|
| |
Bonaire - Part 9
Written by: Dominick A. Miserandino
Photography by: Margherita Miserandino
Searching for fish with the Chef.
Today was a stop in Bonaire, but we weren’t here to see Bonaire. Yes, that’s not a good tourism plug, I should say how Bonaire has wonderful salt mines, and surfing and snorkeling. I should mention how even though the ABC Islands of Aruba, Bonaire and Curacao are called the ABC Islands, they look nothing alike. Bonaire is flat and barren, Aruba is flat with casinos and beaches and Curacao is Dutch.
I won’t mention those things, because the highlight of Bonaire was fish shopping.
Allow me to explain.
Today, the Chef would call.
Now rewind a step. Yesterday at dinner if you recall I was a bit, shall we say, intoxicated. I asked the waiter, ever so casually, "Where does the chef get his fresh fish?" I mean, really, it’s not like you can just stock the ship up two weeks in advance. The fish would have to be frozen, and that is not good enough for Silversea.
Well, unbeknownst to us all, our waiter told the headwaiter () who told the dining room captain who told, so on and so forth about my question. During dessert Chef Anri, came to our table.
I should note that his presence was refreshing. He was in his late 20s, younger than I expected, and completely full of life. He had a French accent, which sounds "happy French." To me, there are three types of French accents. There is "snobby French," which is most often heard when shopping for wine in France. If your purchase is less than $10, you will hear that accent. Then there is "Inspector Clouse French," which is only heard in Pink Panther movies and British comedies. Finally, there is the rarely heard form of French, "Happy French." It was with this accent that he spoke, implying his happiness on every sentence.
"I am the chef," he said with a bounce in each word. "Tomorrow you will come with me to buy the fish, yes? I will call you in the morning."
Now that you’ve gotten that long and boring intro, you will understand why we giggled when somebody called and said, "Chef speaking. I will see you at nine o’clock, yes?"
At nine we were at the dock waiting for "The Chef". With him was Mally, the ship’s Purchaser.
"Where are we going to get fish?" I asked.
He smiled, moved his sunglasses down and peered over them and winked, "I don’t know." Then he noticed a car behind me. "Ahhh, the ship’s agent got us a car."
It was a local taxi with a driver signaling the chef, knowing he must be the chef as he was the only one wearing a chef’s uniform.
"Take me to the fish." He said in a cheerful and commanding "Happy French" accent.
"Any particular place?" he responded.
"No, take me to where the fresh fish are. Not a supermarket." He commanded with a flourish of his hand.
The taxi was off. It seems that, contrary to one’s assumptions, the world doesn’t always have massive supermarkets. Yes, in some countries such things don’t exist. They do have one or two supermarkets on the island, but they all have frozen fish.
The taxi driver drove across the island and then pulled into a driveway.
Whoosh, "The Chef" flung open the door and went straight towards the locker in the gentleman’s driveway. The woman claimed the fish were from that morning.
To me, the fish simply looked dead and not at all happy about their circumstance.
Now, again I must digress. The Chef looked at the fish, and to check it’s freshness he touched its eyeball. Yes, he poked a dead fish’s eye. He claimed that this had something to do with determining the freshness. I got all squeamish and giggled. as was appropriate for my squeamishness, while Margherita took pictures.
"This fish is not from this morning. We are leaving," he said and turned on the balls of his feet as if he’s had some military training.
Only "The Chef" could walk into a stranger’s backyard poke their fish, insult their fish and then leave with a smile. But he saved the ship from eating stale fish.
Two more fishermen’s homes gave similar results.
It was the fourth and final house, with the barking rabid dogs, where we found success. The barking dogs might have secretly been happy when you get to know them but they were the type of dogs which clearly had a chip on their shoulder and wanted to make it quite clear how angry they were feeling. Margherita waited in the backseat while the dogs barked at us ferociously.
"Honey, I’m sure they’re safe," I lied. "Plus "The Chef" is already poking another fish’s eye. I’m sure you don’t want to miss this."
Sure enough the Chef was poking, this time quite happily. Now I forget the units of measurement, but I do recall the numbers.
The conversation went like this.
"How much is a kilo?"
"Eight" the fisherman responded plainly.
Chef looked at the fisherman and invoked his power of "Snobby French" accent. He made a sound that seemed to indicate that he was not happy with eight. He looked at Mally to confer his misery.
"Six." he told the fisherman.
The fisherman made a similar sound of disgust, but it didn’t sound as impressive without the French accent.
"Okay" Chef agreed as he turned around with a devious smile.
The Chef and Mally looked at each other. Some secret signal occurred that I didn’t pick up on, but it was the type of signal that happens only in American buddy action/adventure movies or between two good friends.
"You know," The Chef said with a long pause. "I come from a big ship. Next time we come here, we can come straight to you. I’m not your average tourist. I think four is a better price."
The duel was set. And here I was standing behind The Chef while this fisherman had the aforementioned angry and rabid dogs. The dogs even perked up at this impending duel.
Margherita just stared nervously at the freshly poked fish. Mally had a triumphant look, which seemed to say, "Watch what happens."
I watched. I watched the fisherman get his receipt and I watched the chef pay the price he wanted.
Back in the car I asked, "Was eight a high price?"
"No, it was a really good price. A great price, I just wanted better. I’ve actually not gotten the fish this low." He smiled a devious smile of victory.
What I relayed was over the course of an hour and a half, maybe two. It was a small bit of the port of Bonaire. But in retrospect of the trip, it was probably the most fun we had. We laughed, we hung out with the Chef and Margherita learned how to poke a fish’s eye.
But what else did we do that day? We ate lunch and I had a new found appreciation for fish. We sat by the deck and I read a bit of a book. Then we went for dinner.
For dinner, we actually ran into another couple, well a brother and a sister our age. I don’t often like sitting with others as I usually find I stick my foot in my mouth, and it commonly happens at those first meetings. We got along well, and I ran up to Oliver the Maitre’D and said, "Tonight change our reservation from two to four." I said it with a French accent, which I found funny in light of the day, but Oliver didn’t get it.
Tonight was fondue night. The waiter set up the fondue bowls, slightly indicating that I would share with Dave (the aforementioned brother) and Margherita would share with Stephanie (the aforementioned sister).
I slightly tapped the bowl while looking at Margherita. That way Dave and Stephanie wouldn’t catch onto my neurosis, and I could push the bowl in such a way as to share with my wife. While fondue is a favorite, I cannot risk sharing my food. Who knows what diseases the others might have.
Fortunately Dave and Stephanie announced their vegetarianism, and we didn’t have to share with them. I’ll share other things, but not a food product that gets mixed in a bowl.
The night went well. They talked about how they enjoyed kayaking that day. They passed the famous Bonaire salt mines.
We told them we bought fish.
San Jose - Part 1
San Jose - Part 2
Silversea's Silver Wind - Part 1
Day at Sea - Part 2
Panama Canal/Gatun Lake - Part 3
San Blas Island - Part 4
Cartagena, Colombia - Part 5
Day at Sea - Part 6
Aruba - Part 7
Curacao - Part 8
Bonaire - Part 9
At Sea - Part 10
St. Georges, Grenada - Part 11
Barbados - Part 12
|
|
|
|
|
|
