What a family meal looks like in the Grenadines

National Geographic

28-01-2025

A family meal on the Grenadine island of Bequia zings with Caribbean flavours, from the lime and cayenne-enhanced fried fish to the local cinnamon, nutmeg, clove and ginger that make meats, curries and rice sing of the sunshine.
This article was produced by National Geographic Traveller (UK).
All is quiet in the market this morning. It's 8am and apart from a couple of boys stick-and-line fishing off the dockside, there are few signs of life in Bequia's harbour.'Yeah, it can be a slow start on Saturdays,' says Ruth. Some much-needed R & R for me, perhaps. Yesterday evening, when the final ferry of the day deposited me into Port Elizabeth from the neighbouring island of St Vincent, things were lively. Stalls lining the boardwalk to Princess Margaret Beach were touting coconuts, souvenirs and soursop ice lollies. Spiced rum punch was being pumped out of waterfront bar Rendezvous Lounge, along with a reggae version of Neil Diamond's I am... I Said at a volume so loud it could be felt as much as heard — only to be bested by the arrival of a flatbed truck carrying a 10ft speaker stack blasting out pavement-shaking dub and soca.
Princess Margaret Beach was named after the British royal who enjoyed swimming here in the 1950s.
Photograph by Karolina Wiercigroch
But, it seems, this morning it's all about lie-ins — or grocery shopping if you know where to go. My host, Ruth Hinkson, leads me to a cart tucked away by the portside 'Parliament', where people stand around waiting for arrivals and departures. It's so called, Ruth says with a smile, 'because it's where all the big stuff is discussed'. She buys small spring onions, passionfruit and coconut along with 'flavour peppers', mild capsicums that will bring a customary Caribbean warmth to the dishes I'm invited to share at her mother's house today.
Alyssa DeShong, Ruth's niece, bags the goods before we duck under the shade of some almond trees, away from the already fierce morning sun. Passing a clutch of 19th-century clapboard houses, all wood-shingle roofs and gingerbread latticework trimmings, we reach T & C Fruits and Vegetables. Inside the small shack, owner Carlo Bracket selects the best of his plantain from ceiling-strung bunches, apologising that he's low on stock while he awaits the first ferry from St Vincent. As if on command, the big boat honks its arrival, bringing with it the ginger, dasheen, arrowroot and other produce that thrives in the fertile volcanic soils of Bequia's neighbouring island. It has also brought the butcher.
'He's here!' says Ruth, and we follow two men walking off the ferry shouldering a bath-sized ice box. The 32 islands and cays that make up St Vincent & the Grenadines, strung through the eastern Caribbean Sea between Grenada and St Lucia, are closely interlinked by trade, culture and an efficient network of ferries and cargo ships. St Vincent, the nation's largest and most populous island, is the hub, home to a market that feeds much of the Lesser Antilles, including Barbados.
Having stocked up at the market in St Vincent, Bequian butcher Francis Davis sets up his block portside, where he cuts Ruth some pork chops and goat meat that her mum, Angela Hinkson, will cook for our lunch's centrepiece curry. 'Grandma's goat curry is legendary,' says Alyssa. Ruth nods, adding that some years ago, Angela was even asked to cook it at a function for the archipelago's long-standing prime minister, Ralph Gonsalves.
Angela takes great care seasoning the fragrant goat curry with meat from the local market.
Photograph by Karolina Wiercigroch
Shopping complete, we hop in one of the pick-up trucks with benches that serve as taxis to ascend the hills away from the port. Views of Admiralty Bay's pincer-like promontory protecting the harbour and half-moons of white sand are perfectly framed in the truck's open back. As we round the hairpin bends up to the Hinkson family's house in the Spring district, the temperature cools and the air thickens with damp woody scents from the surrounding forest, laced with the heady sweet-floral perfume of cinnamon and ylang-ylang trees.
The road tunnels through the vine-woven forest, emerging into a sunlit canyon where we ascend the steep driveway to Angela's house. The handsome hillside villa has a wraparound first-floor terrace, under which we meet family friend Chippy, who's cleaning some fish in a bucket of water. 'Jackfish — part of our national dish when they're served with breadfruit,' says the fisherman, otherwise known as Ricardo Richards. 'I caught them just off Balliceaux,' he says pointing towards the island's surf-battered windward coast, and the small Grenadine island beyond. I follow him upstairs to the kitchen, where he coats his catch in slices of fresh chilli and garlic, cayenne pepper and a local brand 'all-purpose fish seasoning' that's a combination of various spices including paprika, nutmeg, coriander, cumin and thyme.
Lots of prep is already underway. Marinades and seasonings are stacked up on the island around which the roomy kitchen centres, including a hefty litre bottle that once held ketchup and now contains 'green sauce', the ubiquitous Caribbean marinade. 'It's all from my garden,' says Angela, appearing in the kitchen. 'Parsley, chives, thyme, sweet pepper, garlic. No vinegar. You only add vinegar when you're making hot sauce,' she says.
Quincy Small and local fisherman friend Chippy are carving some coconuts for a refreshment with the meal.
Photograph by Karolina Wiercigroch
Jackfish is one part of the Bequian national dish served with breadfruit.
Photograph by Karolina Wiercigroch
