Bahamian Grouper: The Ultimate Fish Boil Hangover Cure

Everything tilts one way, then the other. I set a foot down, my toes gripping the solid surface in an effort to maintain my equilibrium. As I open my eyes, I’m forced to slam them shut again immediately as a wave of nausea washes over me. Closed eyes don’t feel much better, so I crack open one eyelid, letting a blur of light and color seep through without allowing myself to actually look at anything.

Listening appears to be easier than seeing, so I allow the sounds of my surroundings to slowly seep in: the cries of distant gulls, the languid, muffled notes of calypso playing from a nearby radio. I hear a piteous moan and realize with a start that it has escaped from my own lips instead of from somewhere nearby.

“What am I doing here?” I groan, the act of speaking (if the raspy sigh that carried that sentence out of my face could really be called speaking) nearly doing me in.

I finally gather the nerve to fully open my eyes and keep them open, rewarding me with another wave of nausea and the view of an unfamiliar ceiling.

The room slowly coalesces into the apartment I rented for the weekend, revealing a path of destruction from discarded clothing, half-eaten takeout, and knocked-over furniture that I left scattered across the room upon arriving the night before. I groan again and painfully pry myself out of bed, propelling myself toward the bathroom and praying that I make it in time.

I eventually make my way into the kitchen, my hands working on nothing but muscle memory as I fumble with the coffee maker, endeavoring to make some sense out of the world.

Hazy visions from the day before—the successful fishing trip, the lengthy celebration thereafter—flit across my memory in painful waves.

“I think I may have drunk too much...” I mutter to myself, in the understatement of the century. I don’t get hungover too often, but when I do, it packs a wallop.

The first sip of coffee works to organize my thoughts into a semblance of cohesion. I realize I have two options available to me:

1. Crawl back to bed and nibble on the pizza crusts that have been sitting out all night.

2. Do as the Bahamians do and nip this hangover in the bud.

Finding myself back in bed with a box of pizza crusts on my lap, I feel as if I’m drowning in humidity and battling nausea once more.

Fine. The second option, then.

Shambling back into the kitchen, I begin preparations for making a dish that is described as the heart of Bahamian cuisine and a failsafe hangover cure: boiled fish.

First, I take out a few Bahamian grouper fillets that were caught the day before. Nassau grouper is the traditional fish to use in a boil, though any grouper, snapper, or mahi-mahi will suffice in a pinch. Many seaside shacks serve pieces of bone-in fish along with the head in their versions, but chunks of boneless fillet work just as well, which is fortunate since that’s all I have available.

Cutting up fish first thing in the morning doesn’t rank high on my list of fun things to do while hungover, but I’m hoping that the bitterness of this medicine will make the cure-all so much sweeter. I toss the fish with salt and lime juice, watching the surface turn opaque as the acid does its work.

As the grouper marinates, I slice some bacon into slivers and get it sizzling in the bottom of a pot. The smell of cured porky goodness permeates the air, blessedly covering the smell of fish and stale pizza.

Traditionally, salt pork, a close cousin of bacon, was used in this dish. Sailors introduced salt pork to the region because they relied on its long-lasting properties to feed them during long voyages. Salt pork must be soaked before use and still packs a punch of saltiness even after soaking, so bacon, with its gentle smokiness and light salt, works quite well as a replacement.

Watching the bacon slowly render its fat as I sip my coffee, I’m tempted to resort to my typical home remedy for hangovers: a generous plate of bacon, eggs, toast, and hashbrowns doused in hot sauce.

“No,” I say, inexplicably arguing with myself aloud (just how many brain cells did I annihilate last night anyway?), “The Boil. It’s all about the Boil.”

I start chopping up the rest of the ingredients, so I can’t change my mind.

Once the bacon looks crispy, I add aromatics to the pot. I go with some onion, celery, garlic, fresh thyme, cloves, allspice, bay leaves, and the sliced Scotch bonnet peppers that have left my fingertips feeling uncomfortably...burny.

Though many of these aromatics trace their origins to British and American culinary traditions, the allspice berries and Scotch bonnets are a distinctly Caribbean addition, as they were already being cultivated in the region before the first sails were ever spotted. These native fruits of the land were utilized by both the original Lucayan inhabitants and enslaved peoples, as well as those formally enslaved, in their cooking.

Poaching fish with citrus, specifically lemon, and thyme is a historical British technique. This makes sense, considering that the Bahamas was under British rule for centuries, allowing ample time for the respective cuisines to meld and influence each other.

