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Tday in St. Barths
For those newbys who are headed to St. Barths for their first Thanksgiving trip, here is a six year old trip report from Travel & Leisure that may be an indication on what awaits.
From November, 1997
Giving Thanks in St. Bart's
Slip on a swimsuit and pass the turkey. Michael Gross indulges in a Thanksgiving on St. Bart's
By Michael Gross
Barbara says as she rises at 7 a.m. I pull a pillow over my head, but the scent of jasmine whispers me awake. It is Thanksgiving morning on St. Bart's. The holiday has always been my favorite, mostly for culinary reasons. After my family dispersed from New York to three corners of the country, my wife and I began celebrating with friends. Last year, though, that didn't work out: two weeks before the big day, we had no plans. "Join us," my friend Gerry joked one night as we bemoaned our soon-to-be feastless state. "We have reservations at Maya's for a full turkey dinner." I've long loved the St. Bart's restaurant run by Maya Gurley, a chef from Guadeloupe, and her husband, Randy, who grew up in Newport and Nantucket and knows a thing or two about tradition. When Maya went north two decades ago to meet Randy's parents, she found she loved Thanksgiving, and brought back recipes. But could I face a Thanksgiving without leftovers? No way, I thought. Then I considered . . . how good it would be to replace them with grilled langoustes, leisurely swims, and hikes across rocky landscapes. So instead of making turkey, we made reservations.
ONCE, ST. BART'S WAS SOMETHING OF A SECRET. An eight-mile-square windswept island with a craggy coastline rising to a mountainous interior, it was inhabited by Carib Indians when Columbus sailed by in 1493 and named it for his brother Bartholomeo. About 150 years later, the first Frenchmen arrived. Tourists began to take notice after the end of World War II, once adventurer R
For those newbys who are headed to St. Barths for their first Thanksgiving trip, here is a six year old trip report from Travel & Leisure that may be an indication on what awaits.
From November, 1997
Giving Thanks in St. Bart's
Slip on a swimsuit and pass the turkey. Michael Gross indulges in a Thanksgiving on St. Bart's
By Michael Gross
Barbara says as she rises at 7 a.m. I pull a pillow over my head, but the scent of jasmine whispers me awake. It is Thanksgiving morning on St. Bart's. The holiday has always been my favorite, mostly for culinary reasons. After my family dispersed from New York to three corners of the country, my wife and I began celebrating with friends. Last year, though, that didn't work out: two weeks before the big day, we had no plans. "Join us," my friend Gerry joked one night as we bemoaned our soon-to-be feastless state. "We have reservations at Maya's for a full turkey dinner." I've long loved the St. Bart's restaurant run by Maya Gurley, a chef from Guadeloupe, and her husband, Randy, who grew up in Newport and Nantucket and knows a thing or two about tradition. When Maya went north two decades ago to meet Randy's parents, she found she loved Thanksgiving, and brought back recipes. But could I face a Thanksgiving without leftovers? No way, I thought. Then I considered . . . how good it would be to replace them with grilled langoustes, leisurely swims, and hikes across rocky landscapes. So instead of making turkey, we made reservations.
ONCE, ST. BART'S WAS SOMETHING OF A SECRET. An eight-mile-square windswept island with a craggy coastline rising to a mountainous interior, it was inhabited by Carib Indians when Columbus sailed by in 1493 and named it for his brother Bartholomeo. About 150 years later, the first Frenchmen arrived. Tourists began to take notice after the end of World War II, once adventurer R