The rumor that a Haitian restaurant is opening in St Nicholas fired my imagination up, especially when I heard the chosen name Dessalines Restaurant, named after the general who led the Haitian Revolution.
Jean Jacque Dessalines was born in 1758 and murdered in 1806. During his lifetime he was a free slave, a French military officer, an insurgent who turned against the oppressing, colonial French, and finally self-proclaimed emperor of Haiti.
His most famous quip? “Let those who want to remain slaves of the French leave the fort, let those, on the contrary, who want to die as free men line up around me”.
Dessalines proclaimed the independence of Haiti in 1804, securing his legacy as the Father of the Nation. He is also remembered for ethnic cleansing, when he massacred all French white settlers, handing their land over to his officers, thus creating a Haitian nobility – perhaps inspiring Shondaland to conjure up the characters in Bridgerton and Queen Charlotte.
As you can read, his rule did not last long, though he had a good head for government. The empire was abolished after his death, and Haiti was extorted into paying restitution to the French, $21 billion, between 1825 and 1947, in claims over lost plantations, property and slaves, in return for diplomatic recognition.
Back to the restaurant. I got all excited because Haitian food, inspired by French cuisine is amazing.
The Haitian community in Aruba decided collectively to deal in souvenirs and nicknacks and never attempted to promote their delicious kitchens, but you should trust me, Potage Vert, Tarte a L’Onion, Coq au Vin, Lobster Flambe, Dion-Dion Ris, Acras Piquee, Acras Morue, Picklise, anything with Sauce Ti-Malice, Lambi – Conq Creole, Tassos Boucane, Ragout Tonton, Griots, Liqueur Souffle, Coconut Blanc-Manger all laced with Catholicism, Voodoo, African Traditions, and French Culture, make for delicious paysanne, and/or Haute Cuisine dishes.
The Haitian cooking process is elaborate, getting the charcoal just right, pounding spices, soaking to clean, marinading, para-boiling — without killing the soul of the food, my mother-in-law used to say.
My mother-in-law had two kitchens in Haiti, one outdoor, a small shack where they roasted coffee in the morning and tended the fire, and a modern one with a range and refrigerator in the house. She worked closely with her cooks, one indoor, one in the shack, she said that cooking is done behind the ears, where she felt the mood of the food. When I asked her for a recipe, she would say just add un soupcon, or un rien — a whiff of this, a hint of that. I was to have la main legere, a light hand in the kitchen and I found it impossible to understand any of her instructions because they were so vague, with a ti-zouing of pepper, piment zoizo, for accent.
One of the household hits was a bouillon remontant, get your dictionary for them, because monsieur aime ca, she explained to the cook. It was a light and divine soup, which could wake up the dead. L’amour and food are inseparable, she lectured. Alas, I never became a great cook, but I turned into a grateful eater.
Some more of grandma’s kitchen wisdom?? A wife must fear her rival’s crab gumbo more than her physical charms. No self-respecting mistress will receive her lover without the offering of un bon petit plat, a tasty dish.
Like the French, Creole loves diminutives, and when you get un petit rien for lunch, it’s always more than a snack.
Then she explained: I don’t want to give you the wrong ideas that Haitian women navigate between kitchens and bedrooms conniving with herbs and spices, but you must remember their African matriarchal ancestors which earned them the right to actively participate in history and in life.
Grandma’s Rum punch: Fill a glass with cracked ice, sprinkle with fresh nutmeg. Add 3 drops of Angostura Bitters, 1/2 Oz Grenadine syrup, 1 Oz lime juice, and 1 ½ Oz Barbancourt rum made with pure sugar cane juice. Stir. Garnish with orange slice and maraschino cherry
