Caribbean cuisine calls for fresh tropical ingredients, and there’s no better place to find them than at a West Indian marketplace. These colorful shopping venues, the inspiration to many an artist, are found throughout the region on the islands blessed with hills, mountains and rainfall. Larger islands have bigger markets, offering cooks a wider variety of vegetables, fruits, spices, herbs and surprises. Always surprises.

Market shopping is not related to fast food in any way, shape or form. It’s not the sort of place to pop into for a quick last-minute purchase. Finding, selecting, weighing, negotiating and paying for produce, all laced with polite conversation with the vendor, takes time. Lots of time. Some folks head in with ordered lists of recipe ingredients but leave with a collection of whatever is fresh today. When shopping island style, patience is a virtue; spontaneity is advantageous; flexibility is paramount.

There are also some important rules about market shopping in the islands … unwritten, of course … that you’d be wise to use and follow at all times. First of all, produce is sold “by de heap or de pung (pound),” apparently due to some mystical reason unknown to
me. The point is, always ask. A “heap” might be four mangoes, maybe five. Could be six. A pound is typically measured by a vintage counter-weight scale; the produce is set on a brass receptacle then counter-weighed with marked lead weights.

Sometimes different items are inseparably “married.” Don’t be surprised if the purveyor says, “Ya can’d buy jus de tommahtos,” and informs you the tommahtos must be bought with cucumbers, even if you don’t want the green things. I learned about this concept in Nevis, after going round and round with a lady. She was right, though. I couldn’t buy just the tomatoes.

You’ll be able to smell any market items on “special” – they’ll be in season, overly ripe and plentiful. What those items are, though, might not be as obvious. And that’s why the second rule of island market shopping is also, ask. After years of island shopping, I still encounter products I’ve never heard of. The most recent was a softball-sized fruit covered in a tough skin, similar in color to the outside of a kiwi. I asked the market lady what it was and she said, “It a mahmmy ahpel.”

“A mommy apple?,” I asked.

“No, a mahmmy ahpel.”

I moved on. “What do you do with it?”

“Ya peel it. Peel de skin wid a knife. Inside it sweet. It got a beeg peet, jus like de mongo.”

I bought one, brought it home, set it on the counter and poked it every day, trying to determine ripeness. When I finally cut into it, the flesh was rotten and I realized I should have asked, “When will it be ripe?”

Rule three is … you guessed it … ask again. Ask what it is, how to peel it, how to cut it, how to cook it. I’ve tried the self exploration method of preparing strange roots and ground provisions, all to the chagrin of my family. But by asking and listening carefully to the cooks in the market, I’ve turned the homeliest vegetables into downright tasty dishes.

Antigua’s capitol, St. John, has one of the
Eastern Caribbean’s best open air markets. The people who sell their goods there, mostly women, used to set up their wares on groundcloths shaded only by large umbrellas. A few years back the government built a huge two-story building that houses everyone and their precious commodities. The ground floor resembles an airplane hanger with high ceilings, huge doorways and a cement base. Shops on the second floor perch on balconies with a series of steps leading up and down to each.


Though there’s always room available inside, some prefer the old ways, setting up shop outside in the sun. Parked around the fenced square, farmers sell abundant quantities of tomatoes, peppers, sugarcane or whatever is falling from their trees or bursting from their gardens straight from their trucks.

On my visits to the market, experience has taught me to first scrutinize the place, looking for perfectly ripened specimens, a friendly face and an aura of cleanliness. After all, there are signs still posted that read, “NO SPITTING.” I figure they’re there for a reason.

Recently, I found several ladies who kindly mentored me, answering my many questions. Mrs. Douglas, whose market stall is painted hot
pink, explained that each vendor is allowed to paint his or her own space. Those loud colors, along with the colorful fruits and vegetables and the purveyors themselves, are just calling out to be captured on film. But photographers beware! Most West Indians do not appreciate uninvited cameras. Some believe it steals their soul, while others simply resent the rude intrusion.

Case-in-point: a friend of ours on a photo shoot at St. Vincent’s marketplace aimed his huge lens, ready to record the spectacular scene, when … WHAM! A stealth tohmmato bomb hit him in the side of the face, sending red fragments everywhere. After hours of cleaning it from every cranny of the camera, he vowed to remember the final rule … before taking photos, always ask! I, too, had to relearn that one this winter, when a fish butcher in St. Marten, sensing my camera 30 feet away, turned toward me and arced a cutlass-sized knife through the air, as if to cut me in half. I had neglected to ask. His “teaching” method was so riveting, though, I probably won’t ever make that mistake again!

On a recent trip to Antigua’s market, part of my mission was buying fresh everything, but I also wanted to take away some photos. After paying for my purchases with Mrs. Douglas, I said, “I have a favor to ask. I’m writing a story about the market. Would it be OK if I took some photos?’
“Ya, no problem. Dat ok.”

“Is it OK if I take your photo, or just the food?”

She blushed and gave the answer I expected, “Not me. Jus de tings.”

Not willing to give up easily, I tried one last tactic. “Your fruits and vegetables are pretty, but not as pretty as you.”

She laughed, but held her ground. Two other ladies acquiesced,
though, and in return I promised to send them copies of the photos.

That afternoon, I boarded the bus, my canvas bags heavy with passion fruit, plantain, bluggo, mangoes, nutmegs, scotch bonnet peppers and, of course, a few surprises. And that evening I did as the ladies told me. I “put it all to cook.”

Jan