Calypso Caribbean Kitchen
7917 Roosevelt Way NE (Maple Leaf), 525-5118. Tues-Sun dinner only.
I spend a lot of time with Agent Piehole, since I live on the second floor and she’s up in #502. Most of our evenings are spent on the couch, yelling at the TV and/or eating mashed-potato casserole. When we do leave the building, you will most likely find us cruising the epic snack-food aisles at the Northgate Target.
We first spotted Calypso Caribbean Kitchen on the way back from one of our Target expeditions. It’s a small white clapboard building in among the row of modest homes along Roosevelt. There’s inviting soft yellow light spilling out of its windows, which are just high enough so that you cannot peek in at street level and see what people are eating. This, of course, only made the place more intriguing. It got so that every time we drove by, we’d whip our heads around to take another curious look.
On a cold, clear night last week, Agent Piehole and I finally made it to Calypso for dinner. We knew we were in good hands right away. It’s always a good sign when amazing, robust smells greet you as you first walk into a restaurant (in this case, good spicy smells I couldn’t quite name, but I knew things were being roasted, and cloves were somehow involved). Another encouraging sign is the committed lack of shtick: Despite Calypso’s Caribbean menu, there are no embarrassing island-theme decorations anywhere–no paper parrots or painted tropical fish, no steel-drum Club Med music (thank god) piped into the dining room–only everyday carpet and warm colors and basic glass tabletops, clean and simply set. A small window gives diners a limited view into the kitchen, and a low wine rack and mini-fridge are in plain sight. Specials are written on a dry-erase board (tonight: conch chowder, coconut Chilean sea bass, red snapper with tomatillo sauce); instead of over-the-top flora, entreés are garnished with plain slices of fresh pineapple.
Caribbean food, much like Moroccan food and other hybrid European-influenced cuisines, is a blend of wide-ranging ingredients and cultural sensibilities (Portuguese, Dutch, British, French, Spanish, along with favorites lifted from Cuban and Puerto Rican menus)–thanks to colonialism, early explorers’ commerce routes, and the African slave trade. (Why does such shameful history result in such good eatin’?) A quick look at Calypso’s menu confirms these intricate cultural layers: fried plantains ($8.50) and Cuban black bean soup ($3.50/$7) are offered alongside Jamaican jerk meats, West Indies beef tenderloin (marinated in pineapple juice, molasses, and white vinegar, $23), curried prawns ($16.50), or “Island-style” fish ‘n’ chips–beer-battered red snapper with plantain chips and mango salsa ($12.50).
Brown sugar, rum, limejuice, and coconut milk are used liberally, which accounts for the wonderful smells from the kitchen. Dutch Edam cheese–satisfyingly salty and gooey and everything I want in a melted cheese–shows up several times, such as in the keshy yena ($9), a traditional baked cheese appetizer stuffed with herbs, raisins, olives, and bay shrimp (available without shrimp). The delicious grilled jerk chicken salad ($10.50) with mild blue cheese dressing is a more aggressive starter; the slow, bright heat of the jerk paste lingers nicely, without too much fire.
Entrées are served with ample sides of vegetables and rice and beans, and portions are huge. This is a good thing if you decide to go with roast pork Calypso ($17.50)–two bone-in pork chops (juicy and tender, appropriately pale pink in the center) rubbed with ginger, garlic, brown sugar, cloves, and bay leaves, then finished with a rich rum, brown sugar, and lime demi-glace that surprisingly didn’t overpower my meat and accompanying crisp chayote squash. Agent Piehole’s sublime red snapper special ($16.50)–fresh and flavorful, with a chunky, aromatic sauce protecting lovely firm white flesh–is exactly why I love Caribbean cooking so much: All the familiar Latin components are there (cilantro, lime, onions, tomatillos), and yet the dish curiously doesn’t taste at all like Latin food. Maybe the proportions are different, or maybe there’s something else going on with the recipe’s alchemy. Whatever the reason, it beautifully proves that borrowed ideas can become sources of inspiration themselves.
Piehole and I should definitely get out more often.