A Cook's Tour_ In Search of the Perfect Meal - Anthony Bourdain [142]
After a few lazy hours bobbing around in the warm, gin-clear turquoise water, and dozing on the beach, Nancy was reading me the police blotter from the local paper.
A man, ‘G,’ from Saint Peters, was detained last night on the Pondfill Road. A gentleman from Domenica complained that ‘G’ had mistreated him with a pair of nail clippers after a dispute over a game of dominoes at the Dinghy Dock Bar. Dutch side police arrived at the scene and gave ‘G’ a stern warning and he was released. Two youths from Back Street, ‘P’ and ‘D’, were arrested after stealing a gold chain from Kun Shi Jewelers on the Old Street. The youths asked to see a chain in the store, then ran away without paying for it. They were arrested at the bus stop on the Bush Road as they tried to make their escape by bus.
‘Jesus,’ said Nancy. ‘It’s a crime wave.’
A while ago, I looked up from my pad, wiped the sweat out of my eyes, and, after consulting my watch, turned to Nancy and said, ‘Hungry?’ She said yes, as I knew she would. We’re creatures of habit down here. We have a routine. That meant a short walk across the hot sand to a thatch-roofed hut with a smoking barbecue grill, a rudimentary bar with five or six kinds of liquor, and two coolers of iced Caribs, Red Stripes, and baby Heinekens. Gus, the proprietor, has known us since 1984, and he had a pretty good idea what we wanted. By the time we ducked under the palm fronds into the shade, he’d already cracked two Caribes.
I ordered the barbecued ribs. Nancy went for the cheeseburger. The service at Gus’s is never quick. Our order took about half an hour – normal waiting time on this island. But, uncharacteristically, I wasn’t impatient at all. I didn’t fidget. I didn’t look nervously around. I didn’t listen for the telltale sounds of a spatula lifting Nancy’s burger off the grill – or the bell signaling an order was ready. I knew Keesha, the woman working the grill, and was aware that she did things at her own pace. I didn’t care how long it took. I was happy to wait, drinking the beer in the shade of Gus’s makeshift frond-covered shelter, sand between my toes, hair still wet from the sea, Nancy looking brown and happy and a little bit drunk across from me.
My ribs were tender, slightly crispy on the outside and seasoned with the same adobo spice that Gus puts on everything. If the ribs were marinated in something before grilling, I knew not what. Nor did I care. Any critical sensibilities had long ago been put on hold. Nancy’s cheeseburger was small, cooked completely through, and topped with a single Kraft cheese slice and a too-large bun, also seasoned with the ubiquitous adobo. She never finishes her food, so I knew that I’d get at least a bite. Both plates were white – plastic, garnished with soggy french fries – just as I’d expected them to be. Gus’s new Shaggy CD played on the sound system for at least the fourth time that day. It will, of course, remain the music from this time on the island. From now on, that CD will always and forever bring me right back here to this time and place, the taste of crispy pork and adobo seasoning, Gus’s Beach Bar, the look on Nancy’s face as she sighed distractedly, yawned, stretched, and then tossed one of my rib bones to a stray dog that’d been lurking by our table. The dog knew the routine.
I’ve learned something on the road. It doesn’t do to waste. Even here – I use everything.
– August 2001
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to: Karen Rinaldi, Joel Rose, Rosemarie Morse, Kim Witherspoon, Panio Gianopoulos, Lydia Tenaglia, Chris Collins, Matt Barbato, Alberto Orso, “Global” Alan Deutsch, Bree Fitzgerald, Michiko Zento, Shinji Nohara, Dinh Linh, Madame Ngoc, Khoum Mang Kry, the incredible Zamir Gotta, Scott Leadbetter, Simon McMillan, Lu Barron, Edilberto Perez and family, Martin Vallejo, Abdou Boutabi, Luis