Islands Magazine St Martin Best Food Article

a saint’s feast

St. Martin is the gastronomical capital of the Caribbean. That means you’ll enjoy the finest of French cuisine (without having to fly to Paris), and the finest of Caribbean sands.

o pp o s i t e : a l am y

David Lansing takes on St. Martin, one serving of foie gras at a time. And he also piles up his plate at the lolos.

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photos by ben fink

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it’s odd: i’m wandering higgledy-piggledy down a bustling street clogged with tourists and taxis in Philipsburg, on St. Maarten, looking for some-

Owner of Au Petit Cafe, Jay Pauly, yields a drink that looks like it packs a punch. Au Petit, on the Dutch side of the island, is the best place for a morning coffee.

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place fun for dinner, someplace island-y that serves umbrella rum drinks, yet every cafe I find has a poster in the window with a Toulouse Lautrec-inspired can-can girl announcing “Le Beaujolais Nouveau Est Arrivé” — this year’s new Beaujolais has arrived. Charming little bistros tempt me not with locally caught snapper sautéed with fiery scotch bonnet peppers, as I’d expect, but with aujourd’hui specials, chalked up on sandwich boards, of saumon aux épices creoles, gambas sautées and sole de Douvres meunière. Small shops, still open in the early evening, proclaim new deliveries of Camembert and pâté. A hidden cafe down an alleyway not only makes fresh, hot crepes, but also roasts their own coffee, which they serve “style français,” as the sign says. If it weren’t for the floral shirts, breezy sundresses and flip-flops everyone is wearing, I could be strolling around the famed Latin Quarter in Paris or getting lost down the narrow streets of the Marais. And yet I’m in the Caribbean. I think. So what’s going on here? “Monsieur must know that this island is the gastronomic capital of the Caribbean,” says French-born Joel Morand, the proprietor of L’Escargot Restaurant, one of those charming Philipsburg cafes I’ve walked past and now decide to give a try, lured largely by their chalkboard special proclaiming, “Foie gras ce soir!” Yes, I had heard this claim of haute cuisine in the French West Indies — it’s one of the reasons I came here (the others being the beaches) — but I figured it was more or less one of those fatuous chamber-of-commerce proclamations that tend to be more wishful thinking than anything else.

Unfortunately, says Joel, the restaurant is out of foie gras this evening because it is Saint Martin’s Day on the island. I don’t get the connection, so Joel, who wears a black tie with a bottle of wine on it, explains that Saint Martin is the patron saint of foie gras. Or maybe the patron saint of goose farmers. He’s not sure. Anyway, everyone has been ordering foie gras tonight. It’s been a veritable goose-liver fest. In the Alsace region of France, famous for its foie gras, on the feast day of Saint Martin they begin force-feeding the geese, Joel tells me. Then he smiles and says, “But here, on Saint Martin’s Day, we force-feed the tourists.” Instead I order a sampler plate of snails prepared seven different ways — with wild mushrooms, shallots, garlic butter, profiteroles, cherry tomatoes, red peppers and saffron — and a bottle of the freshly arrived Beaujolais Nouveau. As Joel hurries off to get my wine, I settle in, taking notice of the plastic grapes hanging from the ceiling and the Provence-inspired mustard-colored décor. Edith Piaf is sadly singing “La Vie en Rose” when Joel comes back to open my wine. Did I know, he asks as he dramatically pops the cork, that “on St. Martin, we eat more foie gras per capita than Parisians?” “No,” I say. “It can’t be possible.” “C’est vrai.” And here he puffs out his barrel chest like, well, a stuffed goose. Joel’s quite the character. Later that evening, while I enjoy profiteroles with chocolate sauce and an espresso, Joel and his wife, Sonya, dress up in costumes and put on a cabaret show in the restaurant. They’re partial to American country-western stars. Sometimes, Joel says, they dress up and perform as Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton. “But tonight it is

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If you’re looking for a seat with a view, then try Kali’s Beach Bar, which overlooks Friar’s Bay on the French side. Their specialties are lobster and full-moon parties.

