I hate souse. I really don’t know how people enjoy that stuff. Before you start in on me, be assured that this is not a hasty conclusion. Going back to the early 1970s when I started touring with Tradewinds, I have tried souse all over the Caribbean (even in Bequia, for heaven’s sake) and in the homes of Caribbean migrants to North America. I have tried it in elaborate dwellings and modest backyards; I have tried souse in a troolie hut on the Essequibo and in a cabin cruiser in that area the Trinidadians call “down the islands.” I have tried it at weddings, and in one-on-one situations. Every time, no go.
Several times I’ve been told, “You don’t like souse? That’s because you’re not eating the right souse. You will like my souse.” Chester Hinckson in St. Lucia told me that. He was wrong. One sip of Chester’s version turned out like all the others; I hate souse.
I mention souse because, if you listen to its aficionados, there is something unique about it (that’s Chester’s boast) and Caribbean cuisine in fact is full of examples of dishes that have become specialties of one country, or location, and nowhere else. Cynthia Nelson, in her marvellous cookbook, Tastes Like Home, can’t go out on a limb naming these
