes change and mature. Otherwise, I would still think ketchup the ultimate condiment, and a great accompaniment to a bowl of white rice. M.'s mother uses parsley occasionally in her cooking, and the taste has grown on me. I found I rather liked the taste of parsley in an omlette, for example.

I do believe, however, that I am about to embark upon a love affair with parsley. Recently, I ate at the restaurant La Paillote du Pecheur, where I had an incredibly tasty parsley and green onion sauce. It was set on the table in a small bowl. I assumed it was for the salad and spooned some onto my tomatoes and lettuce. It seemed like it might have also been placed there for our fish, and so spooned some onto my grilled mahi-mahi steak. It worked equally well for both. Indeed, I liked it so much that I decided to try and make it at home. It seemed easy enough. La Paillote is a typical fisherman's restaurant in Guadeloupe where the food is simple but fresh and carefully prepared. There couldn't have possibly been any surprise ingredients.

I made a small bowl and kept it in the fridge. I used it first as a salad dressing. Over the coarse of the week, I found other opportunities: as a dressing for some boiled pasta, then topped with Romano cheese; a spoonful in a creamy baked pasta for some extra flavor; the remainder used to sauté green beans. I was really pleased by its versatility, and its ability to add some extra flavor. Instead of adding a tablespoon of olive oil, I would add two tablespoons of the sauce.

There is nothing particularly Caribbean about the sauce, but since I had it first at a local restaurant, I thought it could still make the recipe list.

Ingredients:
onion
green onion
parsley (flat or curly leaf)
olive oil
salt

1. Finely mince onion, green onion, and parsley.

2. In a small bowl, combine onion, green onion and parsley.

3. Add enough olive oil to submerge mixture.

4. Add salt.

I'm fairly certain you could keep the sauce in the fridge for at least two weeks, but we've always finished each batch within the week, so I cannot say. There aren't any quantities, because its really a matter of taste. I make it with about equal parts onion, green onion, and parsley. M. likes onions a bit less than I do, otherwise I might increase the quantity of onions. I've been using regular yellow onions because that is what is available here, but I think red onions would work really well.

*ADDENDUM* (April 7, 2009) Works really well in chicken salad too. One part green sauce to one part mustard to two parts mayonnaise.

La Case à Fernand

La Case à Fernand is located in Anse Bertrand in Grand Terre. Here, one gets the impression that décor isn’t just paid lip service. The restaurant is painted in pretty pastels, and decorated with watercolors of local scenes.




The view from the terrace is spectacular: the turquoise waters of the Caribbean playfully wash up against the main road. To come for just a drink and the view would be quite sufficient, but happily, the food is also very good.





The cuisine is not entirely traditional créole - not surprising since the restaurateur is a métro from southwestern France. I had grilled thazard (a type of mackerel), served with white rice, lentils and mashed yams, whereas M.'s brother had a plate of ceviche, thinly sliced.

Above: My bento box of grilled thazard.