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all about Johnny Cash and June Carter.” In a soft French accent, Joel and Sonya sing “Jackson.” Listen to me: If you ever get the chance, buy a ticket, fly to St. Martin and have dinner at L’Escargot some Friday night just to watch Joel and Sonya sing “Jackson.” It’s better than watching Parisians dance with monkeys at the Moulin Rouge in Montmartre. And every bit as louche. perhaps you’re beginning to notice that St. Martin isn’t your typical Caribbean island. For one thing, it’s spelled two different ways: St. Martin and St. Maarten. That’s because it’s part French and part Dutch, though even the dual governments mean little to visitors (both sides like dollars, for instance). There are casinos and more duty-free shops on the southern, Dutch side, but the coffee is better on the northern, French side. Other than that, you can hardly tell one side from the other. There seem to be just as many French restaurants on the Dutch side of the island as on the French (but strangely no Dutch restaurants on the Dutch side, although there are a couple of Indonesian eateries in Philipsburg that serve the traditional Dutch rijsttafel, or rice smorgasbord). And there are no border points, just an obelisk that says “Bienvenue en Partie Française” on one side and “Welcome to Dutch Sint Maarten, N.A.” on the other. It’s all very civilized. Which, perhaps, explains why both sides revel in foie gras, as I discover over the next several days. And not just French ex-pats like Joel. Even local chefs like to play with it. Like Dino Jagtiani, chef and owner of Temptation Restaurant in the Dutch lowlands, on the west end of the island near the French border. Dino is the first chef born on St. Maarten who graduated from the Culinary Institute of America. He, too, likes to serve up foie gras and does so in a playful manner, calling it “PB&J” because the way he prepares it — in a roasted peanut sauce and homemade port-wine fig jelly — gives it an inkling of a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich. He also makes an orange-and-ginger-glazed duck dish called Quack Quack L’Orange and a veal osso bucco served with shiitake mushrooms and cinnamon star anise polenta. Of course, you can only eat so much foie gras and osso bucco, if you know what I mean. Fortunately, the perfect foil for all this haute cuisine is served up home-style at the lolos of Grand Case, a funky fishing village on the northwest shore of the island where pastel-colored creole houses, many of which have been turned into restaurants, have gingerbread fretwork. A lolo, if you don’t know, is a sort of grandiose barbecue shack, a place where you sit at picnic tables, protected from the intense sun by coverings of corrugated tin, and read the menu from a chalkboard. The lolos have odd names, like Talk of the Town and Sky’s the Limit, and the presentation couldn’t be simpler. You get a napkin and plastic cutlery, and your food comes on paper plates, but it’s as fine as pizza in Rome or carnitas tacos in Mexico City. My first time at Sky’s the Limit, I order a little this and a little that from the owner, Emile, who has a husky voice and a gregarious smile. After I’ve given him my order, he

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Opposite: The crab back at Sky’s The Limit is worth the trip. This page clockwise from top: Orient Beach, the wine cellar at La Samanna and Jacqueline cooking at Sky’s the Limit.

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At the Guavaberry Emporium in Dutch Philipsburg, try the liqueur or the hot sauces they bottle.

Clockwise from top left: Le Tastevin in Grand Case on the French side and one of its desserts, Bali Bar in Marigot on the French side and the streets of pretty Grand Case.

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fortunately, there’s a perfect foil for haute

The 37-squaremile island is both French and Dutch. Take a drive outside the Dutch city of Philipsburg and the French city of Marigot, and you will find quiet countryside.

