Seasons by the Sea: Tropical Island Survival Kit
It began with a last-minute invitation. My friend T. had just finished building his house on an island in the Bahamas. The island shall remain nameless because there are good things about the newly built community and a few not so good things. My assignment: Bring Parmesan cheese, a cocktail shaker, and swim goggles.
I am a good cook. T. is better. Not knowing what kind of food supplies were available, we all brought various gourmet necessities. Brenda brought a staggering array of chocolates and praline almonds. The vegetarians brought vegetarian-ish survivalist items: cereal that tastes like horse feed, gluten-free crackers, almond milk, and so on. What I thought would be a story along the lines of “gourmands making do on a remote island” turned into “lo and behold! There is a hydroponic farm right next door growing the best greens, peppers, beans, and tomatoes and a supermarket only 17 miles away that is better equipped than our I.G.A.s, Waldbaum’s, and Citarella combined.
Meal planning, however, was still of supreme importance. Having cans of tuna, diced tomatoes, sardines, et cetera, was helpful. Fresh citrus, crucial. A variety of rums, survival.
Loaves of sunflower bread helped make breakfast and snacks a breeze. As there are very few restaurants or atmospheric fish shacks, we only ate out twice. Once was lunch at a place called Snappa’s where you can get “snappatizers” and then “snappaselfie.” Ha ha. The other meal out was on New Year’s Day at a nearby, almost finished inn that served a dish called “minced lobster” with yellow grits, and “boil fish.” The minced lobster was absolutely delicious, essentially a lightly sweet, stew-like mixture of tomatoes, peppers, and onions with finely minced lobster.
Bahamian boil fish comes many ways, sometimes served with grits or johnnycakes. It is essentially a well-made fish stock to which some white fish fillets are added, along with potatoes. From here you can squeeze a little lime juice on it and sprinkle a few shreds of goat pepper if you dare. The water dripping from the ceiling didn’t seem to bother anyone, perhaps because the rum drinks help. Plus there was only one other family there that day, some boisterously fun Bahamians we had partied with the night before.
Dinner on our first night was simple, a gorgeous Greek salad with “roasted toast,” baked pita slices covered in a slurry of fresh herbs, garlic, Parmesan cheese, and olive oil. Breakfast the next day (and one other) was T.’s version of huevos rancheros, or more accurately, chilaquiles, made with crushed tortilla chips at the bottom of the pan for extra crunch. Dinner on the second night was pasta amatriciana, with the sauce made traditionally with bacon, onions, red pepper flakes, garlic, Parmesan, and chopped tomatoes. This was served with a simple green salad, mostly arugula, from the nearby farm.
When we weren’t eating or cooking or talking about our next meal, we were trying to concoct recipes to deter the treacherous no-see-ums that come out in the mornings and evenings when the breeze has died down. Honestly, nothing works. We also made many trips to various hardware stores, as T. is still putting the finishing touches on his house. Mornings were spent swimming in the ocean, which was a perfectly delicious temperature of around 72 degrees. The sea creatures are abundant and curious, as they haven’t seen a lot of humans in their waters until now. Barracudas, sea turtles, and rays inspected us. I didn’t see them, as I am blind as a bat without glasses. Ignorance was bliss.
Day three’s dinner was a simplified steak Florentine on top of salad dressed with not much more than lemon juice and olive oil. I have to say at this point that although I was jonesing to get into the kitchen and cook, I was only tasked with sous chef duties, refilling the water purifier, one key lime pie, two salad dressings, and deviled eggs for our swingin’ New Year’s Eve bash. However, watching a master work without recipes, and with (moderately) limited supplies, was an education and fun to observe.
For our New Year’s Eve cocktail party we made deviled eggs and a version of pissaladiere on lavash bread. The employees, managers, and homeowners of the community were invited, and all six of them loved the food. I told you this place was remote and unfinished.
Our last lunch was a brilliant salad Nicoise, full of more greens, tomatoes, and green beans from the farm, along with fancy canned tuna, beets, new potatoes, and hard-boiled eggs. New Year’s Day dinner was a version of garides giouvetsi, shrimp baked with tomatoes and feta. We served it with brown rice.
At this point, two more houseguests had arrived so I got to show off with a key lime pie made with real key limes we found just that day at a shop specializing in neem products. Neem is a tropical tree that yields leaves and oils believed to have medicinal qualities, including being a no-see-um deterrent. They are not.
Our last supper was chicken mole enchiladas made with some mole paste T. had brought back from a recent trip to Mexico. This was accompanied by yet another delicious and light salad garnished with those large, watery avocados so different from the creamy Haas variety. Sliced pineapple with a little vanilla ice cream topped it off.
The unspoiled beauty of this place deserves more description, the pink sand, turquoise water, coral formations, blue holes, and wildlife. But this is a story about how to eat on a vacation when there are no restaurants (or you simply don’t want to go to them), and you must plan meals, stock the pantry, refrigerator, and freezer, accommodate those with different eating habits, and then whittle it all down by the end of the week. T. does it well. But he does friendship better.
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