Chefs of the Caribbean

I hate the beach. That may seem hyperbolic, but I have avoided it my entire life. Nevertheless, if there is good company, good food and the promise of an unforgettable experience, I can be coerced. This is how I ended up on my first beach holiday in October 2014, to the Caribbean.

Landing in St Lucia, myself and seven friends had a two hour drive to where our boat was moored. The drive took us through banana plantations, past innumerable avocado, coconut and mango trees and even included a stop at a roadside bakery, frequented by locals, which provided us with fresh baguettes straight from the makeshift oven. I was (figuratively) in a tropical food heaven.

On day three, after a very spirited day of sailing, we moored in paradise. You know those photos people have on their screensaver of a tropical island, so perfect you suspect it’s not real? That’s where I was. We had landed in a place I was certain did not exist - Salt Whistle Bay in the Grenadines. The bay was a horseshoe, lined with palm trees and surrounded by shallow, turquoise waters. On the end of the beach was a shack where you could enjoy seafood brought straight from the water to your plate. Every local we met echoed my sentiment, “welcome to paradise”.

The owner of the shack was the local celebrity chef, Black Boy. When we arrived in the bay, he had leapt into his partially inflated dinghy to come out and greet us and show us where to moor. He promised us the best seafood of our lives if we would join him at his beach shack for dinner - this is where I must insist, do not say no to this offer. After many hours of relaxation, we went over to Black Boy’s shack for a spread that would rival Peter Pan’s feast in Hook (you know the one).

Black Boy outdid the finest seafood restaurants in the world and every time we asked for more food (like extra garlic potatoes) we were greeted with, “no problem my boy”. Here we were, sitting in paradise; eating lobster drenched in butter and garlic, and conk that tasted of the ocean, with the sand beneath our toes, plastic gingham table cloth and a local man dressed in a frilly yellow apron.

I have now learned to not be so quick to say no to the beach and am counting down the days to my next sun holiday. The Caribbean exceeded my expectations but it was my experience at Salt Whistle Bay that was the pinnacle of those two weeks in sun-land. Because in paradise, even if you once didn’t like the beach, “no problem my boy”.