Caribbean

Panna cotta is a no-brainer, sweetened cream thickened with gelatin. It has long been made with whatever dairy is around, and I think it’s far better when a certain amount of the cream is replaced by buttermilk. The result is more complex and not so stultifyingly rich.

It seems every country that grows rice makes rice pudding, and almost every experienced cook has his or her own technique. After years of playing with it, this is the one I like best, and it works well with the variations of most cuisines. In many cases rice pudding is simply milk bound by rice; often the amount of rice is well under 10 percent of the total. I prefer this recipe with just 1/4 cup, no more. The result is a thick milk custard with a recognizable but understated rice presence. If you want a dense and slightly chewier mixture, use the larger amount of rice. Other possible additions to rice pudding: a strip of lemon zest, a pinch of saffron threads, or a teaspoon of ground cardamom added at the beginning; a couple of tablespoons of raisins and/or slivered pistachios stirred in at the end. See the variations, and the following recipes, too—this group of recipes is unending.

These traditional bite-sized treats are served as a starter or a snack throughout the Caribbean (and, for that matter, in parts of Europe). They must be served hot: I recommend that you serve them to your guests while they’re standing around the stove and let them eat them with their fingers (or on toothpicks). If you want to serve them at the table, consider Aïoli (page 603) as a dipping sauce. Or you can follow Moorish traditions and serve them with honey or molasses.

These fritters, which you’ll also find in Texas and Florida, have their origins in the Caribbean—and, if you want to trace them further back, India; see the variation.

A street snack of Central America and the Caribbean, empanadas can really be filled with anything you have on hand. This recipe and its variations offer several of the traditional fillings. Masa harina can be found at most supermarkets and Latin grocery stores. It adds a nice crunch to the dough, but regular flour works well, too.

This delicious snack from Trinidad and Guyana is the perfect accompaniment to any cold cocktail, and if you think of it while you’re cooking chickpeas for another recipe, it’s incredibly easy. If you’re curious about Old World origins of New World foods, you’ll be interested to know that, in India, one of the many words for chickpeas is chana.

This is a fantastic dish that I came across when I was researching Caribbean food on the Internet. The recipe was cryptic—just a list of ingredients with no measurements or instructions. But I was so intrigued by the use of curry, black pepper, and Angostura bitters that I developed my own method (and added fresh herbs). This pilaf is substantial enough to eat on its own, but heavenly when served alongside grilled fish or shrimp.

Filled with Caribbean flavors, this dinner is made to be enjoyed outdoors. You will need twelve metal or wooden skewers. To keep them from scorching on the grill, soak wooden skewers in water while preparing the ingredients.

Butterfish is so named on account of its rich—yes, buttery—flavor. Also known as Pacific pompano, its texture is tender, so long as you don’t overcook the fish. (There is an Atlantic pompano as well, but it is much smaller and is not a suitable substitute.) The sour orange glaze is influenced by Cuban cuisine and can be made with either sour oranges or a mixture of sweet orange and lime juices. It’s a highly flavorful sauce and a perfect match for the rich fish. I find that the majority of seafood dishes are best suited to the warm weather months and don’t fit well into the heartier menus of fall and winter. This assertively flavored dish is an exception to that rule and pairs well with the ingredients and sides of the cool seasons, such as the tender Roasted Brussels Sprouts, Pomegranate, Hazelnuts (page 177) I serve with it at the restaurant.

Florida, and in particular the city of Miami, has been home to the vibrant culture of Cuban immigrants for generations. Their cuisine has put its stamp on the state and on this dish, where black beans, flavored with chipotle, are pureed into an earthy, slightly chunky sauce that makes the bed for red snapper fillets encrusted in a crisp shell of green plantains. Cool and spicy jalapeño crema and a relish of sweet mango and creamy avocado garnish the fish with tropical continuity.

The fading sun, an ocean breeze, a pitcher of mojitos waiting in the fridge. Open the door, fill the ice bucket, and let the party begin. Invented in Cuba and beloved by many, the rum-based mojito is an inherently festive drink. Friend and colleague cocktail specialist David Alan has created this refreshing watermelon mojito and thoughtfully devised a shortcut to reduce the workload for even the most laid-back party throwers. Preparing the base drink ahead makes it easy to crank out drinks quickly. Adding the club soda at the last minute ensures that all drinks retain the proper level of fizz. So before you set out for the beach, muddle the mint leaves, lime juice, sweetener, and rum in a large pitcher. Stow it in the refrigerator along with several bottles of soda water and a bowl of peeled, seeded, and chunk-up watermelon. Leave a dozen or so eight-ounce Collins glasses on the kitchen counter and when you arrive home with your friends—dazzled and thirsty from a day in the sun—chilly, refreshing mojitos are just moments away.

