a saint’s feast

St. Martin is the

gastronomical capital
of the Caribbean. That
means you’ll enjoy the
finest of French cuisine
(without having to fly
to Paris), and the finest
of Caribbean sands. David Lansing takes on St. Martin, one serving of foie gras
at a time. And he also piles up his plate at the lolos.

o pp o s i t e : a l am y

photos by ben fink

78 Ap r i l/ M a y 2 0 0 7 isl a n d s . c om 79
 it’s odd: i’m wandering higgledy-piggledy down a
bustling street clogged with tourists and taxis in Philipsburg, on St. Maarten, looking for some-
place fun for dinner, someplace island-y that serves umbrella rum drinks, yet every cafe I find
has a poster in the window with a Toulouse Lautrec-inspired can-can girl announcing “Le Beau-
jolais Nouveau Est Arrivé” — this year’s new Beaujolais has arrived. Charming little bistros tempt
me not with locally caught snapper sautéed with fiery scotch bonnet peppers, as I’d expect, but
with aujourd’hui specials, chalked up on sandwich boards, of saumon aux épices creoles, gambas
sautées and sole de Douvres meunière. Small shops, still open in the early evening, proclaim new
deliveries of Camembert and pâté. A hidden cafe down an alleyway not only makes fresh, hot
crepes, but also roasts their own coffee, which they serve “style français,” as the sign says.
If it weren’t for the floral shirts, breezy sundresses and flip-flops everyone is wearing, I
could be strolling around the famed Latin Quarter in Paris or getting lost down the narrow
Owner of Au Petit streets of the Marais. And yet I’m in the Caribbean. I think. So what’s going on here?
Cafe, Jay Pauly, “Monsieur must know that this island is the gastronomic capital of the Caribbean,”
yields a drink that says French-born Joel Morand, the proprietor of L’Escargot Restaurant, one of those
looks like it packs charming Philipsburg cafes I’ve walked past and now decide to give a try, lured largely
a punch. Au Petit,
by their chalkboard special proclaiming, “Foie gras ce soir!”
on the Dutch side
of the island, is the Yes, I had heard this claim of haute cuisine in the French West Indies — it’s one of the reasons
best place for a I came here (the others being the beaches) — but I figured it was more or less one of those fatuous
morning coffee. chamber-of-commerce proclamations that tend to be more wishful thinking than anything else.
80
Unfortunately, says Joel, the restaurant is out of foie gras this evening because it is Saint
Martin’s Day on the island. I don’t get the connection, so Joel, who wears a black tie with
a bottle of wine on it, explains that Saint Martin is the patron saint of foie gras. Or maybe
the patron saint of goose farmers. He’s not sure. Anyway, everyone has been ordering foie
gras tonight. It’s been a veritable goose-liver fest. In the Alsace region of France, famous for
its foie gras, on the feast day of Saint Martin they begin force-feeding the geese, Joel tells me.
Then he smiles and says, “But here, on Saint Martin’s Day, we force-feed the tourists.”
Instead I order a sampler plate of snails prepared seven different ways — with wild
mushrooms, shallots, garlic butter, profiteroles, cherry tomatoes, red peppers and saf-
fron — and a bottle of the freshly arrived Beaujolais Nouveau. As Joel hurries off to get
my wine, I settle in, taking notice of the plastic grapes hanging from the ceiling and the
Provence-inspired mustard-colored décor. Edith Piaf is sadly singing “La Vie en Rose”
when Joel comes back to open my wine. Did I know, he asks as he dramatically pops the If you’re looking
cork, that “on St. Martin, we eat more foie gras per capita than Parisians?” for a seat with a
“No,” I say. “It can’t be possible.” view, then try Kali’s
“C’est vrai.” And here he puffs out his barrel chest like, well, a stuffed goose. Beach Bar, which
overlooks Friar’s
Joel’s quite the character. Later that evening, while I enjoy profiteroles with chocolate
Bay on the French
sauce and an espresso, Joel and his wife, Sonya, dress up in costumes and put on a caba- side. Their special-
ret show in the restaurant. They’re partial to American country-western stars. Sometimes, ties are lobster and
Joel says, they dress up and perform as Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton. “But tonight it is full-moon parties.
Ap r i l/ M a y 2 0 0 7 isl a n d s . c om 81
 all about Johnny Cash and June Carter.” In a soft
French accent, Joel and Sonya sing “Jackson.”
Listen to me: If you ever get the chance, buy
a ticket, fly to St. Martin and have dinner at
L’Escargot some Friday night just to watch Joel
and Sonya sing “Jackson.” It’s better than watch-
ing Parisians dance with monkeys at the Moulin
Rouge in Montmartre. And every bit as louche.

