Coconut, every which way
We crack coconuts at dawn for rice, for milk, for the sweet titote crust at the bottom of the pot. It runs through almost everything we cook.
Coconut, fire and ripe market fruit, cooked the loud and joyful way of the Colombian Caribbean.
We cook the coast, and we cook it loud.
Celele is the food of the Colombian Caribbean, the food of market stalls and coal stoves and a radio that never stops. Coconut runs through almost everything. Fish comes straight off the boat. Fruit arrives by the crate and leaves as sorbet, sauce and juice.
Celele was born from long drives along the coast, from market stalls stacked with mango and corozo, from kitchens where the radio never stops. We cook the food of the Colombian Caribbean the way our grandmothers did, with coconut, fire, ripe fruit and a lot of noise. Every plate is a small party.
Three things we cannot cook without.
We crack coconuts at dawn for rice, for milk, for the sweet titote crust at the bottom of the pot. It runs through almost everything we cook.
Our snapper and mojarra arrive from local fishers most mornings. We grill them whole over coals until the skin crackles and the flesh stays sweet.
Corozo, nispero, lulo, mango and tamarind come in by the crate. We turn them into juices, ferments, sauces and the brightest desserts on the coast.
The plates people drive across town for.
A room painted every color we could find.
The happiest dinner I have eaten all year, and the coconut rice alone is worth the flight.
Come hungry, come early, bring everyone.