Tweet
A young Trinidadian singer invites all and sundry to "come with me and enjoy meh callaloo."Â She entices, "When Sunday come, ah making callaloo, if meh husband not home then is all for you."
Simple as it may seem and sound, the siren's song and promise of a nutritious Sunday meal still poses problems and contextual complications for many West Indians. First of all, assuming one believes one knows what is meant by "callalloo'', how do you spell it? I remember the first time I was invited to something called "Cohobblopot" in Barbados. I reacted by stating my golden rule - I am not dining on, wining on, going to, doing with, drooling on or fooling with anything that I cannot pronounce. In the case of "callalloo'' it is a matter of spelling. I have seen many variations including "calalloo", "calaloo" and "callaloo" but however you cut it, the substance is the same.
Not true. Absolutely untrue. In Jamaica, what is called "callaloo" is a basic spinach sometimes steamed, sometimes fried and sometimes served with dumplings. What is important is that in Jamaica the callaloo generally comes with saltfish. In Trinidad the calaloo comes with crabs, something that the unwary connoisseur, regardless of how hard shelled, must be extremely wary of when sampling the product. In Trinidad, too, there are many varieties of crab, and while the one found in the callaloo is generally blue, most likely caused by depression from being caught in a stew, the one to worry about is a species known as "Jumbie" or "hairy" crabs. "Jumbie" is the Trinidadian word for "ghost" which in Jamaica is "duppy". Essentially, it might mean that once you have Trinidad callaloo you're hooked - you don't have a ghost of a chance of escaping.Â
According to the experts, The common hairy crab is, as its name suggests, usually quite plentiful. But it is rarely seen. Its body and limbs are covered with long, silky hairs. The "hairy" crab is deemed a treat everywhere that it is found. A writer who first experienced the pleasure in distant Singapore wrote, "The first step to eating a crab is visual, explained Chef Cheung. "Look at the crab," instructs the chef, as a beady-eyed creature looks at me, "it should be flat, and when you look at it, it should look back at you - you want an alert crab. First, take the cover off,'' he instructs, referring to the apron and top shell of the crab. This is where the roe is on female crabs, and hairy crab gourmands live and die for this. "It is truly an experience to be savoured,'' says one. Another writer advised, "Chopstick-poking and digging can push the meat out from the crab legs. Remember to have the crab legs first - just as a warm-up before having the most delicious part - and don't open the crab body until you finish all the legs to keep the crab meat warm inside.''
In Trinidad, and perhaps this adds to the pleasure, callaloo is a soup that gets you and the crabs into hot water. Jamaica is different. Callaloo is a semi-solid, squish-squash with the occasional stem but livened, transformed, elevated, enhanced, illuminated and emboldened by salted cod or what in Jamaican dialect is enchantingly referred to as "soul feesh". Â
It took the Mighty Sparrow to place saltfish in the appropriate cultural context. He sang, "Saltfish/ Nothing in the world sweeter than/ Saltfish./ English, colloquial, Bajans/ Saltfish.'' It's sweeter than meat/ When you want to eat/ All saltfish sweet.'' This is a genuine West Indian sentiment that emerged from the days of slavery and indentureship. It is a type of Caliban (not Cannibal - although some have been known) cuisine. Out here in the tempest, we devoured the scraps, whether food for thought or for survival, that the metropolitan magician threw at us. Like Sisyphus, who was condemned by the Greek Gods to roll a rock uphill and when it rolled to the bottom, roll it uphill again interminably and infinitely, we got to like it. This is why, many generations after, we eat our pig tail and salt beef, our saltfish and chicken backs. We have integrated them into our culture. What is also West Indian are the variations on the same theme, the differences in denoting almost identical phenomena. In the Caribbean callaloo, callaloo is not necessarily callaloo. It is a mix and a mixup.
In Trinidad, callaloo is a stew or soup that most times contains crab. It is generally served for lunch, dinner or a snack. In Jamaica it is a breakfast dish usually mixed with saltfish. However, the soup that Trinidadians call callaloo is referred to by Jamaicans as "pepperpot". The saltfish is replaced by pimento and scotch bonnet pepper. However, Guyanese are the pepperpot experts.Â
Their dish, which is a brownish stew and not the bilious green of the spinach-based callaloo, has as its basic ingredient a fermented cassava-based preservative called "cassareep" which was handed down by the native peoples. Guyanese can keep a stew going for years - something like the nursery rhyme, "Some like it hot, some like it cold, some like it in the pot, nine days old.'' When asked if he had ever sampled Guyanese pepperpot, one English actor said simply, "Yes. I married one."
The problem, of course, is that there are some people who transgress beyond the culinary context and attach other connotations to what are staples of Caribbean existence. Callaloo, saltfish, pepperpot and the poor hairy crabs are all used for salacious purposes. There are those who would like to clean up our language to ensure that these words do not carry double-meanings or sexual innuendos. However, the play on words, the transposition of meaning, is so much part of who we are that anyone trying to bowdlerise or clean up our language does not stand a duppy of a chance.
