Let me begin by saying that food is not the only thing in Nada's head. There's lots of other stuff floating in there too, like: Why don't airplanes have the reverse gear? (And if they did, would they be able to reverse in the sky?) Do animals dream? If so, what about? Why on earth to people think it's okay to leave their homes and go into town, malls, etc. in their slippers!!!!!?????
But I digress.
By the time LB and I were ready for dinner last night, it was already very late. With most restaurants closing their kitchens at 22:00, we asked the hotel to reccommend a restaurant that serves dinner till late. They told us about Fisherman's Arms in Victoria (the capital of all 115 islands that make up the Seychelles), a 10-minute drive from Bel Ombre, where our hotel is situated. Food orders end at 23:00, so after getting directions, we zoomed off at 22:40 in search of Fisherman's Arms. We made it to Victoria in record time and spent about three minutes getting lost before finding the place.
We walked into the establishment with four minutes to spare. Our waitress gave us our menus and hovered around our table while we perused it. She kept looking in the direction of the kitchen. Feeling rather rushed, we skimmed through the menu and rattled off items that sounded familiar and quick to prepare. Chicken wings. Two portions. Chips. Two portions. Potato salad. One portion. Fish rolls (we'd tried these in another restaurant and they tasted very good indeed). One portion. Two bottles of water. One Bitter Lemon (tastes kinda like fizzy Lemonade). One beer.
The pursuing conversation still makes me chuckle.
Me: This place looks like ...
LB: A dive.
Me: I was looking for a polite word for 'tacky'.
LB: It's a dive.
Imagine a large room with lots of round tables, white table cloths with maroon overlays and whicker chairs. There's a casino right next door which can be entered through this joint, I think, because what I took to be the jackpot amount was flashing in fluorescent strobe lights in the bar area of the restaurant.
Our food arrived in less than ten minutes and the six plates took up most of the table. For the first time that I can remember I experienced the opposite of order envy. The sight of all that food (especially at 23:12) filled me with dread.
The chicken wings were garnished with cucumber sticks, carrot sticks and what looked like potato chips. LB put the whole 'chip' in her mouth before realising what it was.
"Oh no, this is cheese!" LB said, pulling a face. "And it tastes like a blend, cheddar or something." Oh dear, all the gourmet cheeses we'd been devouring the whole week had turned LB into a cheese snob.
The chicken wings and chips were surprisingly good. The potato salad had corn, ham and way too much mayonnaise in it, so we didn't get very far with that. We left the fish rolls untouched. The bill was by far the cheapest we'd paid for food here.
"Oh well, at least we can say we've experienced different kinds of dinning in the Seychelles," LB reasoned. I couldn't argue with that.
Sunday, 4 September 2011
Saturday, 3 September 2011
"Facial schmayshul"
Said my mentor and friend of over 10 years in response to my text yesterday which happened to mention in passing that I had just had a facial. When in a follow-up text I also happened to (innocently) remark that it was my second one this week, she hastily replied, "Second schmeckend". (At this point I have the urge to point out that she is a very accomplished book and magazine editor, sub-editor and proofreader. I assure you though, her vocabulary is very rich and not every second word she utters begins with 'schm'.)
I suppose I would have expressed similar sentiments had I been at work on a cold CT Friday afternoon chasing after the ever elusive magazine deadline. And given that magazines generally have three-month lead periods, my guess is she was scurrily putting to bed the November issue while simultaneously getting the December (or December/January) issue off the ground. Ahhh, the summer issue - packed with sea, sand and sun; lots of glorious fun.
Which is exactly what my days (and nights) have been packed with this past week. Not even my skin misbehaving can put a damper on my merriment. The skin repair facials and the humidity are making my face glow, LB assures me. I just wish the breakouts on my chin didn't demand centre stage in all my photos! (I wonder if the big packet of duty-free chocolate I've been taking to bed and the rich creamy cheeses I relish daily have anything to do with my skin not clearing.)
After my facial (and LB's third massage this week), we headed back to Bliss for sundowners in their open-air upstairs area with daybeds overlooking the ocean. We were open to a repeat of the surprise five-course delectable dinner. It started to drizzle as we parked Nadia (she's an i10, by the way, not a Getz) outside the restaurant, so went into the hotel section to check it out. We chatted up some guests while working our way to the private beach, where we splashed and watched the sun set before going back to the restaurant for drinks.
