An oft-heard, anguished cry these days chez nous is “there’s nothing to bloody eat in this house except baby food!”. Never actually true and rarely even close to reality, this refrain was aired again earlier this week when, left to my own devices while Amy enjoys a well-deserved week at her family’s shore house, I returned from work and opened the fridge. Having recently watched Tim Burton’s “Alice in Wonderland”, I was reminded that the more one looks at something the more curious it appears, and an apparently bereft fridge began to transform before my eyes into a chest of plenty.

Curiouser still, I remembered that the small, peculiar-looking plant that we’d acquired in May which now resembled a bush and was in need of a drink, was none other than Plectranthus amboinicus, known in Puerto Rico as brujo oregano, or wizard’s oregano, and not really thinking about why I was doing it, I snipped off a couple of the fat green leaves and put them in my pocket. After watering the rest of our garden, and in an increasingly possessed mood that I’m blaming on the heatwave we’re enduring rather than the medicinal herbs secreted on my person, I began ransacking the kitchen cupboards, emerging sweaty and slightly crazed with a can of black beans in one fist and a jar of Haitian piklis in the other, convinced that together it all must feature in one kind of voodoo ritual or another.

Remaining somewhat unsure of my intentions but determined to step behind the burners in spite of the stickiness around my gills, I sought counsel from Mirta Yurnet-Thomas’ “A Taste of Haiti”, opening it entirely randomly at page 50 which showed a recipe for “Zepis”, a herb and aromatic vegetable blend used for the marinading of meats. How fortuitous that a rather tough piece of steak appeared, recently defrosted, on the counter? Again, rummaging through the fridge, and convinced that amid the browning and limp assortment of chilled vegetables I spied a white rabbit peeking out, I laid my hands on an onion, some aged scallions, and a head or two of our very own homegrown garlic. Chopping these all roughly and combining them with two tablespoons of piklis plus two additional tablespoons of piklis vinegar to create a marinade, I left the steak to tenderize, and went in search of a cauldron and broomstick.

An hour later, now highly perfumed with the dense, almost skunky, aroma of the brujo oregano in my pocket, and having drawn a blank on both these two sorcerers accoutrements, I started stewing the black beans with the oregano in a plain old saucepan. Some twice-fried green plantains spirited themselves in to tostones in a matter of minutes while the now tender and spicy steak was fired to a medium-rare. Left with a bold marinade and some black beans that though wildly aromatic lacked a little punch, I combined the two while the meat rested, bringing it to a satisfyingly thick and dark hubble-bubble.

Without ear of rat or leg of toad to add to the pot, I was unable to produce a potion that either shrank me or made me enormous (beyond slightly enlarging my already distended belly), but what I produced did have a hint of magic about it. The beans were among the best I have ever made, and the steak, similar examples of which can be found throughout many countries bordering the Caribbean, was satisfyingly piquant and juicy. I can’t speak to the exact causes of the fugue-state that brought on this bout of fevered concocting, and evidence of it persisting through the plating of the beans can be found in the plantain chip in the form of a pointy hat, but I can recommend that one be careful around ones fridge lest a parallel world beckon you from within.

Guyana, sitting on the top right of the land mass of South America, is among the least known and most mysterious of that continent’s countries, something that is almost as true today as it was when Sir Arthur Conan Doyle used it as the setting for his 1904 novel, The Lost World. Home to the most intact and least spoiled rain forests in South America, Guyana’s biodiversity is simultaneously staggering and largely undocumented, and cascading from its mossy, permanently cloud-topped peaks, fall several of the world’s largest waterfalls. Guyana is also unique on a human-scale, having the distinction of being the only English-speaking nation in South America, and, perhaps because of this, of having been among the world’s largest producers of natural latex for the manufacture of cricket balls

The cricket-loving population is a heterogenous mix of Indian, African, European and native peoples, roughly in that order of volume. However, like much of the English-speaking Caribbean, Guyana also has a tiny, but significant, Cantonese population — a legacy of the same forces at work during the days of the British Empire that also relocated large numbers of Tamil and Gujurati Indians there to work as indentured plantation workers. Numerically insignificant, the lasting impact of these Hong Kong Chinese has been on local commerce and the cementing of certain southern Chinese dishes, the most popular of which is chow mein, in the diverse local cuisine.

Of course, the chow mein enjoyed in Guyana bears only a certain resemblance to that eaten in Canton and other parts of China, I am sure. Indeed, Chinese food all over the western world has been amended to suit local tastes and ingredients, and so it is in Guyana where access to even basic Chinese staples like soy sauce was not always possible. Similarly, the inevitable mixing between local gastronomic cultures, namely the addition of a sly pinch of West Indian curry powder that seems to find its way into all kinds of unlikely dishes across the Caribbean, is what makes this chow mein recipe inherently Guyanese, not to mention the bright yellow noodles, made with soft wheat and plenty of food coloring. Other local variations on the original include the addition of yellow squash and green beans.