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“suggests” that maybe I don’t really want french fries with my grilled fish. “Probably you meant to say rice and peas,” he says. No doubt. “And you probably forgot you wanted some johnnycake and a little fried plantain with the ribs, just to mop things up,” he adds. And, of course, he’s right. Then he places a bottle of spicy chien sauce in front of me and gives me a chunk of conch boudin, a sausage made from the mollusk. “For while you’re waiting for the ribs,” he says and shows me how to spread it on still-warm johnnycakes and then douse it with chien sauce. “I make that myself,” he says. It tastes like liquid jerk and is made with olive oil, garlic, hot and sweet pepper, onions and lots of spices. “I can’t tell you what all,” he says. Emile then brings me over a sagging plate of grilled ribs as well as some chicken and crab backs, which he creates by taking the meat out of a crab, adding some spices, breading and baking it and then stuffing it back in the shell. He hands me more of his chien sauce and tells me to just squirt it on the whole damn thing — the chicken, crab backs, ribs, everything. “That’s the way we eat on St. Martin,” he says. There’s no rush to eating food like this. I get up once in a while to grab another beer or to visit a bit with Emile and his wife, Jacqueline. They introduce me to just about everybody who stops by to pick up some food to go, and after a short chat, I might have another chicken leg or a bite of johnnycake, a sip of beer. God only knows how long I’ve been here, but I do notice

cuisine, served up homestyle at the lolos. that the sun isn’t nearly as intense as it was when I first sat down. In fact, it’s almost dark. “It’s like eating at Grandma’s on a Sunday afternoon, isn’t it?” Jacqueline asks. “Just good comfort food and lots of time to enjoy it.” The queen of comfort food on St. Martin, however, has to be Leona Wallace. Leona is the cook at Mary’s Boon Beach Plantation on Simson Bay on the Dutch side of the island, and she’s been there forever. Mary’s Boon is like Rick’s Café in the movie Casablanca. Eventually everyone on St. Martin seems to pass through Mary’s Boon, if not for a meal, then to have a drink and watch the sun set over one of the prettiest bays in the Caribbean. Ask Leona how old she is, and she’ll just laugh at you and say, “Not the age it says in the book, tha’s for sure.” Leona, who is as large as Bessie Smith and has one of those great, round, passively sad faces that suggests she has seen just about everything, started working for Mary Pomeroy, the original owner of Mary’s Boon, 35 years ago. There are some great stories about Mary Pomeroy, many of them apocryphal, and Leona will talk about her all night if she’s of the mood. She’ll tell you how some people say Mary, like Humphrey Bogart’s character, Rick Blaine, was a spy during World War II and got into trouble on another Caribbean island for her involvement in a revolution (gun running). Evidently, she was one of those Isak Dinesen characters, a woman always doing things that people said she shouldn’t be doing, and St. Martin ended up being her Casablanca. She was also a pilot and

At Mr. Busby’s Beach Bar on the Dutch side, chase down baby-back ribs with a Carib beer. Then take advantage of its location on Dawn Beach and go swimming or snorkeling.

