Every day I miss the men in my family, for all sorts of reasons. Apart from being loving, kind and gentle, they were also foodies; excellent cooks and tasters, and one of them was also quite the critic. Guess which one was the critic? The youngest of the lot. Sadly, these beloved men I speak of today have all transitioned from this world. As I said, not a day goes by that I do not miss them, however, on Father’s day, their birthdays and at Christmas, my heart weeps.
I was fortunate to have 2 dads while growing up – my father, John and my beloved uncle, Freddy, whom I never called uncle, always Daddy. I always wish they were around so that I could cook for them; I never got the opportunity to. I was fortunate enough though to cook for my eldest male cousin, Davo and my late brother, Eon.
Although Daddy and uncle Freddy were excellent cooks, rarely did they get a chance to be in the kitchen, as they were married to two sisters who were phenomenal cooks, and who ruled the kitchen; well, their entire households if truth be told (lol). However, on the rare occasions that these men would grace the kitchen, the food was always simple. The ingredients were coaxed to release their flavour with a sensibility of knowing what they wanted to eat and how to prepare it to suit their taste and liking. For example, Daddy’s late-night pot of Mettagee bubbling on the stove seasoned with a few pieces of salt fish that had in just the right amount of salt for the entire 8-quart pot on the stove. The ground provisions layered in such a manner that those that took the longest to cook were at the bottom, and in ascending order, the quickest cooking, such as the ripe plantains sitting at the top. Creamy, white, fresh coconut milk with specks of black pepper and leaves of fresh fine thyme swirling around everything. It was the first time I’d see Mettagee topped with boiled eggs. Just as the flames beneath the pot were switched off, people who were fast asleep drifted sleepy-eyed towards the kitchen. Daddy had woken up the house.
Fish was something my Dad loved and preferred it cook simply – fish broth or steamed. It is the same way he liked his vegetables too, cooked lightly and with a simple seasoning of salt and black pepper. I used to like listening to him chew pak choi (aka Chinese cabbage). Daddy especially liked the white crunchy part. I cannot adequately describe it but there was a popping sound made as he chewed the white bits. It was always an indication that my mother had not overcooked the pak choi. If it was overcooked, the crunch would not be possible.
My other Daddy, Uncle Freddy, his forte was in (frying) sautéing vegetables, on their own or with meat. As a kid I had always been fascinated by how bora can go from being so green to a very dark moss-like colour when cooked. One day, Uncle Freddy let me tiptoe and peek into the karahi as he fried Bora with potatoes. I could not believe how much the bora had shrunk becoming tiny and shriveled. A once full karahi was now a little less than halved in volume.
A dish I especially recall Daddy Freddy making was fried squash with salted pig tails. Finely chopped onions, garlic, fresh thyme, and a chopped tomato formed the aromatic base for the dish. The salt meat was chopped into small bite-size pieces and boiled to remove the excess salt leaving just enough to season the entire dish. I can close my eyes decades later and still see the pink bits of meat nestled amidst the soft, tender, cooked squash. It is a taste that I cannot replicate, hard as I try.
My late cousin Davo, well, he was spoiled really. With parents, an aunt and uncle and then a wife who could cook so well, he never felt the need to make anything. However, he was a good taste tester. He liked sampling things, and while he would not outrightly criticise, he would in the gentlest of ways say how he preferred something. His favourites were salted cod (salt fish) and grey snapper curry. You could cook anything with salt fish and Davo was a happy man. I remember that every time I called home to find out what he wanted me to bring for him, the answer always was, salt fish. While he and I shared a love for curry, we parted ways when it came to the gravy/sauce for the curry. That man liked what we would call a long-water curry, not me though. I do not like a lot of gravy, especially when thin and watery. Davo and my late brother, Eon could shake hands there. I remember a time Eon cooked Hassar curry with a watery gravy that pooled at the bottom of the plate disappearing through the grains of cooked white rice. Mommy and I looked at each other, she laughed at me and shook her head indicating that I should not say anything. LOL.
Of the 4 men, Eon, the youngest. was the critic. I think he got that from my late mom and aunt. Man, they did not mince their words. For Eon, it wasn’t just the food itself to comment on, it was about long it was taking to be prepared. I wrote over a decade ago telling you all about the time I was making Sunday lunch – usually a fare that traditionally entails making several dishes – and Eon complaining to mommy asking why she let me cook on Sundays (I take too long because I want to make 50-million things)! LOL. On one of his visits to me here in Barbados, I made an Iraqi-style beef stew with vegetables. He fell in love with the dish and would often talk about it. Upon his return to Guyana, he asked for the recipe to make it. And on another occasion when I visited him, he had me make the stew for him and show him how to cook Basmati rice.
Oh, how I miss these guys. It would be nice to sit at a table flanked by them, protected, surrounded with unconditional love. Secure. There’s much I’d like to say to them, not the least of which is how much I love them.
Happy Father’s Day!
Cynthia
cynthia@tasteslikehome.org
www.tasteslikehome.org