Boiling submerged seafood with spices, chilies, and potatoes came from the Southern states, where seafood boils remain popular today. During the Revolutionary War, many Southerners loyal to the British crown fled to British territories in the Caribbean, bringing along their food and cooking techniques. Even garlic likely made its way over at this time, first introduced by the French and Acadians in Louisiana.

It seems that, like many places on Earth, the Bahamas shares numerous similarities with a boiled fish soup, as it consists of disparate elements that somehow come together to create something wonderfully unique and inspiring. Snapping out of my reverie, I add a good number of peeled potatoes to the pot, knowing that they’ll help soak up whatever’s left lingering in my stomach from the night before. Covering everything with water, I let the pot simmer until the potatoes become fork-tender, the healing vapors wreathing my face as I lean over the pot, welcoming the steam bath despite the heat.

With my stomach quickly shifting from queasy to hungry as the aromatics spread their redolence around the kitchen, I hasten to finish off the dish. In goes the marinated fish and its limey juices, a handful of chopped parsley and a generous knob of butter, which should add some creamy richness to an otherwise light broth.

I continue simmering until the fish is just cooked through, then I pour a few big ladlefuls into a bowl and scatter a small fistful of sliced Scotch bonnets on top to kick it up another notch. I, like the Bahamians, apparently know that a decent blast of capsaicin will help burn away any lingering demons from the night before.

It stands to reason that this spicy dish is treasured as a natural hangover cure and is well known for soothing and rejuvenating your body after it has been abused by labor or drinking. That’s probably why it is so often eaten for breakfast, which is nearly abhorrent for Americans. Fish soup for breakfast?!

I blow on the spoon and take my first sip of the slightly cloudy broth, admiring the bejeweled, chili-flecked surface of the soup as the restorative tonic makes its way down into my grasping stomach. Ethereal yet filling, refreshing yet fiery, straightforward yet elegant, this soup is a lesson in contradictions. It still needs something, though.

Warming up some Johnny Cakes slathered in butter to accompany the soup, I open the fridge to pinpoint the muted siren call I keep noticing, just on the edge of hearing. A crisp Caribbean lager beams happily at me from the middle shelf, subtly leaning toward me as if to say, “Flick that angel off your shoulder, buddy. You know what’s going to happen here.”

I grab the bottle, pop it open, and set it down beside my soup and Johnny Cakes, muttering something about “hair of the dog” under my breath. 

Fish soup and beer for breakfast?! No one’s watching, so I take a tentative sip, swallow without any ill effects, shrug, and carry on with my boiled grouper.

Finishing the bowl, I drain the last of the cold beer, mop the sweat off my forehead, and stand up.

“I’m back to feeling like a human being!” I crow, once again talking to myself.

“I bet I could even go fishing again right this very minute,” I continue as I close the curtains, crawl back into bed, and pull the sheets over my head.

“Maybe tomorrow.”  

Serves: 4-6

Prep Time: 30 minutes

Cook Time: 30 minutes

• 2 lbs. grouper fillets, cut into large bite-sized pieces
• 2 limes
• 1 teaspoon kosher salt
• 2 slices bacon, cut into ½-inch strips
• 2 medium onions, very thinly sliced
• 2 celery stalks, thinly sliced
• 1 large garlic clove, thinly sliced
• 1 tablespoon fresh thyme leaves
• 6 whole cloves
• 3 allspice berries
• 2 bay leaves
• 1-2 Scotch bonnet chilies, seeded and sliced (or hot sauce)
• ½ lb. russet potatoes, peeled and cut into bite-sized pieces
• 1 tablespoon minced parsley
• 2 tablespoons butter

1. Add the grouper to a bowl alongside the juice of 2 limes and the teaspoon of salt. Mix well and let sit while you prepare the rest of the meal. 

2. Add the bacon to a large pot over medium heat and cook until the fat renders out and the bacon starts to crisp.

3. Add the onions, celery, garlic, thyme, cloves, allspice, bay, Scotch bonnet,
and potatoes to the pot. Cook for 2 minutes, then add 6 cups of water and bring to a simmer. 

4. Simmer for 10 minutes or until the potatoes are tender. 

5. Add the parsley, butter, fish, and any accumulated lime juice from the bowl and cook for another 5 minutes or until the fish is ready to flake apart and the potatoes are fork-tender. 

6. Add salt and pepper to taste. Garnish with more parsley and sliced Scotch bonnets. 

7. Serve in bowls with Johnny Cakes or a side of warm, crusty bread. Enjoy!