By Marco Shalma.
To understand Barbadian New York, you have to picture Flatbush on a warm afternoon. The windows down. The music up. A whiff of seasoned fish coming off a small grill outside a storefront. People laughing loud enough to carry down the block. Barbadians — Bajans, started arriving in noticeable numbers in the 60s and 70s, joining larger Caribbean immigrant waves that reshaped Crown Heights, Flatbush, East Flatbush, and St. Albans. They brought an island culture built on strength, clarity, and flavor that doesn’t need permission to shine.
Fried flying fish is the anchor. Barbados’ national dish isn’t a gimmick, it’s the island’s identity in motion. Light, citrusy, seasoned smartly with herbs, and fried until the edges hit that perfect crisp. In Barbados, it’s eaten with cou-cou, a polenta-like cornmeal and okra dish. In New York, Bajans adapted based on what they had: frying the fish and pairing it with rice and peas, vegetables, or a quick bake. The fish traveled with Bajans settling into new jobs, long commutes, and small apartments, reminding them that home wasn’t lost, it was carried.
Bajan macaroni pie brings the comfort. This isn’t the American mac and cheese you scoop at a barbecue. Barbados has its own version: elbow macaroni baked firm with cheese, egg, mustard, and herbs until it slices clean like a casserole. It’s sharp, rich, and structured. A dish built for families who needed something filling that kept well and tasted even better the next day. When Bajans brought macaroni pie to Brooklyn kitchens, it immediately earned respect. You didn’t need to explain it. You tasted it, you understood.
Then there’s fish cakes; salty cod mixed with herbs, flour, and spices, rolled and fried until golden. In Barbados, they’re street food, beachside food, everyday food. In New York, they became the snack that carried mothers through double shifts, the appetizer at every house party, the quick bite that reminded second-generation kids where they come from. Fish cakes don’t pretend. They deliver.
Barbadian New Yorkers didn’t build their presence through massive restaurant empires. They built it through community gatherings, church events, neighborhood cookouts, and small markets that stocked Bajan hot sauce, Banks beer, mauby syrup, and biscuits you couldn’t find anywhere else. Food became a cultural currency, something shared freely in moments of joy and hardship. And Bajans brought something else the city needed: calm confidence. A rhythm that says, “We’re here, we’re steady, and we’re adding something you didn’t realize you were missing.”
To taste the lineage today, visit Sugarcane in Prospect Heights for fish cakes and Bajan-style plates that hit with real depth. Stop by Lakou Cafe in Crown Heights for griot, black mushroom rice, and island flavors filtered through generations of Caribbean cooking. And head to The Islands in Crown Heights for macaroni pie and fish dishes that stay honest to the craft.
Now you know: Barbadian New York didn’t shout. It showed up with flavor, pride, and the kind of hospitality that makes the city feel a little more human.
Like this? Explore more from:
