If it’s August, I know it’s time to make my annual trek from Martha’s Vineyard down to the Caribbean. Packing for any Caribbean trip takes a bit more time than usual because I must remember to include the gold jewelry and bring the eyelet slips along with the business-related notes and other impedimenta that are a part of my life. First there are meetings at Almond Resorts in Barbados, where I’ve consulted for more than a decade; then it’s off to Guadeloupe for the Fête des Cuisinières. As the only American member of the organization, I must be sure that I shine with my Guadeloupean sisters.
Guadeloupe’s annual feast of the women cooks is like nothing else in the region—a day-long celebration of the glories of French-style Creole food. The day begins with a high mass at the cathedral, with all of the members of the Association des Cuisinières and the Mutuel Cuistot: two organizations of cooks and food lovers who are guardians of Guadeloupe’s culinary heritage. The women are dressed in full Creole finery made from the fabric selected for the year. Bird of paradise–hued dresses top white eyelet slips starched to a fare-thee-well. It is de rigeur to wear copious amounts of gold and so vaults are opened and the assembly decks out in a Queen’s ransom of the classic forms—the chaine forçat or convict’s chain that the slave master gave his slave mistress, the golden balls that were worn when sumptuary laws forbade wearing real pearls, and the ropes of collier choux that once signaled the number of children that a nursemaid had raised. Hoop earrings and Madras head ties complete the festive outfits.
Following the mass, the crowd troops through the streets of Pointe à Pitre carrying a statue of St. Lawrence, who is their patron. The grill that is the symbol of his martyrdom—a fitting emblem for a culinary organization—is embroidered on the apron that is worn by all members of the two organizations. The parade ends at a schoolyard where the cooks, their guests, and those fortunate enough to have obtained tickets gather for a lunch that begins with ample rounds of the lime, rum, and sugar cocktail known as a ’ti punch. Preparing one can, at times, take on the intricacy of a Japanese tea ceremony. First there’s the sugar, just enough at the bottom of the glass; then a squeeze or two of lime so that the juice moistens the sugar. Muddle it well with your teaspoon, then add a full dose of rum. Too much and you’re marked as a drinker; too little and it’s limeade. Voila.
Soon, the political speeches are over and the rum has flowed and it’s off to the dance floor for an afternoon of dancing to the beguine that was at home in the French islands long before Cole Porter heard of it. As the day turns into early evening, the music segues into the drumming of Gros Ka and the more elderly of the ladies head off. Soon, the party is over and it’s time to head home to fix another ’ti punch and worry about where to go for dinner.