Travel and Adventure by Various Travel Authors

By Tim Johnson

When I boarded a little puddle-jumper airplane to hop from one sunny island paradise to another, I didn't expect to meet up with a guy who grew up just around the corner from my house, but that's what happened.

After landing on a little airstrip and touring around tiny Barbuda, seeing its formidable cliffs, its sugary white sand and its rows and rows of almost-too-perfect palm trees, I proceeded to a beach bar called Uncle Roddy's, a small, brightly painted wooden structure just steps from the sand. It was here that I met Philman George — also known as the Rhyming Chef. Together with his Uncle Roddy, George cooks up a storm back in a simple little kitchen, serving up soups and stews from a traditional Caribbean metal pot (called a "Dutchie") — all served alongside cool, bubbly beverages.

I was in the lovely islands of Antigua and Barbuda for a week to learn the delicious art of Caribbean cookery. While many head south with visions of little more than a fizzy drink and a folding chair on the beach, these islands have a rich culinary heritage, one that leads back to colonial times and beyond. Whether one's aim is to learn its recipes and methods or simply to consume the results, an exploration of this food culture can add something deeper and more significant to any tropical trip. These two islands, which together comprise a laid-back country situated on the northern end of the Lesser Antilles, are the perfect place to do so.

My afternoon with George was a fascinating one. Having grown up in both Toronto (near my house in the downtown core) and Antigua, George now splits his time between Canada, where he teaches cooking classes through rapping (he also has a DVD series and a show on a national food channel), and Barbuda, where he keeps a low profile and serves the patrons of the beach bar, a joint venture with his uncle. That day he wouldn't rap for me ("That's just for the show"), but he certainly did cook, using the basic little kitchen (which is, like the rest of the place, powered entirely by solar panels) to its fullest, implementing the skills he learned from his own grandfather to make stewed conch and stewed chicken. The latter seemed like a puzzling choice for the menu, since the restaurant is so close to the sea, but George explained: "It's an everyday thing here. If the sea is rough and there's nothing else around, there's always chicken. And we have a bunch of them running around."

The key to the whole operation was the Dutchie — an essential item in any Caribbean kitchen, George told me.

"If someone tells you it's a Caribbean kitchen and they don't have a Dutchie, well it ain't no Caribbean kitchen," he said.

George kept it simple, adding in tomato, garlic and onions (which I helped chop) into the pot and some cassava to give it a richer color. Soon it was all ready, and I chomped it down out on the patio, the blue waves lapping the shore nearby, a chilled bottle of Wadadli lager washing everything down nicely. It was the perfect culinary addition to my beautiful surroundings (which included a few sprightly chickens running past).

The next day, back on the main island of Antigua, I paid a visit to Susie, also known as Rosie McMaster. Now in its 51st year, Susie's Hot Sauce was created by McMaster's mother, Susannah, and the daughter now carries on its legacy along with her mother's name. It's debatable which is more famous, McMaster's sauce — which is ubiquitous in the shops and restaurants here — or McMaster herself, who has become a local institution and one of the island's most successful entrepreneurs.

While I sat in the kitchen of her cheery turquoise-and-yellow home, McMaster regaled me with stories from the past, when her mother served as the cook for the local police force.

Back then, she kept Antigua's finest fed with some of the island's finest food. While I was there a neighbor named Alvin came by for a visit and verified Susie's claims. Since Alvin was the former commander of police, I asked him about the food.

"Oh, boy," he said, his eyes drifting, his mind somewhere back in the realm of a delicious memory, "it was something else."

McMaster cooked up a table-full for me — a feast of pineapple chicken and tamarind chicken (flavored with her own brand of sauces), traditional congee (cooked cornmeal, usually served with chicken or fish) and homemade ginger beer, the best I've ever tasted). Later we went over to the small attached apartment that now houses the equipment for making Susie's Hot Sauce. Every bottle is stirred, bottled and labeled right here onsite, with ingredients that are often grown in the herb garden out back.

The operation will soon move to new digs in a manufacturing facility and warehouse nearby, and with the move, some of the personal charm of the operation will surely be lost. But for the moment it was right there, and I took advantage, stirring the pot a bit and filling a couple of little bottles that McMaster later sent home with me.

I spent the last day of my visit with Dennis Thomas, chef and owner of Dennis Cocktail Bar and Restaurant, a small hilltop spot flanked by huge open patios that look out on two stunning beaches and the surrounding green mountains. We started at 7 in the morning to shop for fresh ingredients at the public market, a rambling place that spills out into the surrounding streets in the heart of St. John's, the capital. Everywhere we went, Thomas was recognized in his spiffy buttoned-down chef's coat. Passersby smiled and shook his hand, and people shouted greetings from passing cars. He's clearly both well-known and much-loved.

We moved quickly through the various sections of the market, scooping up fresh tomatoes, cucumbers, plantains, watermelon and coconut, plus goat meat and fish. As we moved along, Thomas told me the story of how he grew his small drink stand into a local institution, in part by feeding his hungry patrons his mother's recipes for saltfish, fungee, pepper pot and traditional "chop-up." She died in 2004, too soon to see his success. Thomas also lost his father some 30 years ago. A fisherman, he was lost at sea, and Thomas and his brothers, lit a bonfire on this very spot — one of the highest points along this stretch of shoreline — as a sort of ersatz lighthouse in a desperate and ultimately futile effort to bring him home.

Thomas showed me how to cook the chop-up with spinach, eggplant, pumpkin and okra, and I ate it alongside some surprisingly delicious curried goat out on the patio. The food was almost as good as the view. I asked Thomas if he thinks about his parents, and he told me he does, every day. The restaurant has immense sentimental value and stands as a sort of testament to his father.

"One thing I wish I could say to my mom is, 'Thank you for teaching me to cook.' She taught me on a traditional coal pot, even though at the time I didn't want to learn. I really miss her," he said, looking out across the hills.

At Dennis' restaurant, both the food and the place stand for much more: history, memory and the continuation of family traditions. In Antigua, it seems, every meal comes with a good story.

WHEN YOU GO

Stay at Sugar Ridge. The units cling to the side of the mountain, providing stunning views, and its two restaurants provide excellent cuisine: www.sugarridgeantigua.com

Eat at Uncle Roddy's, www.uncleroddys.com, or Dennis Cocktail Bar and Restaurant , Ffryes Beach, 268-728-5086.

Shop at Susie's Hot Sauce, www.susieshotsauce.com.

For general information: www.antigua-barbuda.org

Tim Johnson is a freelance travel writer. To read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate website at www.creators.com.

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