Like the adjoining living room, the kitchen has soaring, pitched ceilings and is decked out in nautical blues and whites, with shelves displaying the model boats Bequia's craftsmen are known for. A long tradition of boat building — from scale models to full-size schooners and whalers — and ever-present sea breezes make the island a regional hub for sailing. From the ground floor of the house, Angela runs a craft shop that opens intermittently, selling model ships and silk-screen print fabric to cruise ship visitors.
The kitchen opens on one side to the garden and on the other to the living room and terrace, where a group of boys now arrive, led by Ruth's 19-year-old son, Camillo. 'The minute that pot pops out, he pops in,' Angela says, laughing. Her house, it seems, is the social centre of the Spring neighbourhood. Another of her grandsons, 21-year-old Tyler, parks himself on a living room sofa while his friend, Happy Feet (aka Quency Small, but so called for his dance skills), heads to the terrace to open some coconuts for us to drink. Ciel, the youngest grandchild at six years old, charges out of a back room to pester Camillo for candy. Camillo is unmoved, gently leading her to watch Ruth prepare the tri tri cakes.
Tiny juvenile whitebait are a delicacy in St Vincent & the Grenadines; they're battered and fried into tri tri cake patties. 'We rinse them with water, lemon and lime, which removes the strongest fishy flavour,' says Camillo. 'I learnt to make them when I was about 15, by watching Granny.' Ruth adds a small amount of finely diced garlic, onions and green pepper to the bowl of tri tri, combining this with fish seasoning, curry powder, baking powder and flour. 'The citrussy water from the fish makes a thick batter,' she says, mixing it together.
Meanwhile, Chippy is cutting pork off the bone to make a stew, adding green sauce, cayenne, minced garlic and white onion, plus black, green and flavour pepper, along with thyme from the garden. He sets this aside and turns back to the jackfish, coating them lightly in flour seasoned with cayenne and black pepper, chilli and salt, before frying them on a high flame. 'You want crisp skin.' he says. 'Ten minutes each side, but rotate constantly.'
It's all go now, everyone jostling around the kitchen island and six-ring hob. Chippy browns the pork, adding sugar, which melts and smokes, plus cloves 'for a little flair'. Camillo chops spring onions, garlic and flavour pepper, which Angela adds to the goat that's marinating in green sauce and Guyana curry powder — a blend of Indian and Caribbean spices. Camillo then dashes outside to get some 'cinnamon bush' (allspice) leaves, which he crushes and adds to the pot, releasing a mosaic of smells with top notes of lime, clove and nutmeg. 'It's like all the island spices in one plant,' says Ruth. 'We add it to many things like porridge and tea.' Camillo says he likes it in coffee. 'That's just weird,' laughs Ruth.
Angela stirs water into the curry pot. 'You need to wait for it to boil off, but don't let it dry out,' she says. 'Before, we didn't have this.' She prods her spoon at the green pepper in the pot, a recent ingredient addition to island cuisine. 'We used to use bird peppers; they grow by the house.' She rolls her eyes to indicate the chillies' heat.
Lunch on Bequia is a family affair and wouldn't be complete without a colourful arrangement of dishes ranging from jackfish to tri-tri cake fritters.
Photograph by Karolina Wiercigroch
The kitchen is now heady with spices and steam, pots bubbling, pans smoking. 'When I'm alone, I eat simple,' Angela tells me. 'Maybe some boiled fish and vegetables. Fruit from the garden. But when the boys come, I make more of a spread.' And a spread it certainly is, soon laid out on the kitchen island, people serving themselves. The noise drops to the sound of cutlery clacking, the concentrated work of making yourself the best plate. The food is a rainbow of Caribbean colours: reds and yellows, earthy browns and deep vegetal greens.
Lacking a glass, I grab an empty jam jar and pour myself some fresh passionfruit and lime juice, gaining a nod of approval from Angela. 'Local style,' she smiles Filing out to the balcony, we sit wherever we find a spot and dig in, the roof overhead cracking in the sun. The tri tri cakes — soft inside, golden-crisp outside — are salty with a hint of spice. The jackfish are crisp, zesty with lime and served with salty fried plantain. I marvel at the pork, hot and richly spiced with a molasses-like coating of sauce that has a Christmassy timbre. The showstopper, though, is the goat; silky and tender, with a curry sauce that's almost sweet, eliciting mutters of appreciation and a 'thank you, sister' from Chippy.
The eating is done in minutes, but the postprandial chat — of old recipes and the abundance of cashew, breadfruit, mango and coconut in the garden — goes on, literally, until the cows come home. A trio from the family's 20-strong herd hoof up the hillside, caramel coats gleaming in the setting sun. And with that, I hear the last ferry of the day honking its approach, calling me back to St Vincent. I leave with a vociferous round of goodbyes, intermingled with some washing-up debate over who owns the good meat knife and Ciel once again clamouring for candy.
How To Do It:
has doubles from US$120 (£95), B&B.
Virgin Atlantic flies to St Vincent (via Barbados), from which frequent ferries and flights go to nearby Bequia. Spring Hotel has doubles from US$120 (£95), B&B.
Food by National Geographic Traveller (UK)
To subscribe to National Geographic Traveller (UK) magazine click
Published in Issue 26 (winter 2024) of(UK)To subscribe to(UK) magazine click here . (Available in select countries only).