Story and photography by Bo Zaunders
Monkey Image Courtesy: Conny Andersson.
 

A SLICE OF THE WEST INDIES

It was quite a spread – in more ways than one.

Around us stretched the property of Sandy Lane, the 5-star Caribbean resort hotel on the island of Barbados. Everything exuded an air of spaciousness and utter opulence: ubiquitous Italian marble floors; plantation-style furniture; rooms averaging 900 square feet; and, just in case you need extra breathing space, a spectacular 5-bedroom villa; not to mention a fabulous spa, with countless pools and a couple of waterfalls thrown in for visual effect; and, not least, three world-class golf courses - the Green Monkey, The Country Club, and The Old Nine… Sandy Lane.

The culinary spread in front of us was no less extravagant, a lavish buffet featuring cuisine from Barbados, Grenada, Trinidad, and Jamaica.

The new executive chef, Conny Andersson, had done his job, abetted by executive pastry chef Claire Clark, another newcomer to the island.

From the inner sanctum of the kitchen to the terrace next to the beach stretched lush food displays - from an elaborate “action salad” to a BBQ Spiced Suckling Pig. Among the cold dishes, I especially noted the Creamy Lobster Pineapple Coleslaw with Toasted Cashews, Jumbo Poached Shrimps, and West Indian Flying Fish Salad. The Fish Cakes and the Bajan Fish Fritters in a Sweet Chili Sauce proved delicious, as did Bajan Lamb Stew. Most satisfying also was Jerk Chicken, apparently a West Indian mainstay. As we approached the Suckling Pig, served with Mango Chutney and Apple Sauce, the woman behind the table prompted us to try the “cracklings,” a culinary feature not to be missed.

One would think there was little room for dessert. Not so.

Small helpings of Caribbean Cheese Cake, White Chocolate Mousse, Bajan Rum Cake, and Jam Puffs put the final delicious touches to this celebration of the food of the West Indies.

So, who are Conny Andersson and Claire Clark? Conny I have known for some time. Like me, he was born and raised in Sweden, and left his native country at a young age. We first met on a press trip to paradors in Spain, at which time he was the executive chef at the Four Seasons Hotel in Beverly Hills, a position he held for five years before moving to the Beverly Wilshire, another Four Seasons hotel. A true globetrotter, he circumnavigated the world as he cooked himself to chef stardom. Bali, the Caribbean, Cairo, Australia, the Maldives… Conny was there, building an international repertoire. (As for his concession to a Swedish background, there will always be Toast Skagen, a Scandinavian classic to which Conny adds his own magic touch …  Toast Skaggen

Claire we met for the first time. A two-time winner of the prestigious award Pastry Chef of the Year by the Craft Guild of Chefs, she comes from England, where she worked as Head Pastry Chef at Claridges and the Wolseley. In 2007, Thomas Keller offered her that same position at the French Laundry in Yountville, CA. She struck us as fun, vibrant, and totally committed to making the world’s most wonderful breads and desserts.

We learned that more than half of Sandy Lane guests are British, and that many return year after year. Recently, an English couple hung around for 53 days, an extravagance for which they paid $400,000. At the West Indies buffet, a bartender reminisced about Tiger Woods’ wedding party. Forty of his guests stayed at the hotel and the prominent golfer moored his yacht right in front of it. Everyone was very nice, the bartender recalled, especially Elin, her mom, dad and twin sister.

Revisiting the hotel the following morning, I paid special attention to The Spa, a superb Romanesque building fronted by a waterfall. Beneath stretched a large, freeform swimming pool, intricately connected to several smaller ones. Inside, I marveled at an outsized, elaborately draped stairwell, and prudently resisted the temptation to make reservations for an underwater massage in the hydrotherapy room or a session in the jet blitz room.

In Barbados for a few days, Roxie, my wife, and I were staying with Conny, just minutes from the hotel. Nestling behind tall hedges with flaming red bougainvillea, his house was roomy and comfortable and for the most part without Conny – I suppose long work hours are to be expected in someone managing four restaurants, numerous bars, and with a staff of at least 100. Still, his absence gave us time to explore the island on our own.

A fifteen-minute walk up the road (on sidewalks with the disconcerting habit of now and then disappearing into the surrounding landscape) took us to Holetown, a lively community, where we found the Surfside Restaurant, and relaxed with a flying fish sandwich. Roxie sampled the island’s ubiquitous rum punch, and I drank Banks, the local beer.

We also visited Speightstown, popularly referred to as S’town, a little farther north, and Bridgetown, the capital, in the south. Which brings me to the subject of the little yellow buses, which shuttle back and forth on the island, providing cheap, exciting transport. The bus stops are all named for women: Paula, Debbie, Sabrina, and, on a more exotic note, Ronella, Esme, and Jasmine. Often filled to last seat, the buses are driven at breakneck speed to the accompaniment of ear-shattering music.

One morning, Caribbean rhythms still ringing in our ears, we alighted from a yellow bus at the outskirts of Bridgetown, ready for a peek at the local fish market. We were not disappointed. What energy, what color! Mammoth mahi mahis were held up for our inspection, as were tiny flying fish, looking a lot less appetizing than they had on a sandwich. In Bridgeport, which proved a vibrant city (with a statue of Lord Nelson older than its counterpart in London’s Trafalgar Square), we ended up at the Waterfront Café, a pleasant eatery, located as the name indicates in the harbor area. In one of the charter boats lining the quay, a man was expertly cleaning a fish. As we watched, Irene, the café’s hostess, told us that if a guest brought a fish, the restaurant would grill, fry, blacken, and steam it for $20, and serve it with rice, scalloped potatoes, a vegetable, couscous, and a salad.

One afternoon, Claire took us on a sightseeing trip to the eastern, more rugged part of the island. On our way back we stopped by St. Nicholas Abbey, one of only three Jacobean mansions in the Western Hemisphere, built some 30 years after the British settled in Barbados in 1627. This is sugar- and rum- producing country, and, after a tour of the mansion, we ended up in a tasting room, sipping some 10-year old Barbados rum.

At one point I happened to ask Claire if she had a good recipe for someone like me, who is pretty weak in the dessert-making department. She responded with alacrity. “Lemon Posset,” she said, “it has only three ingredients, and is a real crowd pleaser.” Later I found it in her book, INDULGE: 100 Perfect Desserts, and on a video: YouTube/Claire. On the subject of her job at Sandy Lane, she mentioned how thrilled she was with the singing that goes on in Barbados. “Sometimes, in the kitchen,” she said, “someone will start singing, and moments later, everyone will chime in and start a chorus.”

Throughout our stay, Conny kept telling us about the monkeys that will suddenly show up at dusk and dawn. You’ll see them in the trees, sometimes on the golf courses, often in large numbers.

We looked for them, but without success. Then, a week after our return from Barbados, an email with a whole slew of monkey pictures arrived.

© March 2010 LuxuryWeb Magazine. All rights reserved.