By Johnny Coomansingh
John Keats was probably referring to me when he wrote the poem: ‘There was a naughty boy. Although I tried to consume everything my mother prepared for me to eat, there were times I did not want, or even attempt to partake of, some of the victuals. Was that naughty? She would not be too concerned with my feelings or the hesitance of my siblings about the food she provided. Quite firmly, my mom would just state: “If you don’t want it, sit dong by it.” It was that simple.
My feelings did not matter. I did not understand her penury. We were fatherless, and there were nine mouths to feed. I am of the view that my mother was one of the greatest of economists. She found ways to stretch a dollar to create meals for us. In this article, I will try to make a valiant effort to convey some of what my mother concocted for us to eat.
As we all know, saltfish (salted cod), became an indispensable food item for Caribbean people. It is recorded in historical texts that saltfish became a staple in the Caribbean primarily because it was a cheap, preserved protein source for enslaved people during the colonial era. Saltfish remained the most affordable food option after emancipation. Salted cod is about 62.8 grams of protein per 100 grams. During my childhood, most of the saltfish we ate in Trinidad came from Canada. Almost all anglophone and francophone countries of the Caribbean, in one way or the other, consume saltfish. In Puerto Rico it is known as bacalao; and we all know that ‘Saltfish and Ackee’ is Jamaica’s national dish.
As a ‘naughty boi,’ I did not really like saltfish. The food I did not relish was a mix-up of yellow split peas, saltfish and rice, simmered down with coconut milk. Although the meal was nutritious, I would just sit next to the steaming plate of food. Eventually, I would become hungry enough. Then, by the spoonful, the ‘bite and swallow’ activity followed. I heard that in South Asian circles, this meal is called khichri. I still do not appreciate khichri.
The legacy of saltfish in our house must go down in history, for what else was so easy and cheap to obtain? It is what some people referred to as ‘poor people food,’ however, for us, saltfish was food and food was saltfish.
Dr Francisco Slinger (The Mighty Sparrow) twisted it a bit in his calypso with a tinge of sexual innuendo that “… all saltfish sweet.” I wouldn’t have to go into the details about what Sparrow meant. We are big people, and I presume that we could figure out such overtures. Nonetheless, my mother was tireless in creating two tasty dishes, saltfish buljol and saltfish accra. Saltfish for the buljol was always roasted. Because of these preparations, I came to love saltfish. Allan Pantin’s post on Facebook in Angelo Bissessarsingh’s Virtual Museum of Trinidad and Tobago presented Tahir Mohammed’s comments:
“Mixing saltfish with onions, tomatoes, hot peppers, and a small amount of olive oil (more correctly ‘sweet oil’ as Plagnoil in the fancy bottle was the preferred variety) became a favourite breakfast fare, especially when consumed with coconut bake or fry bake. Smoked herring was better utilised as a chokha, although it could make an equally flavorful buljoule. The term buljoule had a French Creole origin as the hot peppers burnt their mouths. Whatever is the real origin, it is an undisputable favourite when combined with a piece of zaboca (from the French “des avocat”), boiled free-range eggs and cocoa tea.”
Regarding the saltfish accra, it is thought that West Africa is responsible for introducing this favourite fritter. Renee Robley, in ‘Trinidad Saltfish Accra’ posted in This Bago Girl—Caribbean Culture Through Food and Recipes, explained what is saltfish accra. She also provided a recipe on her website: https://thisbagogirl.com/trinidad-saltfish-accra/ for making the fare, quite similar to my mother’s.
In my book ‘Seven Years on Adventist Street’, I mentioned that there was none to compete with my mom when it came to making a Sancoche. Sancoche could have come from the Spanish verb ‘sanchochar’ to parboil or it could have been known as ‘sanchoco’ from the Canary Islands, I had no idea where my mother learnt to boil together salted meat such as pigtails, salted beef or hambone, pigeon peas or split peas, ground provisions (dasheen, eddoes, yam), green bananas and corn flour dumplings to come up with a soup. Of course, it was flavoured with enough seasonings and a green hot Scotch Bonnet pepper just floating on top. For this kind of deliciousness, I was utterly grateful.
The large bamboo structure or marchand (trellis) in the backyard supported the growth of seim (Dolichos lablab), a type of vining bean. At intervals, the seim was picked and curried with salted beef and coconut milk. This entrée was eaten with white rice. It was good food and I ate it. Along with the seim, we grew pigeon peas, cassava, okra, dasheen, bodi, and sorrel. A few common fowls clucked around in the yard. The chickens provided much-needed eggs.
