When these first European settlers arrived in the Seychelles in the 18th Century, they found an uninhabited string of islands blessed with rich abundance. The waters were rich in fish and the year-round climate – Seychelles lies beyond the Indian Ocean cyclone zone – was conducive to the establishment of small plantations where, until slavery was abolished in 1835, enslaved Africans often did most of the work growing food. The location, too, combined deep-ocean isolation with a safe harbour for passing ships that carried with them spices and culinary influences from Europe, Africa, India and China. In this complicated confluence of factors was born Seychelles' unique tradition of Creole cooking (the word ‘Creole’ is the adjective locals use to describe the people, language and cuisine of Seychelles).
When I arrived in Seychelles in January, I expected a sampling of Creole dishes to be a major highlight of my visit. I imagined myself dining beneath coconut palms, looking out upon a turquoise sea as I tried the traditional flavours for which Seychelles is famous. I dreamed of fragrant spices – some known to me, others more unusual – wafting on ocean breezes. And I was very excited.
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It turned that it wasn't that simple. Yes, almost every local with whom I spoke wanted to talk about the wonders of their national cuisine. And yes, they told a story of dishes filled with spices, flavours and natural ingredients. But almost in the same breath they apologised for how difficult it would be for me to try these dishes. It was, they said, a familiar story of globalisation, of how a younger generation of Seychellois were far more interested in fast food – pizza, hamburgers and the like – than local foods. Many restaurants were, they assured me, moving away from traditional dishes and towards catering to this new generation's appetite for everything new and foreign.
Hoping they were wrong, worried that they may be right, I set out to try and unearth what remained of Seychelle's culinary tradition. To do so, I called on three masters of Seychelles' culinary life. With me at upmarket restaurant L’Escale, overlooking the marina at Eden Island close to the capital Victoria, were Rose-Marie Emont and her Belgian-born husband Philos, who together opened one of the first restaurants in Seychelles – Chez Philos – back in 1981. Now retired, Philos is widely considered a pioneer of modern Seychellois cooking. Another of Seychelles' premier chefs and culinary identities, Christelle Verheyden, joined us as well. Between them they brought to the table nearly a century of local and international experience.
At first, they confirmed what I'd been told: "We're losing a lot," said Rose-Marie. "And we're losing it fast."