Sweet Hands: Island Cooking from Trinidad & Tobago, 3rd edition. Ramin Ganeshram
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pace, Ganeshram has used family stories, snippets of history, lush descriptions, and ambles through village markets, past roadside vendors, to spots like the “Breakfast Shed” and other well off-the-beaten-tourist-path places to lead the reader to the quiet discovery of this beautiful spot where “east” has been meeting “west” day after day for centuries. As I read how to brighten a winter squash soup with coconut and to make a fine shrimp patty and to rethink my relationship with rice, tropical fruits, and plantains, my hands itched to cook—it was difficult to keep my seat.
I like to think that my agitation was a sign of metamorphosis. In Trinidad & Tobago, good cooks may not share a religion, an ethnicity, or the same social status, but they all have magical hands, hands capable of keeping this bright, complicated melting pot of a cuisine simmering, shifting, and vibrantly alive—sweet hands.
—Molly O’Neill
Pomerac, a heart-shaped fruit with a sweet tart flavor
When I began researching the first edition of this cookbook, I came to realize that an inordinate number of people didn’t know where Trinidad & Tobago (pronounced Toe-BAY-go) was. Now, thanks to a happy confluence of events—a rennaissance of arts, music, literature, and dance, an eagerness among young Americans to travel outside of their comfort zones, as well as a visit from Anthony Bourdain for his popular show Parts Unknown—Trinidad & Tobago is now “on the map.” It certainly helps that the nation’s already well-known epic Carnival (Mardi Gras) celebrations have become equal to those of Rio de Janeiro in the eyes of the world—and a standard to which other Caribbean nations try to keep up.
For me, however, my father’s home country of Trinidad & Tobago holds an enchantment of a different kind. When I was a child visiting during summer vacations, I always looked forward to the unusual, exciting, and delicious variety of food.
Among the things I most looked forward to was the enormous array of fruits and vegetables that were simply not to be had back home in New York City. In the weeks leading up to our visits, my brother Ramesh and I would talk endlessly about the fruits we’d pick in our family’s yard. For us, it was equivalent to our (never-realized!) dream of going to the corner store with permission to choose any and all candy we wanted.
There was soursop, a tree fruit with a leathery green skin (that reminded me of local iguanas) and a creamy flesh; guava; chinet (a cluster fruit resembling small limes); fresh coconut water and jelly; varieties of cherries and plums different from those we had at home; and pomme cythère (ambarella), a dendritic seeded citrus fruit also called golden apple or June apple. Then, of course, there was my personal favorite—pomerac. A small heart-shaped fruit with a thin maroon skin, white flesh, and a single seed, it is sweet and tart and has a consistency between a ripe pear and an apple. Native to the South Pacific, it is also called an otaheite apple. It remains my favorite fruit of all time, and even today whenever I visit Trinidad, it’s one of the first things I seek out (though my husband says it just tastes like the good old North American strawberry).
Just as the produce available in Trinidad is abundant and varied, so too are the cooking styles, thanks to the country’s unique colonial history.
Columbus first spotted Trinidad on his second voyage to the Americas. In fact, it was he who gave the little island its name, meaning “trinity,” after the three mountain ranges that crisscross the land. Today we know that those mountains are actually a continuation of the Andes from Venezuela and that at one time in its geological history Trinidad was, in fact, part of the South American mainland.
Once Columbus hit the scene, rampant colonialism ensued. Spain held on to Trinidad for a short time, as evidenced by the name of the capital city, Port of Spain. Shortly after, the Dutch, French, and ultimately the English held sway over Trinidad, with British Colonial rule remaining the longest—until 1962, when the country gained its independence.
My great-grandfather, John Ganeshram (center), came to Trinidad as an indentured laborer.
European colonials were interested in Trinidad for the same reasons they were interested in any other part of the New World—resources. In this case, they sought coconuts and sugarcane. The coconut was used primarily for its oil, and the cane for processed sugar, molasses, and rum.
Someone had to plant and harvest these crops and, in the early days, the rough task fell to enslaved people from West Africa. However, by the 1830s, slavery had been abolished in England and it was necessary to find a new labor source for the backbreaking task of cutting sugarcane and harvesting other crops. Because Britain had also colonized India, the subcontinent was a logical place to obtain laborers as, like Trinidad, India was a tropically hot country. From 1851 to 1917, more than 144,000 East Indians were brought to Trinidad as indentured laborers, typically working a five-year contract in return for a crown land grant, although the system was done away with after the first decade of indentureship in favor of a monetary reward. A small number of Chinese indentured laborers were brought to Trinidad as well.
At least three of my great-grandparents were among the East Indians who came to Trinidad as indentured workers. My grandfather Ganesh Ram was a Hindu priest, but like many of his countrymen, he forged a relationship with Christian missionaries in Trinidad and actually became one of forty-four Presbyterian catechists who were posted around the country teaching Christian doctrine. Eventually he changed his name from simply Ganesh Ram to John Ganeshram.
Yet, for my grandfather as for many African, Indian, and Chinese Trinidadians, conversion to Presbyterianism, Anglicanism, or Catholicism didn’t translate into a wholesale abandonment of their birth religions. Instead, a peculiar hybridization of their native religions occurred, including a mixture of West African tribal religion and magic arts called obeah, and a type of Hinduism that allowed practitioners to view that religion’s many gods on par with Christian saints rather than as polytheistic worship. However, perhaps because of their faith’s basic similarity to Christianity, Indian Muslims remained for the most part unconverted.
The end result is a society that is a complex melting pot of people and tradition. One happy consequence is a cuisine that is an organic fusion, without contrivance nor sprung from the mind of a celebrity chef. In Trinidad, items like curry and various Indian breads are a staple in every home—whether there exists an East Indian ancestor or not. Callalloo, a soup of West African origin, is the national dish, and the West African tradition of browning meats in caramelized sugar is the first step to most stews. Chinese fried rice is part of any self-respecting cook’s repertoire and Christmas feasts have a decidedly Spanish flavor.
Ultimately, this is a book that aims to be both informative and entertaining, painting a rich canvas of the cultural heritage that is a huge part of the evolution of Trinidadian foods. You will find lagniappe (what we Trinis, like New Orleaneans, call “that little something extra”) in the form of tips and tricks throughout, as well as some other useful information.
I hope you will find Sweet Hands not only a culinary resource, but a means of insight into the vibrant and welcoming culture of Trinidad & Tobago.
As for the unusual title: In Trinidad, the best compliment a cook can hope for is to be told he or she has “sweet hands.” It means the person is so talented in the kitchen that anything he or she makes—from a sandwich to a seven-course meal—is like manna from the gods.
—Ramin Ganeshram
New York, November 2004,
October 2009, June 2018
A Few Tips on Using This Cookbook
The glossary