RESTAURANTS : Taking a Taste Cruise of the Caribbean

FRENCH WEST INDIES —  The trade winds blow across the islands, mingling the ripe perfume of guava with the pungence of piments and the sweet scent of sugar cane. Standing here, it becomes clear why Caribbean cuisine has captured the imagination of America and become the hottest taste in town.

But a visit to this tropical paradise proves that, for the most part, the food they eat here in the French West Indies, a tropical departement or state of France, bears little resemblance to what they are serving there in the States.

Cows and pigs graze on the roadside, and little goats forage on rocky beaches. Tropical banana and pineapple trees drop ripe fruit in your path. The fragrant leaves of lush bay trees offer shade, and the pepper trees add their own particular pungence. The aquamarine sea yields white-needled sea urchins and pink-lined conch. In port, the round baskets the women balance on their heads are filled with silvery flat fish. And when all of this is cooked into a feast, it is accompanied by colorful creole chatter, tropical-tempo music and dizzying waltzes.

The French West Indies include St. Barthelemy and St. Maarten/St. Martin (half Dutch, half French), which lie west of Puerto Rico. They also include Martinique, Guadeloupe and several out islands, 140 miles to the southwest. If you want a real taste of the colorful food of the Caribbean, this is a great place to find it.

Guadeloupe

The doyenne of Guadeloupean cookery is known as Violetta, and she holds forth at La Creole in Gosier (84-10-344). Violetta speaks with a firm patois and cooks with fierce loyalty to creole tradition. Acras , golden cod fritters, come steaming hot to the table. Colossal native shrimp, gambas , are grilled with tangy civet , the local green onions. Blaff-- the sound fish makes when it hits boiling water--is also the name of that wonderful poached fish dish infused with lime, bay

leaf and hot peppers. Caribbean cloves perfume tender turtle steak. Ravenous appetites are rewarded with fruity banana cake and creamy coconut flan. Dinner for two without wine costs about $50.

If you’re staying at one of Gosier’s beach hotels, dinner at La Mer (84-23-70) is a must. Pristine tiles, whitewashed walls and broad shutters are softened with the lull of gentle tides. Francophiles will take comfort in such French touches as crisp Muscadet, fish forks and a la minute preparation; only the fresh, moist boudin creole, or blood sausage, comes to table more than two minutes old. Caviar of ouassous (native crawfish) is cradled in a puff pastry gondola with avocado cream. Langouste (spiny lobster) floats in tomato-thyme bouillon. A creamy gratin of christophene (chayote) accompanies the conch. Dinner for two with wine costs about $75; credit cards accepted.

Guadeloupe’s terrain is a jumble of tropic forests, isolated seacoast and breezy mountaintops. A winding dirt road twists up through St. Anne’s cow pastures to the Relais du Moulin (88-13-78), an ancient stone windmill. The terrace restaurant serves nouvelle interpretations of Creole cuisine. Some work, some don’t. Avoid the bisque of ouassous and opt instead for paper-thin carpaccio of fish or beef. If you can take the heat, order smoked tazar (kingfish), salad, a nouvelle riot of tastes overthrown by the fish’s razor-sharp heat. Dinner for two without wine is about $80; credit cards accepted.

St. Martin

The principal town of French St. Martin is Marigot, where a bustling morning market jams the streets. For a spirited meal, try Cas’ Annie, a weathered-wood structure sitting over the port. Salt breezes blow off the beach and rhythmic zouk taps out a Caribbean beat. Natives enjoy spicy stuffed crab and colombo de cabri, or goat curry. Dinner for two, including wine, comes to about $75.

Although exorbitantly overpriced, La Rhumerie in Colombier (87-56-98) sets a good Creole table. Chirping frogs isolate this peaceful spot, which is simply decorated with rush chairs and brown-glazed tile floors. Appetizers are wonderful, especially tangy stuffed land crabs and salade de poisson coffre , a limey, flaked shellfish ceviche. Feroce d’avocat , crushed avocado mixed with salt cod, has a ferocious bite of civet and hot pepper. Dinner for two with a bottle of house wine costs about $100, not including the taxi you’ll need to find the restaurant.

Some of the best Creole cuisine is found in native neighborhoods, where case creole --shoe-box houses with rusting corrugated roofs, aqua-trimmed porch posts and mismatched tables--dish out hearty, cheap food to natives. From somewhere out back, dishes of lambi (conch) appear, perhaps in a tomato sauce richly flavored with local cloves and thyme. Accompaniments include black beans, platters of white rice and golden vegetable bananas. Washed down with thick Tennents Milk Stout, a full meal comes to about $17 for two.

For informal lunch, stop at roadside beach huts, set on weathered stilts over the sea. At Grand Case Beach, there are deep black grills where langoustes ($5 for a 1 1/2-pounder), chickens and barbecued cotes de porc become bronzed in the high noon sun.

When dizzying punches, zouk beats and hot chili peppers have run their course, head for Grand Case, a gracious town lined with French restaurants. Hevea (87-56-85), with its low ceiling, warm rose hues and colonial antique pieces, offers French food with a special island flair. Flavorful bisque de langouste is almost a meal in itself, but even better is the caviar-sprinkled langouste in delicate puff pastry. Hevea’s $30, prix-fixe menu stands out as the best deal in town, including perhaps a creamy leek and cauliflower soup, crunchy salad, poached fish in lobster sauce, and papaya or coconut sorbets.

Auberge Gourmand (reserve at Le Tastevin across the street: 87-55-45) serves copious portions of fish and meat in cream-, butter- and wine-rich sauces. The dexterous waiter swoops down on each table, whirls the desserts under your nose and delivers a 10-second spiel on each. As if reluctant to charge so much, the restaurant presents the bill (about $90 for two with wine) in a small music box.

Wherever you find yourself on these islands, do not scoff at island voodoo. Disbelieving tourists are served demon-like rum punch, ti-punch. You can almost hear the bartender chortle as he concocts your potion of sugar cane syrup, lime juice and white rum. Local bars pour fiery, homemade liqueurs of fruits such as lime, maracudjas (passion fruit, said to relieve stress), mandarine or coconut macerated in white rum. It’s enough to make you dream of coming back.