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chose to build her small inn next to the airport so she could taxi to the hotel’s front door. “Then Mary went flying one day and just disappeared,” Leona says, rubbing her arthritic knuckles. “Nobody knows what happened to her. They never found her plane or anything. I felt very sad about it because she was special.” Play it again, Sam. The sun has set, and no one has bothered to turn the lights on in the bar where Leona and I have been talking. In the fading light, Leona sits silently at a little table, her arms folded on her lap, looking like a dark Buddha. “You want to stay for dinner, honey?” she asks me. Mount Vernon “What are you cooking tonight?” Plantation “What night is it?” Grand Case “I believe it’s Friday.” “On Friday I fix lobster creole.” ST. Martin At lant ic Oc e an La Samanna “Always?” (French) “For 35 years. That’s what Miss Mary liked, Quartier Marigot d’Orleans and that’s what I fix.” Captain While Leona shuffles back to the kitchen to Oliver’s Resort start dinner, I help myself to a cocktail at the honor Temptation St. Maarten (Dutch) bar, pouring a shot of Mount Gay Rum into a glass Restaurant and adding a touch of water. Not my usual drink, Mary’s Boon Beach but for some reason, it sounded soothing. Drink in Philipsburg Plantation hand, I wander outside and sit on the sand. Some Brits next to me are laughing over something, their St. Maarten Park Caribb e an Se a voices carrying in the darkness the way they do. Guavaberry Emporium “Did you see her?” one of the women asks me. Pasanggrahan Royal L’Escargot Guest House Restaurant “Who? Leona?” She waves her hand dismissively. “No. The pl an your tr ip islands.com/stmartin ghost of Mary Pomeroy. She likes to hang out at the bar, making sure everyone’s honest.” “I don’t think she was there tonight,” I say. “Oh, she’s there. We saw her earlier. Bought SAINTLY SLEEPS Spend the night at La Samanna, a Mediterranean-style resort on Baie Longue on St. Martin’s west coast. Rent a beach cabana (daily rates from $350) her a drink to keep her happy.” complete with an iPod, a bottle of champagne, a misting system and a personal atten“Really? What does she drink?” dant. Don’t forget to visit the wine cellar; with over 10,000 bottles, it’s one of the largest collections in the Caribbean. Rates from $475 including breakfast; lasamanna.com. “Mount Gay Rum and water, no ice.” Orient Bay

Ba ie Longue

Sims on Bay La g o on

Oys t er Pond

Sims on Bay

The Edible Journey

Further south, the Pasanggrahan Royal Guest House in Philipsburg is St. Maarten’s oldest inn. This colonial lodge, furnished with antique and plantation-style furniture, is a former governor’s home and Dutch royal residence. Sup on pan-fried calamari steak at the gazebo restaurant overlooking Great Bay. Rates from $98. pasanhotel.com

At Temptation Restaurant on the Dutch side, chef Dino Jagtiani gives a creative flair to all his dishes. Another Dutch temptation is Cupecoy Beach.

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in a week’s time, i’ve slurped garlicky snails, gnawed smoky ribs and devoured bowls of briny mussels. I’ve had a niçoise salad with grilled walk THE LINE Stand on the International Bridge over the Oyster Pond lagoon at Captain Oliver’s Resort on the yellowfin tuna and, of course, Leona’s lobster cre- island’s east side and straddle two countries at once: ole. There’s been foie gras made with old rum and France and the Netherlands. The hotel sits on the boundstewed figs, foie gras with orange juice and ginger ary line separating the two sides of the island. Captain Oliver’s suites are tucked within hillside tropical garbread, and foie gras with mango and hibiscus leaves. dens, and white-sand Dawn Beach is only a one-minute It’s been fabulous. But I’ve intentionally taxi-boat ride across the lagoon. Rates from $140, includsaved the best for last — or at least what many ing breakfast. captainolivers.com on St. Martin have told me should be the best WAITING TO EAT Visit the Mount Vernon Plantation, an 18th-century Caribbean estate located between Grand meal. On my last day, I take up residence at La Case and Orient Bay. Tour the grounds, which have Samanna resort on the secluded western end of more than 20 varieties of fruit trees, and learn how cofthe island and, that night, join a friend, Thibaut fee and rum were produced here a hundred years ago. Admission is $12 and includes coffee and rum samples; Asso, who just happens to be the resort’s som- plantationmontvernon.com. See the largest exhibit of exmelier. In their famed wine cellar, Thibaut cares otic parrots in the Caribbean at the St. Maarten Park in Philipsburg. This nearly 5-acre zoological and for more than 10,000 bottles of wine » to meet chef botanical park is home to more than 500 mamjagtiani and try his that rest quietly in a cave beneath mals from South and Central America and the recipes, go to pg 98. the restaurant. (continued on page 100) Caribbean. Admission is $10. stmaartenpark.com

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DETAILS FLY to St. Maarten on American Airlines. aa.com KAYAK across the invisible French/Dutch boundary line in Simson Bay Lagoon, the Caribbean’s largest saltwater lagoon. Kayak rentals from $15 per hour. trisportsxm.com EAT fresh chicken at Poulet d’Orleans near Quartier d’Orléans. 011-590-590-87-48-24 SPEND US dollars. LEARN MORE at st-martin.org and stmaarten.com.

