About 60 years ago on Little Corn Island, a tiny dot in the Caribbean Sea, 70 miles off the coast of Nicaragua, a cook named Maritza was born to a Colombian mother and Cuban father. She goes by “Bongui,” her last name, though the gringos call her “Granny,” thanks to a sign on a table set up in her front veranda: Granny’s Creole Cooking School. Her house is flanked by mango and coconut trees, several carefully placed hammocks and benches, and a fire pit out back under a tamarind tree.
“Granny gwan make ya know fa cook island-style,” she announced at our matriculation as we sipped tamarind-ade on her veranda.
