#naphopomo day 4 What's Cooking

First proofs drying, dough rising, sun shining. Finally
worked out why the first 2 photos for #naphopomo
failed to send and reset my security settings, I now
find all is getting a bit 'precious' and am second
guessing everything! Not going to be deterred though,
I really want to see this through.

Dinner.

 The hunter/gatherer returns with smiles and salty tales

of tangled rock snared lines,well cast,

yet destined for the deep.

 The mountain man, so adept in the river and its' pools.

was out of depth, and patience, as the sea ran with his spool

of tackle, spent, hooks, lines and sinkers,

the sun was sinking too,

when Barracuda made his move

and brought this gift to you.

The Felling of the Breadfruit Tree

With the arrival of the Hurricane season on June 1st, T decided 'it was time'.

 The breadfruit tree behind the house, having fed the family for many years,

survived three hurricanes, various infestations, old age and neglect,

finally succumbed to this year's drought.
P.S. If you visit D, the first shot, click and magnify please, is for you .xxx

The Manicou Trap

I am not a vegetarian but I rarely eat meat. Times being what they are though, the term 'needs must' is especially apt. We spent the day bickering, which is very unusual for us. T keeps rabbits in a coop in the yard, of which, there are nine...to date,... and we had resolved that one would be on the menu this weekend. T would cull, (a much better word than kill) and I would clean, season and cook it. Many years ago, I had watched someone skin a rabbit and felt confident that I could remember how it was done. I was a little unsure about the cleaning part but Google provided the answers I was looking for and I took solace in one particular website that also gave detailed descriptions regarding bear and moose .I was lucky, it was just a 'leettle' ( banish all thoughts of Peter) rabbit. I strengthened my resolve and searched for recipes and settled on a combination of fricassee and saute, courtesy of SusieQ, and tried to ignore the accompanying cute bunny shots. It was, I admit, a mistake to mention tularemia or "rabbit fever" to T, who dismissed it as being "something I read on the computer" but Wiki alarmed me and I realised I would then have to examine the entrails, search for the liver and check it for any white or yellow bits.. Oh...... Breathing deeply I requested all knives to be sharpened, every available herb to be picked, the head to be removed and the carcass hung above a bowl, for the blood to drain. My mind then decided to explore Buddhism versus earth mother, "lucky" rabbits" feet and how to cure them, how to remove the skin and keep the fur from spoiling... whilst catching sight of leetle ears bobbing behind the chicken wire coop window. T, meanwhile, was engrossed in hand washing and muttering, 'too coward" and steupsing in a vexation. It was some agonising hours later that we both admitted that rabbit would not be on the menu, T confessing that he would have had some difficulty dispatching one of his 'babies' and me knowing full well that, even if I had managed to clean and cook, I doubted very much whether I would have been able to swallow. Tonight we are having rice and wings, which are cheap, come conveniently frozen, in a plastic bag, and bare no resemblance to anything that we have reared or fed.Which brings me to our next venture...The Manicou Trap. Beautifully built by T, (please zoom in and take special note of the Adidas hinges) the trap is due to be set in Corn Buck this weekend.

Mango Season

English Girl Eats Her First Mango

by John Agard

a kind of love poem

If I did tell she

hold this gold

of sundizzy

tonguelicking juicy

mouthwater flow

ripe with love

from the tropics

she would tell me

trust you to be

melodramatic

so I just say

taste this mango

and I watch she hold

the smooth cheeks

of the mango

blushing yellow

and a glow

rush to she own cheeks

and she ask me

what do I do now

just bite into it?

and I was tempted

to tell she

why not be a devil

and eat of the skin

of original sin

but she woulda tell me

trust you to be

mysterious

so I just say

it’s up to you

if you want to peel it

and I watch she feel it

as something precious

then she smile and say

looks delicious

and I tell she

don’t waste sweet words

when sweetness

in your hand

just bite it man

peel it with the teeth

that God give you

or better yet

do like me mother

used to do

and squeeze

till the flesh

turn syrup

nibble a hole

then suck the gold

like bubby

in child mouth

squeeze and tease out

every drop of spice

sounds nice

me friend tell me

and I remind she

that this ain’t

apple core

so don’t forget

the seed

suck that too

the sweetest part

the juice does run

down to you heart

man if you see

the English rose

she face was bliss

down to the pink

of she toes

and when she finish

she smile

and turn to me

lend me your hanky

my fingers

are all sticky

with mango juice

and I had to tell she

what hanky

you talking bout

you don’t know

when you eat mango

you hanky

is you tongue

man just lick

you finger

you call that

culture

lick you finger

you call that

culture

unless you prefer

to call it

colonization

in reverse

Coconut Beach Restaurant and Bar

It is true, Grenada is blessed with an abundance
of wonderful places to eat out, meet and make friends,
and sample delicious local and international cuisine.















But, if you want to sit with your feet in the white sand
of Grand Anse beach and enjoy a glass of your favourite
drink, whilst being serenaded by lapping susurrating surf,
as you watch for the green flash after the sun slips into the
Caribbean Sea, then there is only one place , in my opinion,
to go.



















Coconut Beach, French Creole Restaurant and Bar,
Grand Anse, St. George's, is where you will have the
chance to choose from the mouthwatering menu or
simply sip a glass or two as we did, meet our good
friends Curtis and Chester and ,( not that she will
thank me for this fun but unflattering photo,) the
irrepressible, delightful owner, our good friend,
Mrs Pat Henry McIntyre.

Seasoning Peppers

Happiness is found
in the soil under fingernails,
red mud on boots
and the warmth of your smile
as you watch peppers spill from my pocket.

Our Fish Friday

In the late afternoon, on a hot and humid day, I hear the conch shell call. The fish van is on its' way into the village. There is still plenty of time to find my purse and hold a bowl. I feel for some jacks, small jacks, well seasoned and fried in a little oil, to a crisp. The conch shell blows, louder, nearer. Peeping out from the kitchen doorway, I can see the little red fish van, parked up by Waist's Shop. T, upstairs, and not one to wait until they reach our gap, shouts "What you have?"
Being downstairs, where the house is of wall, the reply is muffled. T shouts again, " How much for it?" The van pulls up on the road above our house. The conch shell calls loud, loud, loud. T takes the bowl and returns with two pounds of Rock Hind and a smile as big as if he had caught them himself. "When last girl?"


With thanks to Guyana Gyal for the inspiration.
Read about the famous Gouave Fish Friday.