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St. Martin (from page 89) The candlelit cave is Thibaut’s personal playroom. While sipping champagne, he takes me on a tour, showing off several bottles of a dusty RomanéeConti that go for something like $4,000 each, rare crates of Condrieu from the Rhone Valley and Pontensac from Bordeaux. Thibaut can hardly contain his enthusiasm for these liquid riches. “We have crates of the best wine found anywhere in the world,” he says. “Down here, you forget you are in the Caribbean. You are in France, no?” Yes. Until we go back upstairs and are seated in the opulent open-air dining room with a sunset view of Anguilla, floating like a giant green turtle in the tranquil sea. The air is perfumed with the tropical scent of frangipani and ylang-ylang, the breeze rustles the royal palms around us and white orchids float in clear vases on the white-linen-covered tables. The meal is extraordinary: a tartar of diver scallops and ahi with lime; herbcrusted halibut with candied papaya and asparagus; Kobe beef sirloin with sautéed morels; and a pinot-chocolate reduction. There are foodies who travel annually to Paris just to dine; next time, they should consider St. Martin. The food has been that good.

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z ach st ova l l

i have only half a day left on the island and, on a whim, have rented one of La Samanna’s beach cabanas along Baie Longue, a white-sand beach that stretches along a bay. The cabana has an oversize bed with huge pillows and teak chaise lounges. An attendant brings me fresh towels, cold water, even a bottle of champagne. It is a very strange thing to sit in a private cabana drinking champagne by yourself. But I do it anyway. I have told the attendant, in his white shorts and polo shirt, that I have an early afternoon flight and must be off the beach no later than 1 p.m. Knowing it is almost that time, I go for one last dip in the warm, placid water. I swim out past the anchored yachts, out

» Bring Back Made from oak-aged rum, cane sugar and wild guavaberries, guavaberry liqueur has been an island staple for hundreds of years and is made with berries picked from guavaberry trees grown in the center of the island. This woodsy, spicy and fruity concoction was traditionally drunk around Christmastime, right after the berries had ripened. The Sint Maarten Guavaberry Company bottles their own liqueur at their headquarters, the Guavaberry Emporium, a former governor’s residence in Philipsburg. Buy a bottle ($15.95) or consider their other guavaberryinfused products, including honeys and barbecue sauces. guavaberry.com

to where the bottom begins to sharply drop off and the water turns a cobalt blue. Eyes closed, I float on my back. From the shore I hear a voice calling my name. “It’s time, Mr. Lansing. It’s time.” But not just yet. For a few minutes more I float, thinking of this surprising gastronomic island in the West Indies and its smoky, sweet conch boudin sausages at the lolos; Dino Jagtiani’s foie gras in peanut sauce and port-wine fig jelly; grilled lobster caught off the Saba Bank and served with icy-cold Carib beer at Mr. Busby’s Beach Bar on Dawn Beach. The more I think about it, the more I realize that St. Martin isn’t really French at all. Not in a Parisian sort of way. What it is, exactly, is kind of hard to say. It’s as exotic as a ylang-ylang bloom, as spicy as homemade chien sauce and as mysterious as the tale of Mary Pomeroy. It’s a unique dish, a strange but wonderful mélange of escargot and johnnycake, Veuve Clicquot and homemade banana rum. It’s Gauguin in Tahiti with all its bright tropical colors and languid beaches. It’s like a David Lynch movie, all mixed up and confusing but always fascinating. It is, as Joel Morand whispered to me just before launching into his French-accented impression of Johnny Cash, “A bit unconventional — but I think you’ll like it.” ^

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