Although this dish has its origins in the Caribbean, it can be found in Florida and any other area in which there are Jamaican or Caribbean immigrants. It makes a hearty side and a good accompaniment to roasted pork loin.

This is another recipe I tried in France. It actually comes from the French colony of Martinique, an island in the Caribbean, which explains the coconut milk and banana combination. The coconut milk and curry are very mild and give just a hint of the Caribbean flavor. It’s scrumptious, easy to make, and a surprising change from your usual date food.

I think of black beans in Mexican cuisine as an almost upscale replacement for pinto beans, but in actual fact, they have been part of the meso-American culinary repertoire for thousands of years. This is a simple, flavorful, nutritious one-pot meal.

I had a cake crisis at Club Med in the Bahamas. A round yellow tin was waiting in my room when I arrived, and when I pried off the lid, inside was a small rum cake. Curious, I sliced off a small wedge, and then another, and then another. It took every bit of willpower in me not the finish the entire cake right then and there. But I thought that I should I save half to share with my partner who’d gone for a swim. We went to lunch, and when we returned to the room, the other half of the cake was missing, apparently the work of an overzealous housekeeper, or one who liked the cake as much as I did. When I got home from that trip, I set to work recreating that lovely golden cake with island flavor courtesy of a little dose of coconut milk and a lot of dark rum. I added a tasty coconut-rum glaze for good measure, although you can skip it if swimsuit season is around the corner. If you make this cake, be sure to keep an eye on any leftovers.

This is the best way I know to prepare ripe plantains, a classic Caribbean dish that is served with Crock-Pot Cuban Ropa Vieja (page 113). Ripe plantains are so sweet that they can actually be prepared this way and served over vanilla ice cream. But don’t let that sweetness intimidate you. Sweet often complements savory, and these are especially wonderful with hearty stews and grilled red meat. If the plantains are very mushy, they’ll need to be sliced thicker and will cook faster because they have more sugars, which caramelize really quickly in the hot oil.

Ropa vieja translates literally to “old clothes,” which is what the shredded meat, visually, may bring to mind. The smell and taste of this dish, however, are nothing short of heavenly. Please don’t be intimidated by the long list of ingredients. There is only a little bit of chopping required; the whole point is to put a bunch of things together and forget about it for hours (although you’re welcome to taste along the way if you prefer—or can’t resist!). The shredded meat should stand for at least 15 minutes before serving, but if you have more time, let it stand longer, as it just gets better and better. This dish’s origins are Caribbean, so serve it with other foods from the same region, especially white rice, black beans, and plantains.

One of my closest girlfriends is from the Caribbean. Every time I go to her house, whether just to gossip over a glass of wine or for a formal sit-down dinner, she puts out a big platter of warm, salty tostones. For an authentic Caribbean meal, serve these salty, crisp plantains as an appetizer before Crock-Pot Cuban Ropa Vieja (page 113). Be sure that the plantains don’t brown the first time you fry them; the goal is just to soften them so they can more easily be flattened into a thinner pancake for the second frying. For more on plantains, see page 153.

Mojo is a name that originally branded several varieties of hot sauce from the Canary Islands. Now recipes and uses of mojo are spread throughout the tropical regions of northern South America, Mexico, and the Caribbean. The place of origin of a particular mojo recipe defines both its ingredients and its uses. Ingredients in mojo sauce can include olive oil, garlic, citrus juice (sour orange, lemon, lime), paprika, chili powder, oregano, and cumin. This flavorful sauce can be used on breads, potatoes, salads, and as a seasoning for meats and vegetables. This recipe was made as a condiment for whole roasted pig. The flavors are a complement to the sour-orange marinade used in Cuban Pig (page 163). The flavor emphasis in this recipe is placed on the acidity of the lime juice, the garlic, and oregano. Mixed with butter, this sauce can be turned into a great topper for sweet potatoes and bread.

