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An Embarrassment of Mangoes: A Caribbean Interlude

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Overview

Under the Tuscan Sun meets the wide-open sea . . . An Embarrassment of Mangoes is a delicious chronicle of leaving the type-A lifestyle behind -- and discovering the seductive secrets of life in the Caribbean.Who hasn't fantasized about chucking the job, saying goodbye to the rat race, and escaping to some exotic destination in search of sun, sand, and a different way of life Canadians Ann Vanderhoof and her husband, Steve did just that.In the mid 1990s, they were driven, forty-something professionals who were desperate for a break from their deadline-dominated, career-defined lives. So they quit their jobs, rented out their house, moved onto a 42-foot sailboat called Receta ("recipe," in Spanish), and set sail for the Caribbean on a two-year voyage of culinary and cultural discovery.

Editorial Reviews

With wit and candor, Vanderhoof, who's worked as a magazine and book editor, recounts her sometimes complicated but always enlightening two-year voyage from Toronto to the West Indies and beyond with her husband in their 42-foot sailboat, Receta. As they escape the restraints that have bound them to their desks for years, the pair undergo not just a change in physical appearance (the noticeable weight loss is an unexpected bonus) but also a change in attitude. And although their trip may sound terrific, it's no three-hour tour. Along with sunset cruises and afternoons spent on untouched beaches (where "you can sit and stare at the ocean for hours scarcely seeing another soul"), they encounter "blinding forks of lightning" during a big squall, hailstones during an unpredicted hurricane and other tumultuous events. The book's strength undoubtedly lies in the way local cuisine and agriculture seep into Vanderhoof's tiny galley. While island hopping, she hunts for the freshest mangoes, conch and papayas even if it involves trekking miles through uncharted territory. These long trips are always worth it, as the author befriends Grenadian and Bequian natives, learning how to reproduce scrumptious local fare. Vanderhoof excels in painting a perfect picture of every island as well as filling in the gaps with historic explanations and authentic recipes, saving the book from becoming merely a flashback and steering it in the direction of a potential reference for those wishing to exchange their Bud Lights for a case of Presidentes. Map not seen by PW. (On sale Jan. 13) Forecast: This lighthearted memoir straddles two lucrative markets-travel and cooking-and with its splashy jacket, a national print-ad campaign and promotional recipe postcards could lure in readers seeking a winter escape. Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information. -- PUBLISHERS WEEKLY.

Author Information

Bio of Ann Vanderhoof

Ann Vanderhoof is an award-winning writer and magazine and book editor whose work has appeared in publications in the U.S. and Canada. She lives with her husband, Steve Manley, in Toronto, with their sailboat Receta currently berthed nearby on Lake Ontario.

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Additional Info

Imprint

Broadway

Filesize

1.20 MB

Number of Pages

320

eBook ISBN

9780767918046

Excerpt from: An Embarrassment of Mangoes by Ann Vanderhoof

Island Time

The market ladies sell spice necklaces -- garlands of cloves, cinnamon bark, bay leaves, cocoa beans, mace, and nutmeg -- that are irresistible. I now have them hanging all around the boat, making it smell spicy and delicious. Mangoes are in season, and literally falling off the trees -- an embarrassment of mangoes, to someone from the north. We feel duty bound to try as many varieties as we can.

JOURNAL ENTRY, JULY 1998

In the distance, the hills on Hog Island are soft black silhouettes against a paler starlit sky the color of shark's skin. Fish skip across the ocean surface in front of our small inflatable dinghy, each one a quick metallic sparkle in the beam of my flashlight. The air is heavy, warm, scented -- partly a salty sea smell, from the shiny-wet rock wall close to us on one side, which has just been uncovered by the falling tide; but partly, too, the smell of lush land floating out from the dark hillsides, the fragrance of white frangipani and blooming spice trees.

Steve points our dinghy at the taller of the island's rounded hills, and from my perch in the bow, I begin a slow, measured count, just loud enough for him to hear over the burble of the outboard: "Onnnnne Mississippi . . . twooooo Mississippi . . . threeeee Mississippi . . ." When I reach "tennnnnnn Mississippi," Steve pulls the tiller to turn us toward the second, smaller hill, farther to the north. Within seconds now, if I've counted at the correct speed, my flashlight should pick up a pair of cantaloupe-sized white floats bobbing on the ocean ahead of us. About 20 feet apart, they mark a deep-water route that threads between patches of coral reef lying just below the surface. We had timed the turn during daylight, when the sea was serene and the sun high overhead, when we could clearly see the sapphire ribbon of safe water between the dappled yellow-green reefs.