We had never eaten this dish before, but we’d experienced it up-close at several West Indian parades both in New York City and London, where it was served in trays with plastic forks as street food, and where the searing perfume of garlic and curry managed to cut right through the ripe fragrance of perspiring dancers. In truth, the flavors, with the combination of curry and soy sauce, aren’t that dissimilar to the popular Singapore noodles found throughout South-East Asia and at many British Chinese restaurants, and they should feel relatively familiar to anyone who has eaten both Chinese and Indian take-out food before. So, while you (or we) may never get to visit exotic Guyana and witness first hand either it’s beautiful landscape or delicious cuisine, you should try making this dish. It only takes about twenty minutes to prepare and will satisfy a host of your ethnic food cravings.

For more authentic Caribbean recipes, check out Cynthia at Tastes Like Home.

We literally just walked in after spending our Labor Day afternoon at the annual WIADP (West Indian American Day Parade) on Eastern Parkway, Brooklyn, but to describe what we just witnessed as simply a parade would be akin to saying that scotch bonnet peppers are sometimes a little spicy, i.e. an enormous underestimation. The parade is the largest in New York City with upwards of 2million people flocking to it annually.

It was an unbelievable assault on the senses - the sights (thousands upon thousands of dancing people all decorated with their national flags and some astonishing costumes), the sounds (hundreds of different sound systems all turned up to 11 and all competing with one another as they slowly rumbled by on floats, accompanied by the ever-present encouragements for the dancers from some very vocal MCs), the smells (a myriad stalls selling Caribbean favorites, some better known that others), and the atmosphere (it is about 90F here today and there were some enormous smokers pumping out clouds of jerk-scented smoke, as well as many other “personal” smokers pumping out clouds of the other kind of smoke Jamaica is famous for).

Of course, apart from soak up the atmosphere, we did our best to sample the wares from as many of the stalls as possible. Sadly, our eyes were bigger than our bellies, and we frequently had the unfortunate experience of having to walk past many a stall not physically being able to eat anymore. Let’s face it, Caribbean food is not exactly light at the best of times, and on a scorching summer day, goat curry with roti, fish cakes, bake and salt-fish, all smothered in fruity hot pepper sauce, and washed down with spicy ginger beer, then shaken up and down with booming soca and dance-hall, is a recipe for a lot of sweating and the need for shade and a sit-down. Intense. Seriously intense.

My only touchstone for a carnival like this, is, well, carnival – the Notting Hill Carnival in London to be precise. And, not to offend anyone involved with that fun, enormous, crazy and, occasionally, violent Caribbean festival, the WIADP is a major step-up. The food, the sounds, the people, the culture, it’s all as much as you can take and more. It’s as close to being in a foreign country as I’ve ever experienced in America (note that, for me, America is a foreign country). It’s such a radical departure from what the area around the Brooklyn Art Museum usually looks like and where you usually see white couples jogging along behind three-wheel baby-chariots, that at first it takes you aback. Then, and suddenly, it just sucks you in, but, just as quickly, it spits you out again. It’s a lot to take and we had to retire for some shade and cold water, but we’ll be back. You should check it out next year, for once a year is enough to last you a while. That said, we’ll definitely be exploring more of our local Caribbean restaurants and trying to recreate some of their dishes and the ones we ate today now we’ve got a taste for it.

Ahhh, jerk chicken. One of my favorite dishes. It’s spicy, kind of sweet and when made well should almost melt in your mouth. On a cold winters night, there’s nothing that can snap you out of a cold-weather-depression than cooking up something from the Islands.

Jerk was used as a way to preserve and cook meat and was originally only made with pork. Interestingly, I found that the work “jerk” comes from a Spanish word called “charqui” which means dried meat. This is how we coined the term “jerky” for that awesome, chewy and salty dried meat we can pick up in 711′s or other corner stores or truck stops. Another possible meaning of the word stems from what happens to the meat when you prepare and cook it – you poke it/or jerk it to produce a hole in order to fill it with the spice mixture (which I didn’t do). I also read that it could come from the reaction your body has as you eat the spicy meat – your body jerks. How about the way you cook it – you ‘jerk’ the meat off the coals. Whatever the derivation all I know is that it’s absolutely delicious! What’s even cooler is that jerk pork’s origins can be traced all the way back to 1655 during the pre-slavery days of West African hunters (the Cormantees) through a group of Jamaican slaves (Maroons) that escaped from the British during the invasion of that year. The Maroons supposedly developed and perfected the jerk as a way to preserve the meat while they lived in the mountains fighting the British troops.