What better side dish to serve beside Cuban Pig (page 165) than moros y cristianos, or black beans and rice? Black beans are a staple of Cuban cooking, used in soups, stews, and sauces. Black beans can be traced back 7,000 years to southern Mexico and Central America, and their popularity has spread throughout the Caribbean and the southern United States, especially the Southwest and Florida. This spicy and filling recipe breaks the mold on traditional barbecue side dishes but can also be served as a complete meal.

One of the highlights in my culinary career was cooking for a Caribbean and Low-Country Food Festival I catered for Johnson & Wales University at the Middleton Place plantation outside of Charleston, South Carolina. We had just won the International Jamaican Jerk Style/Southern Barbecue Cook-Off, and we were invited to cook the Caribbean portion of the menu. Two 120-pound whole pigs were prepared for the event; one was cooked in the Jamaican jerk style, and the other was prepared Cuban-style with a sour-orange marinade. Once the guests were seated, the pigs were carried from the cooker like ancient royalty in a sedan-chair procession and presented at the head of the buffet. This was the only dinner I have ever attended where the main course, not the chef, got the standing ovation. I love the intensity and acidity of a sour-orange marinade, and over the years I have tried many ways to get these wonderful flavors dispersed throughout very thick cuts of meat. After much experimentation I’ve found that two solutions work best: a generous soaking with sour-orange flavors throughout the cooking process or a simple sour-orange injection. With apologies to traditionalists, I chose the latter.

Some of my favorite times away from Big Bob Gibson’s have been spent learning the secrets of jerk barbecue in Jamaica. The cooking techniques and flavors of this wonderful Caribbean island are truly unique and magnificent. Scotch bonnet peppers, allspice, onions, garlic, and pimento-wood smoke make Jamaica a barbecue destination. By using these same Caribbean flavors on a pork picnic, which is the lower portion of a pig’s shoulder, authentic Jamaican Jerk can be made at home. If you are lucky enough to visit Jamaica, be sure to get out of the cities and locate any of the well-known jerk shacks scattered over the island. Most Jamaican barbecue joints contain two open-air barbecue pits, one for chicken and another for pork. Cooking pork on the chicken pit is strictly prohibited. A cooking grate made from pimento-wood logs laid side by side is placed directly over a bed of pimento-wood coals; to keep the wood grate from burning, the pitmaster hand turns each log every hour, and the pork or chicken on the cooking grate is covered with a thin sheet of corrugated metal. This simplest of cookers proves that it is not the sophistication of the cooker but the knowledge of the cook that produces the best ’Q! In 2003, my wife, Amy, and I went to Jamaica to cook in the International Jamaican Jerk Style/Southern Barbecue Cook-Off. Cooking teams from all over the world, including Switzerland, Puerto Rico, Germany, England, the United States, and Jamaica, competed in the event. Each team was given the same raw ingredients: two barrel grills, two chickens, two slabs of ribs, two pork butts, and two red snappers. The chickens were fresh and free range. I use the term “free range” with a bit of sarcasm because these beauties were muscled-up and tough. When holding the ribs up to the sky, beams of sunlight penetrated this thin cut of meat (Jamaican ribs: SPF 15). The cut of pork was unlike any I had ever seen. It contained a portion of the shoulder and of the neck, and it even had four ribs attached. Nonetheless, we were all on an even playing field—or grill. We had eighteen hours to prepare our entries and serve them to a group of judges comprised of an equal number of Jamaican and international judges. A “blind” judging procedure was used to score each category. By combining local jerk flavors with cooking techniques learned back home at Big Bob’s, we captured the Grand Championship.

This spice and herb blend is great for seasoning beef and turkey burgers, but I especially like it tossed with hot French fries; they are addictive! The turmeric gives fries a gorgeous golden color.

A trip to Miami wouldn’t be complete without stopping for an authentic Cuban sandwich, hot off the press and stuffed with roasted pork, smoked ham, garlicky mayonnaise, tangy mustard, dill pickles, and oozing Swiss cheese. It’s almost enough to make you miss your flight home. Turning this Cuban specialty into an American one isn’t hard to do: just replace the roasted pork with a good old hamburger. Pressing the assembled burger not only yields a crispy toasted bun, but also ensures that all of the elements meld into one cohesive, mouthwatering sandwich.