Source
Simple as it may seem and sound, the siren's song and promise of a nutritious Sunday meal still poses problems and contextual complications for many West Indians. First of all, assuming one believes one knows what is meant by "callalloo'', how do you spell it? I remember the first time I was invited to something called "Cohobblopot" in Barbados. I reacted by stating my golden rule - I am not dining on, wining on, going to, doing with, drooling on or fooling with anything that I cannot pronounce. In the case of "callalloo'' it is a matter of spelling. I have seen many variations including "calalloo", "calaloo" and "callaloo" but however you cut it, the substance is the same.
Not true. Absolutely untrue. In Jamaica, what is called "callaloo" is a basic spinach sometimes steamed, sometimes fried and sometimes served with dumplings. What is important is that in Jamaica the callaloo generally comes with saltfish. In Trinidad the calaloo comes with crabs, something that the unwary connoisseur, regardless of how hard shelled, must be extremely wary of when sampling the product. In Trinidad, too, there are many varieties of crab, and while the one found in the callaloo is generally blue, most likely caused by depression from being caught in a stew, the one to worry about is a species known as "Jumbie" or "hairy" crabs. "Jumbie" is the Trinidadian word for "ghost" which in Jamaica is "duppy". Essentially, it might mean that once you have Trinidad callaloo you're hooked - you don't have a ghost of a chance of escaping.Â
According to the experts, The common hairy crab is, as its name suggests, usually quite plentiful. But it is rarely seen. Its body and limbs are covered with long, silky hairs. The "hairy" crab is deemed a treat everywhere that it is found. A writer who first experienced the pleasure in distant Singapore wrote, "The first step to eating a crab is visual, explained Chef Cheung. "Look at the crab," instructs the chef, as a beady-eyed creature looks at me, "it should be flat, and when you look at it, it should look back at you - you want an alert crab. First, take the cover off,'' he instructs, referring to the apron and top shell of the crab. This is where the roe is on female crabs, and hairy crab gourmands live and die for this. "It is truly an experience to be savoured,'' says one. Another writer advised, "Chopstick-poking and digging can push the meat out from the crab legs. Remember to have the crab legs first - just as a warm-up before having the most delicious part - and don't open the crab body until you finish all the legs to keep the crab meat warm inside.''
In Trinidad, and perhaps this adds to the pleasure, callaloo is a soup that gets you and the crabs into hot water. Jamaica is different. Callaloo is a semi-solid, squish-squash with the occasional stem but livened, transformed, elevated, enhanced, illuminated and emboldened by salted cod or what in Jamaican dialect is enchantingly referred to as "soul feesh". Â
It took the Mighty Sparrow to place saltfish in the appropriate cultural context. He sang, "Saltfish/ Nothing in the world sweeter than/ Saltfish./ English, colloquial, Bajans/ Saltfish.'' It's sweeter than meat/ When you want to eat/ All saltfish sweet.'' This is a genuine West Indian sentiment that emerged from the days of slavery and indentureship. It is a type of Caliban (not Cannibal - although some have been known) cuisine. Out here in the tempest, we devoured the scraps, whether food for thought or for survival, that the metropolitan magician threw at us. Like Sisyphus, who was condemned by the Greek Gods to roll a rock uphill and when it rolled to the bottom, roll it uphill again interminably and infinitely, we got to like it. This is why, many generations after, we eat our pig tail and salt beef, our saltfish and chicken backs. We have integrated them into our culture. What is also West Indian are the variations on the same theme, the differences in denoting almost identical phenomena. In the Caribbean callaloo, callaloo is not necessarily callaloo. It is a mix and a mixup.
In Trinidad, callaloo is a stew or soup that most times contains crab. It is generally served for lunch, dinner or a snack. In Jamaica it is a breakfast dish usually mixed with saltfish. However, the soup that Trinidadians call callaloo is referred to by Jamaicans as "pepperpot". The saltfish is replaced by pimento and scotch bonnet pepper. However, Guyanese are the pepperpot experts.Â
Their dish, which is a brownish stew and not the bilious green of the spinach-based callaloo, has as its basic ingredient a fermented cassava-based preservative called "cassareep" which was handed down by the native peoples. Guyanese can keep a stew going for years - something like the nursery rhyme, "Some like it hot, some like it cold, some like it in the pot, nine days old.'' When asked if he had ever sampled Guyanese pepperpot, one English actor said simply, "Yes. I married one."
The problem, of course, is that there are some people who transgress beyond the culinary context and attach other connotations to what are staples of Caribbean existence. Callaloo, saltfish, pepperpot and the poor hairy crabs are all used for salacious purposes. There are those who would like to clean up our language to ensure that these words do not carry double-meanings or sexual innuendos. However, the play on words, the transposition of meaning, is so much part of who we are that anyone trying to bowdlerise or clean up our language does not stand a duppy of a chance.
Source