Global Cuisine

“Foodie” vacations are usually to countries like France, Italy or China. But Jamaica? Sun, surf, music and, dare we forget, ganja, of course, but food? So how fabulous to find it is also a haven for some mighty fine dining.

On a recent trip with my two adult daughters, both huge food fans, it was no surprise to find the food at Chris Blackwell’s Golden Eye Resort to be very good, considering it’s a world-class luxury hotel. By all accounts Mr. Blackwell’s chefs have been serving “farm to table” fare before Brooklyn became hip and those 3 words became an overly-used tagline.

The three of us were on a mother/daughter bonding trip. One coming in from the cold back East, one from a damp fall college semester in London, and I was coming from sunny Southern California to celebrate one of those big number birthdays!

We were all on the same page as to what we wanted to do. Nothing. Lay in the sun, swim in the green/blue bath temperature sea, read beach books, and sit by the pool sipping fruit infused drinks decorated with paper umbrellas. (Made with Mr. Blackwell’s private label rum.) Naps were nice, as well. Again, because we were staying at Golden Eye we figured we would eat well, but none of us counted on the OMG moments we had. Several times!

When I was growing up, "leafy green vegetable" meant spinach. At some point swiss chard was added to the repertoire and then bok choy. But that was really it. Oh sure, we had salad every night, but no other cooked leafy greens. Later on I discovered the sharp bite of mustard greens, the silky mellowness of cooked escarole and the spicy bitterness of turnip greens. These days my organic market delivery brings me kale and collard greens too. But I still like spinach and swiss chard for sentimental reasons.

Another category mainly skipped over in my childhood was legumes. We ate Mexican refried beans, chili beans, and baked beans, but that was about it. I guess if I had been raised in the South I might have been exposed to more beans and greens, but I wasn't. In college on a budget I lived on black beans, and in Italy I discovered white or cannellini beans. Out on my own I experimented with lentil stews and soups of all kinds until I discovered a recipe for Syrian lentil and chard soup. That was it. No other lentil recipes need apply.

There are just some things that instantly take me back to my childhood. Sopaipillas do that to me every time. Made by my grandmother, the tender warm pillows of fried dough were sprinkled with cinnamon sugar and drizzled with honey and always disappeared within minutes. She would encourage us to eat them immediately while they were still warm, but it was always said with a wink in her eye – she knew we couldn’t keep our hands off them until there was an empty plate of grease-laden cinnamon-scented crumbs.

My grandmother was the best cook I have ever known (next to my mom, of course!). She was in the kitchen every day and her way with food was astonishing, no matter what she prepared.  But unlike her rice and beans, sopaipillas were for special events (as were her bunuelos, too). It was usually Christmas or New Year’s Eve when she would make dough and fry it in her cast iron skillet, and I always wondered why we had to wait so long. To a child eleven months might as well be an eternity.

Traveling the world you’re bound to find various versions of hot-oil-meets-dough desserts, whether it be beignets, youtiao, malasadas, loukoumades or gulab jamun.  Unfortunately I adore every single one of them. But sopaipillas top my list, and not just because of their familial significance but also because they are among the most basic of all fried dough desserts. A very simple dough puffs up in the hot oil in a matter of minutes, and when drizzled with honey it’s pure nirvana.

I was recently asked by Heinz 57 Sauce and the folks at Good Bite what my favorite “flavor twist” was. They wanted to know what simple addition could be made to meals that would take them from simple to special. The answer was easy – Smoked Paprika.

Smoked Paprika, Pimenton de la Vera or Pimenton Ahumada comes from Eastern Spain. The red peppers are gently dried with smoke, usually from oak, before being processed into paprika. You can find it at fancy food markets, on-line and even in the spice rack at the supermarket. In fact, a McCormick rep told Bon Appetit Food Editor Sarah Tenaglia, that their jars of smoked paprika were one of their hottest sellers. So, I guess I’m not the only one who likes to add zip to dishes with Smoked Paprika.

The Spanish varieties, available in little tins, come in dulce – sweet or mild, and picante – hot. If you like things spicy, go for the picante, but a little cayenne pepper can be added to the dulce for the same effect. The tin pictured was a gift from my friend Pierre, who just returned from a trip to Spain.