Nowadays, various jerk recipes are passed down from Jamaican family to Jamaican family, but each recipe always includes allspice, hot chilies, salt and various spices and herbs. Traditionally it should be grilled slowly over a wood fire made of pimento (allspice) wood, just to infuse the flavor even deeper into the meat, and continuously basted with the marinade. Because it’s winter in NYC and we will be purchasing a new grill this summer, I enjoy oven-cooking my jerk. If you stick on the broiler for a bit at the end, you can get a bit of crisp on the skin. WHOOOO HOOOOOO… absolutely fabulous! Give it a try yourself – it’s easy. Make it along with a some rice & pea and fried green plantains for the perfect balance of salty and sweet. The crunch of the tostones (SEE BELOW FOR A PICTORIAL “HOW TO”) make the dish. Our friend, Bren, has a great piece on all the different ways you can cook plantains

Also, we’d like to thank our friend, Pixie, who gave our recipe a whirl and had a taste of the Islands in the UK one night. THANK YOU!!

JERK CHICKEN WITH RICE & PEA AND TOSTONES (FRIED PLANTAINS) (SERVES 2-3)

For the chicken and marinade:

• 2 breasts of chicken, skin on
• 2 legs of chicken, skin on
• 2 tbsp. allspice
• 1 tbsp. dried thyme
• 1 teaspoon hot paprika
• 1 teaspoon nutmeg
• 1 teaspoon cinnamon
• 1 tablespoon garlic powder
• 1 tablespoon onion powder
• 1 teaspoon red pepper flakes
• 1 scotch bonnet pepper (or other spicy hot pepper)
• 1 tablespoon brown sugar
• 1/2 cup of cilantro (you can substitute 1 teaspoon coriander seed)
• juice of 1 lime
• splash of orange juice
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• 2 scallions
• 1 teaspoon soy sauce
• pinch of salt and pepper

What to do:

1. If you are using allspice berries/seeds and whole cinnamon sticks, grind the spices down with a spice grinder. Then blend all the ingredients together in a blender until smooth (or smooth enough – you’ll have a bit of chunks of garlic and hot pepper). I used the olive oil to make it a wet rub. If you feel like you need more or less, adjust so it’s a thick paste.
2. Slab this on your chicken (remember to get under the skin if you can!). Wear some gloves if you have ‘em… this marinade contains hot pepper. Allow this to marinate for an hour at least, if you have the time. If you can marinate overnight, even better.
3. Cook your chicken pieces at 400 degrees for 45 minutes to 1 hour, or until juices run clear. For the last minute, put on the broiler and allow some of the skin to crisp up a bit. Don’t let the marinade burn!

RICE AND PEA

What to do:

• 1 cup white rice
• 1 can red kidney beans
• 1 small onion, minced
• 1 clove garlic
• 1 scallion, sliced
• 1 teaspoon garlic powder (optional – I really love garlic)
• chicken stock

What to do:

1. Saute your onions and garlic over medium heat for a few minutes (keep em a bit crunchy). Add your rice, the garlic powder, scallions and beans. Add the rice and stir all together.
2. Pour enough chicken stock over your rice that it comes up the width of 2 fingers above the level of the uncooked rice (make the peace sign, put your 2 fingers together, turn your 2 fingers clock wise 90 degrees – that’s how you measure – I’M TELLING YOU – IT WORKS EVERY TIME PERFECTLY). Bring to the boil and allow to cook down until it reaches the level of the rice. When the chicken stock has reached the level of the rice, stir ONCE, turn your heat to low and cover. Cook on low for 20 minutes.
3. After 20 minutes your rice will be perfect, give it a stir and enjoy.

****Traditionally, Jamaican rice & pea should be made with coconut milk. Just replace the chicken stock with 1 can of coconut milk plus enough water so that the total amount of liquid follows the “2 finger rule” (see above).

TOSTONES (FRIED GREEN PLANTAINS)

Ingredients:

• 2 Green Plantains
• veggie oil
• salt

What to do:

1. Heat your veggie oil – you want enough to almost cover the plantains.
2. Peel plantains and cut into slices, about 1 inch thick.
3. Fry your cut plantains once for about 2-3 minutes. Drain on paper towels.
4. Smash with a mallet and then fry again for another 1 1/2 to 2 minutes. Drain and season with some salt.

