And there is no better place to start sampling it than the Saturday morning market along the waterfront in Marigot. By the time I arrive, shortly before 8 a.m., there are already throngs of people swarming around Anguillan fishermen, who are selling catches of yellowtail snapper, mahimahi and king mackerel. Customers are lined up three deep at the lobster stand. Vendors hawk freshly slaughtered goat and bread and a bounty of spices.
I make my way to Miss Ebby’s, where the eponymous proprietor, a slender, sweet-faced lady with a Creole-plaid kerchief tied tight against her head, is behind the counter cooking homemade blood sausage in a skillet while her daughter sells coconut tarts. Bottles line the counter, filled with amber liquid and sealed with what looks like a white meringue. It’s mauby, a sweet, fizzy drink made from the bark of a tree in the buckthorn family that is native to the islands. Boil the bark in water, toss in some brown sugar and spices (everyone has a secret blend), and let the brewing process take its course. When fermentation is complete, the white meringue foams up and seals the bottle. The percentage of alcohol in mauby is so low that mothers often give it to their babies at nap time – you can chug it and barely get a buzz.
“Here, take,” says Miss Ebby, handing me a chilled bottle and refusing to accept my money. “It is my pleasure to introduce you. It is the best way to start a day. It settles the stomach for all that will follow.”
Rare Find: Where to Stay on St. Martin...
I take a few pre-emptive sips as I head for my primary destination at the market — the lolos. That’s what islanders call the collection of small side-by-side eateries, primarily in Marigot and Grand Case, that specialize in traditional island fare. Despite my many inquiries about the origins of the name, I never get a definitive answer as to what lolo really means. Some tell me it derives from the “low, low” prices they charge for meals. Others tell me it is a corruption of the “local” food they serve. And still others tell me it stems from the fact that most of them are run by females and the French slang for a woman’s breasts is lolos.
Doesn’t matter. Just know that your American dollars go a long way at a lolo, where you have to work hard to spend more than $25 on a meal for two. What sweetens the deal is that most lolos trade euros for dollars evenly. Meaning a meal advertised on the menu for 10 euros can be yours for $10, which translates to a 3-buck savings at current exchange rates – that takes a bit of the sting out of our economic miasma. Plus, the food is consistently tasty, even if it’s pretty much the same from place to place. In the evenings, it’s grilled ribs and chicken, maybe some fish, either grilled or stewed. For sides, it’s a variation on a theme of rice ’n’ pigeon peas, mac ’n’ cheese and coleslaw, although it’s not unusual to find grilled eggplant or christophene gratin.
“We each give it our special touch,” a waitress at Sky’s the Limit, a lolo in Grand Case, tells me. “Everyone has their own favorite place that they are loyal to, depending on how they like their flavors.”
Devouring St. Martin gallery...
For breakfast at lolo central in Marigot, I head for Enoch’s Place, where Enoch Hodge holds court in the kitchen, assisted by his daughter, Talia, and a small legion of women busily taking orders and tending to tables. My day-starter is a whole grilled snapper with rice ’n’ peas, accompanied by a couple of Hodge’s fresh-from-the-fryer johnnycakes. When I’m sated, the waitress brings out a small plastic tub filled with soapy water and gives me a towel for washing my hands.
“That’s my special touch,” Hodge tells me after the morning rush subsides. He started off 20 years ago cooking out of a truck at construction sites and then launched Enoch’s Place in 1996. A few years ago, he opened a full-fledged restaurant, the Bridge, in Sandy Ground, with a broader offering of Creole specialties. “You start small and let your love for food carry you through,” he says.
Hodge’s story is one I hear time and again as I make my way around the island seeking out memorable local meals. Originally from Dominica, the delightful Numerly Bruney got started serving meals out of her station wagon. Now she runs Numerly’s Kitchen, one of the island’s roadside standouts, from a glorified trailer kitchen by the lagoon on Pondfill Road, in Philipsburg. Numerly’s is not a place for the timid, but for those adventurous enough to try such authentic breakfast stalwarts as pig’s foot souse (a hot soup boiled down from fatty trotters) or cow skin (pickled in a brine with lots of salt and onions), the rewards are many. My favorite meal at Numerly’s is a lunch of braised goat and fungi – okra stewed with fine cornmeal until it achieves an almost soufflé-like consistency.
Another perennial favorite among islanders is Yvette’s Restaurant, which operates out of a small home on a side street in French Quarter. Yvette Hyman, yet another island chef who built up a clientele by serving food from her car, started off with just three tables in 1983. Three additions later, the restaurant now seats 50 or 60 people, and most nights in season, it’s full of a lively mix of locals and patrons who’ve been visiting St. Martin for years. Hyman passed away in 1999, but her extended family carries on in her behalf. Husband Felix, a veteran chef at several hotels around the island, oversees the kitchen, sticking to the exact same menu his wife started 27 years ago. The house specialty is a lush and peppery conch ’n’ dumplings. Yvette’s daughter Josephine and granddaughter Tjamarlie hold down waitress duties.
“If things get really busy, we have cousins who live next door, and they come in to help,” says Yvette’s son, Bobby Daal, the maitre d’.
Plan your St. Martin vacation...
On my last night in St. Martin, I head back to French Quarter and Poulet d’Orleans, where chef Tony Romney runs a largely solo operation out of the same house where he grew up, a quaint gingerbread affair with a rooster weather vane atop the roof. He apologizes for being short of staff.
“Used to be my children would wait tables and help out. But,” he shrugs, “they grew up on me.”
Still, there’s no downside to the food that rolls out in leisurely fashion over the next couple of hours. Romney, one of nine children, learned to cook from his mother, who, he swears, never made the same meal twice. “She always kept it fresh and interesting, and that’s my way too,” he says. He cooked in kitchens from Napa Valley, California, to New Orleans before returning to St. Martin, and he draws from a multitude of influences to create his unique riffs on island specialties.
Plates arrive bearing codfish accras (fritters) and spicy crab backs, followed by boudin noir (blood sausage) and boudin blanc, made from conch, along with stuffed mushrooms and garlic bread. I’m quite prepared to call it a meal, but then come more plates — chicken in peanut sauce, chicken in creole sauce, mahimahi with lemon-garlic sauce, plus rice and potatoes and beans.
My eyes glazed over, Chef Romney gives me a look.
“I thought you came here to eat, mon,” he says.
I take a deep breath and dig in.
Related Content
Who says vacations have to be once-a-year indulgences? With this 3-day guide to Puerto Rico's Old San Juan, one of the most easily-reached destinations in the Caribbean, you have even less excuses to stay at home.
What's so sexy about the Caribbean? With exotic, spicy flavors and beautiful surroundings, just about anything Caribbean can be an aphrodisiac.
Five places to channel your inner Robinson Crusoe—without ending up a true castaway.
Roger Toll finds the best authentic tacos on Mexico's Riviera Maya.
When it comes to Caribbean beer, the question of taste is a matter of location. David Lansing weighs in.