perhaps you’re beginning to notice that

St. Martin isn’t your typical Caribbean island. For
one thing, it’s spelled two different ways: St. Mar-
tin and St. Maarten. That’s because it’s part French
and part Dutch, though even the dual governments
mean little to visitors (both sides like dollars, for in-
stance). There are casinos and more duty-free shops
on the southern, Dutch side, but the coffee is better
on the northern, French side. Other than that, you
can hardly tell one side from the other. There seem
to be just as many French restaurants on the Dutch
side of the island as on the French (but strangely
no Dutch restaurants on the Dutch side, although
there are a couple of Indonesian eateries in Phil-
ipsburg that serve the traditional Dutch rijsttafel, or
rice smorgasbord). And there are no border points,
just an obelisk that says “Bienvenue en Partie Fran-
çaise” on one side and “Welcome to Dutch Sint
Maarten, N.A.” on the other. It’s all very civilized.
Which, perhaps, explains why both sides revel in
foie gras, as I discover over the next several days. And
not just French ex-pats like Joel. Even local chefs like
to play with it. Like Dino Jagtiani, chef and owner
of Temptation Restaurant in the Dutch lowlands,
on the west end of the island near the French bor-
der. Dino is the first chef born on St. Maarten who
graduated from the Culinary Institute of America.
He, too, likes to serve up foie gras and does so in a
playful manner, calling it “PB&J” because the way he prepares it — in a roasted peanut sauce Opposite: The
and homemade port-wine fig jelly — gives it an inkling of a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich. crab back at Sky’s
He also makes an orange-and-ginger-glazed duck dish called Quack Quack L’Orange and a The Limit is worth
the trip. This page
veal osso bucco served with shiitake mushrooms and cinnamon star anise polenta.
clockwise from
Of course, you can only eat so much foie gras and osso bucco, if you know what I mean. top: Orient Beach,
Fortunately, the perfect foil for all this haute cuisine is served up home-style at the lolos of the wine cellar at
Grand Case, a funky fishing village on the northwest shore of the island where pastel-colored La Samanna and
creole houses, many of which have been turned into restaurants, have gingerbread fretwork. Jacqueline cooking
at Sky’s the Limit.
A lolo, if you don’t know, is a sort of grandiose barbecue shack, a place where you sit at picnic
tables, protected from the intense sun by coverings of corrugated tin, and read the menu from
a chalkboard. The lolos have odd names, like Talk of the Town and Sky’s the Limit, and the
presentation couldn’t be simpler. You get a napkin and plastic cutlery, and your food comes
on paper plates, but it’s as fine as pizza in Rome or carnitas tacos in Mexico City.
My first time at Sky’s the Limit, I order a little this and a little that from the owner,
Emile, who has a husky voice and a gregarious smile. After I’ve given him my order, he

82 Ap r i l/ M a y 2 0 0 7 isl a n d s . c om 83
 At the Guavaberry
Emporium in Dutch
Philipsburg, try the
liqueur or the hot
sauces they bottle.

Clockwise from top

left: Le Tastevin in
Grand Case on the
French side and
one of its desserts,
Bali Bar in Marigot
on the French side
and the streets of
pretty Grand Case.

