Caribbean cuisine that’s a taste of paradise
Jason Arnold visits Antigua and St Lucia – twin peaks of a culinary explosion that is sweeping the Caribbean
The West Indies was not always an idyllic haven of rum punches, swaying palm trees, white-sand beaches and fish straight from the sea. Coping with ill-iced claret, rotten walnuts and withered apples, in November 1858 the Victorian novelist Anthony Trollope – who was also a senior Post Office official – sailed aboard SS Atrato from Southampton on a six-month tour to survey land and conclude treaties in the West Indies and Central America for the English government.
In the course of his voyage, he wrote a travel book – not about official business, but the islands he visited, people he met, the breathtaking landscapes, exotic foods, the tropical climate, earthquakes, Panamanian railroads, Cuban cigars, racial hierarchies, and Colonial customs.
There are still some things that would have made his novelist’s eyebrows rise, in particular the odd warning from our jocular sea captain Joshua in Antigua as we stepped off his speedboat into the warm turquoise waters.
His concern was that the stingrays we had come to float alongside might well nibble our inner thighs, which can leave a mark suspiciously like a love-bite.
Just putting it out there, he said with a mischievous glint, in case we needed to warn anyone back home in advance of any telltale nips.
On Joshua’s tour to Stingray City, 35 minutes off the north-west coast of Antigua, dozens of these dark, slippery, slimy sea creatures gather as if by magic.
They do glide rather disconcertingly between your legs, not unlike someone brushing you with a piece of raw liver.
Despite our trepidation, the rays were all on gentlemanly behaviour and left no marks.
It was a cross between I’m A Celebrity… Get Me Out Of Here! and the Nature Channel.
Two hours later, thighs unmarked, we were back on land, lifejackets discarded in exchange for rum punches and a photograph taken by Joseph’s crew in the water with a ray in our arms – well worth the $20.
After a breathless adventure it was back to zen-like tranquillity at Pelican House, the most idyllic villa in Blue Waters Resort, so-called because the azure sky is perpetually dotted with these exotic, large-billed birds gliding overhead, waiting to dive for their lunch.
A white gate in a picket fence opens on to a blaze of pink bougainvillea for what is otherwise known as Room 601, giving a picture-postcard perfection to this white-washed beach villa with its own swimming pool.
A white four-poster bed, Colonial-style furniture and a balcony opening on to the sea make this a heavenly retreat for a winter break.
The hotel is managed by a guitar-playing Scots-born manager with a beady eye for detail. There were candlelit dinners of mahi mahi cooked with fennel, pernod and olives, all served to the sound of the sea washing the shore.
And think not of rotten walnuts but gourmet dishes: particularly good are pan-seared snapper and grilled lobster tails.
I was so taken by the Antiguan cuisine I went off to Nicole’s Kitchen, where we learnt to make roti, curry and coconut puddings, all with a bottle of rum freely flowing. Nicole is Antigua’s Nigella and we were soon all rolling pastry, slicing and dicing coconut and sprinkling hot spices into silver saucepans.
Antigua offers more activities than there are days in the week.
Having had intimate contact with stingrays and smashed coconuts to perfection, I passed on a zipline trip across the panoply of a forest.
And so, like Trollope, we islandhopped, but by plane rather than boat, to St Lucia where the Sugar Beach hotel has one of the most sensational settings in the Caribbean. Sitting in the shadow of the mountainous Pitons, the towering rock outcrops that define and enhance the view, it puts you in mind of the bay where Dr Dolittle met the giant snail (unsurprisingly perhaps, as the scene was shot just a boat ride away).
‘Nicole is Antigua’s Nigella and we were soon rolling pastry and dicing coconut’
It was this stunning natural beauty that made Lord Glenconner, the one-time owner of Mustique, buy up this cove. He attempted to make this his second West Indian paradise with a hotel called Jalousie, but it has now been reincarnated by Roger Myers, another Englishman, into a sensational retreat.
The hotel is an epicurean as well as a sybarite’s magnet. You are only allowed to chill, with brightly coloured tuk-tuks available all day and night to sweep you to different bars, or to the rainforest spa.
The Caribbean is now a gourmet’s paradise. With hotels transformed by entrepreneurs who have brought a sharp sense of service and exceptional food and drink. Myers created the Cafe Rouge brand and has been a big cog in the music industry (clients included The Beatles at one stage) but he fell in love with this site between the pitons.
His schooner often sails by as he keeps an eye on his staff to ensure they meet his expectations. Breakfast includes such spoiling treats as pomegranate honey to go with granola, and fresh watermelon juice.
St Lucia is an extraordinary island where Orlando’s restaurant in the nearby town of Soufrière has entertained the likes of John Major and Marco Pierre White as well as hosting local poets’ readings.
But then literature is part of the DNA of St Lucia. It is where the Nobel Laureate for English Literature, Derek Walcott, was born and earlier this year died, aged 86.
It is the only Caribbean isle to have had two Nobel Laureates at the same time (economist Arthur Lewis is the other).
No wonder Trollope felt the lure towards the West Indies and was fascinated by these dazzling islands, and no wonder I cannot wait to return.