How a bowl of chowder schooled me in the ways of Bermuda
Bermuda—idyllic, pristine, and the kind of place that draws families for its pink-sand beaches and glossy travel brochures. But I wasn’t interested in the perfectly curated tourist experience when I went there as a teenager. No, what captured my curiosity (other than this really cute military guy named Shane) was the grit beneath the glam, the authenticity hidden behind the tropical postcards. And like any great journey, it was the food that taught me the most about the place.
I remember wandering the streets, looking for something real. It didn’t take long before we stumbled upon this little dive, a place that looked like it had been forgotten by time—where paint chipped off the walls and the ceiling fan creaked with every slow, lazy turn. I don’t even remember the name of the joint, but I remember the smell—a mix of fried fish, salt, and vinegar that punched you in the face as soon as you stepped inside. It was like an unspoken promise: you’re about to eat something good.
The fish and chips? Perfection, old-school. Wrapped in newspaper, greasy and unapologetically delicious. The kind of meal where you don’t talk much, just a nod of approval between bites as the flaky, tender fish breaks apart under your fork. There’s a kind of magic in simplicity, in food that doesn’t need to scream for attention because it knows it’s got nothing to prove. This place wasn’t trying to impress tourists; it was cooking for locals. And that’s always a good sign.
But the real revelation? The Bermuda Fish Chowder. I had no idea what I was in for when I ordered it. It was just another dish on the chalkboard menu. I figured, “Why not?” It seemed fitting. And I’d be lying if I said I was expecting much—how good could a bowl of fish soup be, right?
Wrong. So wrong.
It came out steaming hot, dark and rich with a broth that had the depth of a thousand sunsets simmering in it. You could tell it had been bubbling away for hours, flavors merging, transforming, becoming something more. One spoonful, and it was like the island itself was talking to you. There was the briny hit of the ocean, balanced by a warmth that came from deep within the pot, helped along by a splash of Gosling’s Black Seal rum and the island’s secret weapon: sherry pepper sauce. That sauce had heat, but it wasn’t just fire for the sake of it. It was like the wind on the open water, stinging your skin but making you feel alive.
This wasn’t your typical chowder—no cream, no fillers. It was a no-nonsense bowl of soul, filled with chunks of fish that tasted like they were pulled from the water minutes ago. Every bite was an education in the flavors of Bermuda, in the island’s way of mixing the old world with the new, blending British traditions with island spice. I’d never had anything like it, and honestly, I haven’t since.
Bermuda Fish Chowder stayed with me, long after the trip ended. It’s the kind of dish that brands itself on your memory, a marker of time and place that transports you back to that hot, sticky afternoon in a dive that smelled like the sea. The world outside didn’t matter at that moment. It was just me, that bowl of chowder, and the realization that sometimes the best meals are the ones that surprise you—the ones you don’t expect.
Bermuda was beautiful, sure. But it was that damn chowder that made me love it.
Bermuda Fish Chowder
Ingredients
- 4 quarts water
- 1 ½ lbs white fish fillets
- salt thyme, bay leaves, peppercorns, ground cloves
- 2 tbsp butter
- 2 tbsp oil
- 2 lbs potatoes peeled and diced
- 3 large onions chopped
- 8 celery stalks chopped
- 1 garlic clove minced
- 2 green peppers chopped
- 6 carrots diced
- ½ cup parsley chopped
- 1 can 28 oz, 794 g peeled tomatoes
- 1 can 10 oz, 285 g consommé
- 1 cup ketchup
- 2 tbsp Worcestershire sauce
- 2 tsp lemon juice
- 2 oz Gosling’s Black Seal Rum
- 4 tbsp Outerbridge’s Original Sherry Peppers Sauce
- Ground pepper to taste
Instructions
- In a large pot put water fish fillets, salt, and spices. Bring to a boil and let simmer for 30-45 minutes.
- In a frying pan melt butter and oil and sauté onions, celery, garlic, and green peppers. Add tomatoes and consommé and simmer for 30 minutes.
- Transfer this mixture to the fish stock and add remaining ingredients. Simmer partially covered for 2 hours. Adjust seasoning to your liking.
- Serve piping hot and pass around Outerbridge’s Original Sherry Peppers Sauce and, if you please, Gosling’s Black Seal Rum for dashing.