84 Ap r i l/ M a y 2 0 0 7 isl a n d s . c om Ap r i l/ M a y 2 0 0 7 isl a n d s . c om 85
 fortunately, there’s a perfect foil for haute
“suggests” that maybe I don’t really want french fries with my grilled fish. “Probably
you meant to say rice and peas,” he says. No doubt.
“And you probably forgot you wanted some johnnycake and a little fried plantain
with the ribs, just to mop things up,” he adds. And, of course, he’s right.
Then he places a bottle of spicy chien sauce in front of me and gives me a chunk of conch
boudin, a sausage made from the mollusk. “For while you’re waiting for the ribs,” he says and
shows me how to spread it on still-warm johnnycakes and then douse it with chien sauce.
“I make that myself,” he says. It tastes like liquid jerk and is made with olive oil, garlic,
hot and sweet pepper, onions and lots of spices. “I can’t tell you what all,” he says.
Emile then brings me over a sagging plate of grilled ribs as well as some chicken and crab
The 37-square-
mile island is backs, which he creates by taking the meat out of a crab, adding some spices, breading and
both French and baking it and then stuffing it back in the shell. He hands me more of his chien sauce and tells
Dutch. Take a drive me to just squirt it on the whole damn thing — the chicken, crab backs, ribs, everything.
outside the Dutch “That’s the way we eat on St. Martin,” he says.
city of Philipsburg
There’s no rush to eating food like this. I get up once in a while to grab another beer or to
and the French city
of Marigot, and you visit a bit with Emile and his wife, Jacqueline. They introduce me to just about everybody who
will find quiet stops by to pick up some food to go, and after a short chat, I might have another chicken leg
countryside. or a bite of johnnycake, a sip of beer. God only knows how long I’ve been here, but I do notice
86
cuisine, served up homestyle at the lolos.
that the sun isn’t nearly as intense as it was when I first sat down. In fact, it’s almost dark.
“It’s like eating at Grandma’s on a Sunday afternoon, isn’t it?” Jacqueline asks. “Just
good comfort food and lots of time to enjoy it.”
The queen of comfort food on St. Martin, however, has to be Leona Wallace. Leona
is the cook at Mary’s Boon Beach Plantation on Simson Bay on the Dutch side of the
island, and she’s been there forever. Mary’s Boon is like Rick’s Café in the movie
Casablanca. Eventually everyone on St. Martin seems to pass through Mary’s Boon, if not
for a meal, then to have a drink and watch the sun set over one of the prettiest bays in the
Caribbean. Ask Leona how old she is, and she’ll just laugh at you and say, “Not the age it
says in the book, tha’s for sure.” Leona, who is as large as Bessie Smith and has one of
At Mr. Busby’s
those great, round, passively sad faces that suggests she has seen just about everything, Beach Bar on the
started working for Mary Pomeroy, the original owner of Mary’s Boon, 35 years ago. Dutch side, chase
There are some great stories about Mary Pomeroy, many of them apocryphal, and Leona down baby-back
will talk about her all night if she’s of the mood. She’ll tell you how some people say Mary, like ribs with a Carib
beer. Then take ad-
Humphrey Bogart’s character, Rick Blaine, was a spy during World War II and got into trou-
vantage of its loca-
ble on another Caribbean island for her involvement in a revolution (gun running). Evidently, tion on Dawn Beach
she was one of those Isak Dinesen characters, a woman always doing things that people said and go swimming or
she shouldn’t be doing, and St. Martin ended up being her Casablanca. She was also a pilot and snorkeling.
87
 chose to build her small inn next to the airport so she could taxi to the hotel’s front door.
“Then Mary went flying one day and just disappeared,” Leona says, rubbing her
arthritic knuckles. “Nobody knows what happened to her. They never found her plane
or anything. I felt very sad about it because she was special.” Play it again, Sam.
The sun has set, and no one has bothered to turn the lights on in the bar where
Leona and I have been talking. In the fading light, Leona sits silently at a little table,
her arms folded on her lap, looking like a dark Buddha.
“You want to stay for dinner, honey?” she asks me.
“What are you cooking tonight?” Mount Vernon
Plantation
“What night is it?” Grand Case
“I believe it’s Friday.” Orient
Bay

“On Friday I fix lobster creole.”