A few days ago, my little sister and I were reminiscing about what we got for lunch when we came home from Northeastern College, our high school. Sometimes my mom had nothing more than a few meagre-looking cassava roots, boiled eggs, and boiled okra. Concerning the cassava roots, the selection below from my upcoming book: Fifty Years After—Encounters, Experiences and Realities will give definition about our dire situation:
“Despite our efforts to plant a kitchen garden, which we hoped would have supplemented part of our diet. Sad to say, the garden was fraught with failures. Nature wasn’t so kind to us that year. The few roots of cassava became infested with a worm that destroyed the apical buds of the plants causing the yields to be quite small. The bodi (asparagus or snake bean) did nor bear as expected, but we had okra in abundance. Stretching from the road to the end of the allotment, the line of okra trees went crazy with their production!
During this time of food scarcity, we ate whatever cassava roots we could harvest. Almost all of the roots were small, lean, and tiny, but we managed. Complementing the cassava, almost every day, we had boiled common fowl (yard fowl) eggs, a few bodi beans, and boiled okra seasoned with salt, black pepper, and cooking oil. We followed my mother’s mantra, “Eat little and live long.” She also said to us: “If you don’t want it. Sit dong by it.” We had to make do with what we had.”
We could laugh now, but there were many a time that we ate the famous sandwich we labelled ‘bread and mucor.’ There were so many times when the few hops in the bread bag became a little mouldy (bread mould or mucor). What did my mother do? She trimmed off the mould and toasted them in an iron pot, and gave the bread to us with Blue Band margarine.
On my journey home from primary school, I had the task of finding a dry (ripe) coconut. A coconut was extremely necessary to make a couple coconut bakes for dinner. I would visit the few coconut trees that grew on the northern bank of the Guaico River from Roopsingh Street to Ramdass Street. Sometimes I would be lucky to get two nuts, sometimes none. Although coconuts were cheap enough, we sometimes did not have the money to buy.
After grating the coconut, flour, baking powder, shortening (Cookeen), salt, and sugar would be mixed together. My mother would knead the dough and form two or three round balls. These were allowed to rest a little. A large iron pot would be on the stove, heating up for the bake. This type of flat bread is called ‘pot bake.’ Without a rolling pin, my mom would fashion the dough with her hands as though forming a thick-crust pizza. When the pot is just right, the flattened dough would be placed and allowed to cook to perfection. I don’t think that anyone could make a pot bake as good as my mother. The coconut bake would be consumed with Fern Leaf butter and, on some occasions, New Zealand cheddar.
Last but not least, I must explain a little about the ‘Blue Food’ we ate so often with saltfish cooked up with tomato or stewed chicken or beef. Taken from my book, Seven Years on Adventist Street, the text below gives some clarity:
“Especially important was the root crop known as dasheen. In some countries, it is known as malanga. The swollen starchy tuber (corm) is the main part of the plant that is used for food. Shaped like the ears of an elephant, young dasheen leaves are also edible and can be used in the making of green rice or emerald rice, bhagi (dasheen leaves cooked with oil, onions, garlic, Scotch Bonnet hot pepper, and salt), and callaloo. Callaloo is a very special dish in Trinidad and Tobago; a boil-up of dasheen leaves, okra, coconut milk, chives, thyme, salt, black pepper, and a young green Scotch Bonnet hot pepper. Some people will at times add blue crab and/or salted meat to the pot. ‘Crab and Callaloo’ is the national dish of Trinidad and Tobago. The poem below illustrates the value I placed on the life-saving dasheen—what we call blue food.”
Blue Food—the Dasheen
Behind the house in the stinking mud
Elephant’s ears dare to bud,
Slender stems almost brown
Interlock around the corm.
Tentacled roots reach to feed
In that putrid mud with utter greed,
Swelling the starchy tuber
Food stored to satisfy a midday hunger.
As the rains fail and drizzle away
The sun for another season comes to stay,
To scorch the land;
Large bulbs appear, time for a reaping hand.
And the tuber so dear,
Pulled to feed those with a hungry stare,
In the pot, white turns another hue
Hot sticky dasheen so very blue.
It would be remiss of me to forget the fritter we called Bup and the biscuit we knew as Sprats. Indeed, these were originals from Ma. My mom made Bup from crushed ripened moko, flour, sugar, salt, baking powder and eggs. Dolops of the thick batter would be deep-fried until golden brown. In removing the fritters from the pot, one of them fell ‘bup’ on the ground, and so it got its name. Sprats were another of her creations. I can’t remember all the ingredients for making this wonderful coconut biscuit, but the taste of these crunchies was heavenly. My mother invented food.
In retrospect, I survived. Nevertheless, I continue to wonder, like the ‘naughty boi,’ how I made it to this point in my life; how I emerged stronger and more determined to succeed. Despite our dire circumstances, my mother never left us hungry. At one time, we thought of the saltfish as ‘poor food.’ Today, that same Canadian saltfish is now USD 10 per pound. The struggles were real. Life was hard economically, but the ‘Invisible Hand’ was always present to guard, direct and provide. The food I ate was the best from a mother who loved us unconditionally.
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