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We like spicy food, we do, and we eat it quite often – all kinds – thai, indian, korean, mexican, caribbean, colombian, and yes, it almost always does painful and weird things to our lower digestive tracts as well. We read that the active ingredient in hot peppers, capsaicin, (from the latin name for the fruit – yes fruit – capsicum) releases endorphins when ingested so the painful, mouth-on-fire feelings you get are offset by a sense of pleasure, all of which is peculiarly masochistic. Indeed, a recent MSN (ugh) online article with facts from well-known UK supermarket chain TESCO tells us that,

“If you can stand the heat, then chili peppers contain an anti-inflammatory substance called capsaicin and has been linked with pain relief associated with conditions such as arthritis. Chilies are also thought to protect your heart, fight infection thanks to large amounts of vitamins A and C.”

We also know that certain peppers are more or less friendly than others – jalapenos (nice and friendly), serranos (slightly more firey but mostly fine), cayennes (pretty darn spicy, be careful), habaneros (exceedingly spicy, use carefully and sparingly), and because of that we’ve read a lot (okay some) about how to handle the spiciest of peppers (latex gloves; no contact with eyes, mouth, soft organs etc.; remove seeds and ribs to reduce spicyness), all of which we practice more or less to the letter of the law. However, the answer to the thorny issue of being able to tell just how spicy a particular pepper is has remained elusive

Culinary giant Jacques Pepin always tastes a little bit of his peppers before cooking with them so he knows how hot they are, but is that always a good idea? We recently bought some Jamaican Hot Peppers, aka scotch bonnet peppers, which are similar in strength to habaneros. Some people say the jamaican ones are fruitier than the habanero but I can’t tell much of a difference, they’re both dangerously hot to me. Anyway, my wife used half of one of these in a vietnamese noodle dish she made the other night and turned out very deliciously, and I used the other half to add a little (and use the word little by way of understatement) piquancy to an onion gravy I made to accompany some veal sausages and gorgonzola polenta I made the other day. I did not taste the pepper beforehand to judge its power and so found out when we were eating that its flavor was a serious component of the dish. That said, the heat wasn’t over-powering and searing, it was quite subtle and gave the gravy a very enjoyably warm after-taste.

So, now that we know these peppers are of the militant variety, and that they should be used sparingly, what do we do with the other 12 peppers in the package before they go mouldy? Your suggestions are welcome but I’ll need them soon!

Check out some of our other food commentary articles!

I suppose you could file this under “at the desk gourmet” too, since it’s delicious, homemade, eaten at the desk, economical, and big step beyond your deli soup or sandwich in food sophistication. However, since it’s not made in my home, but someone else’s, it doesn’t qualify for inclusion in that category, but, as the picture on the right shows, it can definitely be enjoyed at the desk.

You see, every Thursday at my office it’s “Gloria Day” which means that those of us who want it, order a traditional Trinidadian lunch from our colleague Gloria. There is rarely more than one dish to choose from, and the menu only changes occasionally between two or three tried and tested favorites, but in the scheme of lunches it’s right up there with the steak and sope combo we wrote about the other week.

This week’s lunch was, in fact the same as last week’s, chicken curry with potatoes and chick-peas, which comes served with a large roti, and it’s a gut-buster of a lunch. The kind after which you’re struggling to stay awake and your pulse goes weak from the overload of carbohydrates flooding your system. The combination of smooth (the potatoes end up making a kind of thick sauce), crunchy/chalky (chickpeas, presumably added later in the cooking otherwise they’d break down more), meaty (only dark meat chicken) and garlicky-curry flavors are a wonderful change from my more ordinary lunches, even for me who has probably the most varied diet of anyone I know, except, perhaps, my wife.

The best thing about the meal though, and what really separates it from the rest of the week, is the roti. This bread, originally brought to the Caribbean by indentured Indian workers who moved to the various British colonies (Jamaica, Trindidad, and Guyana principally) to work on the sugar plantations, is unlike any roti I’ve had in Indian restaurants. It’s thinner, and if it’s not a nasty description, stringier, it has little of the puffy, doughy-ness of Indian rotis I’ve eaten. It is, however, still very, very good, and excellent for mopping up the delicious greasy curry sauce, or for collecting mouthfuls of potatoes and chickpeas and conveying them to mouth.

Gloria steadfastly refuses to give me her recipe for roti and try as I might I have never found a recipe that produces roti anything like hers. If anyone can suggest a good roti recipe, I’d love to road-test it. Of course, it could be something to do with my execution of the recipe that’s spoiling it for me… still, I think a new recipe is worth a try.

Unfortunately, this dish isn’t quite so photogenic as the steak and sope meal, and frankly I didn’t try to make it look any nicer, but then, for five (count them, five) of your American dollars you can’t expect it to be beautiful as well as delicious, can you? I can’t wait until next Thursday!!