ST. Martin
“Always?” La Samanna (French)
At lant ic Oc e an

“For 35 years. That’s what Miss Mary liked, Quartier

Marigot
and that’s what I fix.” d’Orleans
Captain
While Leona shuffles back to the kitchen to Ba ie
Longue Sims on Bay
Oliver’s Resort
start dinner, I help myself to a cocktail at the honor Temptation La g o on
St. Maarten Oys t er Pond
bar, pouring a shot of Mount Gay Rum into a glass Restaurant (Dutch)

and adding a touch of water. Not my usual drink, Mary’s Sims on

Bay
but for some reason, it sounded soothing. Drink in Boon Beach
Plantation Philipsburg
hand, I wander outside and sit on the sand. Some
Brits next to me are laughing over something, their St. Maarten Park
voices carrying in the darkness the way they do. Caribb e an Se a
Guavaberry Emporium
“Did you see her?” one of the women asks me. Pasanggrahan Royal L’Escargot
Guest House Restaurant
“Who? Leona?”
She waves her hand dismissively. “No. The
ghost of Mary Pomeroy. She likes to hang out at pl an your tr ip islands.com/stmartin

the bar, making sure everyone’s honest.”

“I don’t think she was there tonight,” I say.
“Oh, she’s there. We saw her earlier. Bought SAINTLY SLEEPS Spend the night at La Samanna, a Mediterranean-style resort on
her a drink to keep her happy.”
“Really? What does she drink?”
“Mount Gay Rum and water, no ice.”
in a week’s time, i’ve slurped garlicky
snails, gnawed smoky ribs and devoured bowls of
The Edible Journey
Baie Longue on St. Martin’s west coast. Rent a beach cabana (daily rates from $350)
complete with an iPod, a bottle of champagne, a misting system and a personal atten-
dant. Don’t forget to visit the wine cellar; with over 10,000 bottles, it’s one of the larg-
est collections in the Caribbean. Rates from $475 including breakfast; lasamanna.com.
Further south, the Pasanggrahan Royal Guest House in Philipsburg is St. Maarten’s
oldest inn. This colonial lodge, furnished with antique and plantation-style furniture, is
a former governor’s home and Dutch royal residence. Sup on pan-fried calamari steak
at the gazebo restaurant overlooking Great Bay. Rates from $98. pasanhotel.com

At Temptation
Restaurant on the
Dutch side, chef
Dino Jagtiani gives
a creative flair to all
his dishes. Another
Dutch temptation
is Cupecoy Beach.
briny mussels. I’ve had a niçoise salad with grilled walk THE LINE Stand on the International Bridge over DETAILS FLY to St.
the Oyster Pond lagoon at Captain Oliver’s Resort on the
yellowfin tuna and, of course, Leona’s lobster cre- island’s east side and straddle two countries at once: Maarten on American
ole. There’s been foie gras made with old rum and France and the Netherlands. The hotel sits on the bound- Airlines. aa.com
KAYAK across the in-
stewed figs, foie gras with orange juice and ginger ary line separating the two sides of the island. Captain visible French/Dutch
Oliver’s suites are tucked within hillside tropical gar-
bread, and foie gras with mango and hibiscus leaves. dens, and white-sand Dawn Beach is only a one-minute boundary line in
It’s been fabulous. But I’ve intentionally taxi-boat ride across the lagoon. Rates from $140, includ- Simson Bay Lagoon,
the Caribbean’s
saved the best for last — or at least what many ing breakfast. captainolivers.com largest saltwater
on St. Martin have told me should be the best WAITING TO EAT Visit the Mount Vernon Plantation, an lagoon. Kayak rentals
18th-century Caribbean estate located between Grand from $15 per hour.
meal. On my last day, I take up residence at La Case and Orient Bay. Tour the grounds, which have
trisportsxm.com
Samanna resort on the secluded western end of more than 20 varieties of fruit trees, and learn how cof- EAT fresh chicken at
the island and, that night, join a friend, Thibaut fee and rum were produced here a hundred years ago. Poulet d’Orleans near
Admission is $12 and includes coffee and rum samples; Quartier d’Orléans.
Asso, who just happens to be the resort’s som- plantationmontvernon.com. See the largest exhibit of ex-
011-590-590-87-48-24
melier. In their famed wine cellar, Thibaut cares otic parrots in the Caribbean at the St. Maarten Park in SPEND US dollars.
for more than 10,000 bottles of wine » to meet chef Philipsburg. This nearly 5-acre zoological and LEARN MORE at
botanical park is home to more than 500 mam-
that rest quietly in a cave beneath jagtiani and try his st-martin.org and st-
mals from South and Central America and the
recipes, go to pg 98. maarten.com.
the restaurant. (continued on page 100) Caribbean. Admission is $10. stmaartenpark.com

