About Me

The first time I tried to cook, I was 18 growing up in Sweden. I was never in the kitchen as a kid with my mother or any other relatives like the famous chefs of today. On the contrary, I was more or less told to stay away, since my family had a very strict, stubborn and unimaginative help in the kitchen. She boiled the cod until it fell apart in the pot and the macaroni she served could easily rival the stuff in the school dining room.

So the first time I tried, I was trying to impress a boyfriend. And boy, did I fail. I succeeded in opening a can of hash, put it in a frying pan and burned it to a black crisp. It took a little time to get over that failure.

The second time I tried it was again to impress a boyfriend during a semester abroad at Boston University. Two years had gone by and I was getting a little bolder. I bought a chicken and figured it couldn’t be that difficult to roast a chicken. And with that I was going to cook spaghetti. I should have stayed with the spaghetti. That was more or less edible, even if it tended to be more gluey than al dente.

Then I went out and bought a cookbook.

Since then I have bought many, many cookbooks. I learned the basics from classic tomes that show you how to make white sauce and how to butcher a lamb, and I went from there to more specialized versions with glossy pictures and impossible ingredients.

When I got married, my husband insisted on making the dinners. I was very grateful, but sometimes thought I should at least help him. It turned into a sort of friendly competition. He would cook me one of his recipes from a cookbook his mother gave him when he went to college where all the meals were accompanied by coffee. He would measure carefully and follow the steps one by one. If he missed a step, he would be upset and start all over with new ingredients.

I, on the other hand, would very rarely follow a recipe and if I missed something, I would substitute. So I gradually took over the kitchen with my two young boys. Today, Curtis still is the salad dressing champion, but I do the rest.

When we moved to Cat Island, 16 years ago, I knew we had found our paradise. But even paradise has its glitches. For a foodie like me, the lack of fresh veggies and meat, the scarcity of fish and the really bad assortment of wines was a bit of a challenge. I had to learn to cook in a whole new way. How to make an interesting salad out of carrots and iceberg lettuce, for example. Not so easy.

Over the years, we have learned what to import and how to freeze everything and the importance of an extra freezer. But cooking on Cat Island is still a challenge. Not only for me, but also for the local Bahamians of the island. With the limited supplies, the dinner menus on this island – and most of the other Bahamian Family Islands – is very much the same. It is chicken (deep fried or baked) fish (deep fried or baked) or pork chop (deep fried or baked) served together with rice and peas, macaroni and cheese, potatoes salad and coleslaw. All at the same time! Yes, Bahamians have a problem with obesity.

If any of my ideas can make a dent in the traditional way the cooks of Cat Island think and serve dinner, I think it would be a step in the right direction. I might not be able to convert anybody, but I can inspire at least some of them. If you are reading my blog from afar, perhaps you will visit my cat island kitchen. I would enjoy cooking for you!