88 Ap r i l/ M a y 2 0 0 7 isl a n d s . c om 89
St. Martin (from page 89)
The candlelit cave is Thibaut’s per-
sonal playroom. While sipping cham-
pagne, he takes me on a tour, showing
off several bottles of a dusty Romanée-
Conti that go for something like
$4,000 each, rare crates of Condrieu
from the Rhone Valley and Pontensac
from Bordeaux.
Thibaut can hardly contain his en-
thusiasm for these liquid riches. “We
have crates of the best wine found any-
where in the world,” he says. “Down
here, you forget you are in the Carib-
bean. You are in France, no?”
Yes. Until we go back upstairs and
are seated in the opulent open-air
dining room with a sunset view of
Anguilla, floating like a giant green
turtle in the tranquil sea. The air is
perfumed with the tropical scent of
frangipani and ylang-ylang, the breeze
rustles the royal palms around us and
white orchids float in clear vases on
the white-linen-covered tables.
The meal is extraordinary: a tartar of
diver scallops and ahi with lime; herb-
crusted halibut with candied papaya and
asparagus; Kobe beef sirloin with sautéed
morels; and a pinot-chocolate reduction.
There are foodies who travel annu-
ally to Paris just to dine; next time, they
should consider St. Martin. The food
has been that good.
i have only half a day left on
the island and, on a whim, have rented
one of La Samanna’s beach cabanas
along Baie Longue, a white-sand beach
that stretches along a bay. The cabana
has an oversize bed with huge pillows
and teak chaise lounges. An attendant
brings me fresh towels, cold water,
even a bottle of champagne. It is a very
strange thing to sit in a private cabana
drinking champagne by yourself. But I
do it anyway. I have told the attendant,
in his white shorts and polo shirt, that I
have an early afternoon flight and must
be off the beach no later than 1 p.m.
z ach st ova l l
Knowing it is almost that time, I go for
one last dip in the warm, placid water. I
swim out past the anchored yachts, out
100
» Bring Back Made from
oak-aged rum, cane sugar
and wild guavaberries,
guavaberry liqueur has
been an island staple for
hundreds of years and is
made with berries picked
from guavaberry trees grown in the
center of the island. This woodsy, spicy
and fruity concoction was traditionally
drunk around Christmastime, right
after the berries had ripened. The Sint
Maarten Guavaberry Company bottles
their own liqueur at their headquar-
ters, the Guavaberry Emporium,
a former governor’s residence in
Philipsburg. Buy a bottle ($15.95) or
consider their other guavaberry-
infused products, including honeys
and barbecue sauces. guavaberry.com
to where the bottom begins to sharply
drop off and the water turns a cobalt
blue. Eyes closed, I float on my back.
From the shore I hear a voice calling my
name. “It’s time, Mr. Lansing. It’s time.”
But not just yet. For a few minutes
more I float, thinking of this surprising
gastronomic island in the West Indies
and its smoky, sweet conch boudin sau-
sages at the lolos; Dino Jagtiani’s foie gras
in peanut sauce and port-wine fig jelly;
grilled lobster caught off the Saba Bank
and served with icy-cold Carib beer at
Mr. Busby’s Beach Bar on Dawn Beach.
The more I think about it, the more I
realize that St. Martin isn’t really French
at all. Not in a Parisian sort of way. What
it is, exactly, is kind of hard to say. It’s as
exotic as a ylang-ylang bloom, as spicy as
homemade chien sauce and as mysteri-
ous as the tale of Mary Pomeroy. It’s a
unique dish, a strange but wonderful mé-
lange of escargot and johnnycake, Veuve
Clicquot and homemade banana rum.
It’s Gauguin in Tahiti with all its bright
tropical colors and languid beaches. It’s
like a David Lynch movie, all mixed up
and confusing but always fascinating.
It is, as Joel Morand whispered
to me just before launching into
his French-accented impression of
Johnny Cash, “A bit unconventional
— but I think you’ll like it.” ^
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