We ended up at the Boat House restaurant for a traditional creole buffet dinner. The scrumptious salads included cold green beans; thinly sliced mango with spring onion (who would have thought?); pasta; avocado with some citrusy something or other; sweet potato; and strips of mango with spring onion, green and yellow peppers and cucumber. The breadfruit (grows everywhere on the island, the outside resembles a hard, raw avocado while the inside is yellow) fried chips were crunchy and tasty (similar taste to sweet potato chips).
Neither LB nor I were brave enough to sample the 'fruit bird', which we were told eats fruit only, and is therefore very clean. No amount of cleanliness or personal grooming on the bird's part was enough to convince us to taste it. The chicken and fish braais were in all sincerity the most mouthwatering I have ever tasted. As stuffed as I was after round one, I just had to go back a second helping of the braai (another two pieces of each), which I ate very slowly and very deliberately until all that was left on my plate were chicken bones and skin. It's nothing short of a miracle that LB was not required to roll me out of there.
The guitarist serenading the patrons while they dined didn't seem to know the lyrics to some of the songs. He strummed, mumbled and thumb-sucked his way through Miriam Makeba and Harry Belafonte's 'Mailaka', and Sonny and Cher's 'Groovy Kind of Love'. There was no doubting that he was very well versed in the choruses, which he belted out with much gusto and aplomb (not that his confidence waned much during the mumbling and made-up bits of songs).
About the second rendition of the surprise five-course dinner; that's a rather sad story featuring table settings, a long, hungry, hopeful wait, and the kebab that couldn't be.
Seychelles schmeychelles is what a peeved LB had to say about that.
I suppose I would have expressed similar sentiments had I been at work on a cold CT Friday afternoon chasing after the ever elusive magazine deadline. And given that magazines generally have three-month lead periods, my guess is she was scurrily putting to bed the November issue while simultaneously getting the December (or December/January) issue off the ground. Ahhh, the summer issue - packed with sea, sand and sun; lots of glorious fun.
Which is exactly what my days (and nights) have been packed with this past week. Not even my skin misbehaving can put a damper on my merriment. The skin repair facials and the humidity are making my face glow, LB assures me. I just wish the breakouts on my chin didn't demand centre stage in all my photos! (I wonder if the big packet of duty-free chocolate I've been taking to bed and the rich creamy cheeses I relish daily have anything to do with my skin not clearing.)
After my facial (and LB's third massage this week), we headed back to Bliss for sundowners in their open-air upstairs area with daybeds overlooking the ocean. We were open to a repeat of the surprise five-course delectable dinner. It started to drizzle as we parked Nadia (she's an i10, by the way, not a Getz) outside the restaurant, so went into the hotel section to check it out. We chatted up some guests while working our way to the private beach, where we splashed and watched the sun set before going back to the restaurant for drinks.
We ended up at the Boat House restaurant for a traditional creole buffet dinner. The scrumptious salads included cold green beans; thinly sliced mango with spring onion (who would have thought?); pasta; avocado with some citrusy something or other; sweet potato; and strips of mango with spring onion, green and yellow peppers and cucumber. The breadfruit (grows everywhere on the island, the outside resembles a hard, raw avocado while the inside is yellow) fried chips were crunchy and tasty (similar taste to sweet potato chips).
Neither LB nor I were brave enough to sample the 'fruit bird', which we were told eats fruit only, and is therefore very clean. No amount of cleanliness or personal grooming on the bird's part was enough to convince us to taste it. The chicken and fish braais were in all sincerity the most mouthwatering I have ever tasted. As stuffed as I was after round one, I just had to go back a second helping of the braai (another two pieces of each), which I ate very slowly and very deliberately until all that was left on my plate were chicken bones and skin. It's nothing short of a miracle that LB was not required to roll me out of there.
The guitarist serenading the patrons while they dined didn't seem to know the lyrics to some of the songs. He strummed, mumbled and thumb-sucked his way through Miriam Makeba and Harry Belafonte's 'Mailaka', and Sonny and Cher's 'Groovy Kind of Love'. There was no doubting that he was very well versed in the choruses, which he belted out with much gusto and aplomb (not that his confidence waned much during the mumbling and made-up bits of songs).
About the second rendition of the surprise five-course dinner; that's a rather sad story featuring table settings, a long, hungry, hopeful wait, and the kebab that couldn't be.
Seychelles schmeychelles is what a peeved LB had to say about that.
Friday, 2 September 2011
"Seychelles is not the place to come and get thin ..."
"... It's a culinary festival. Not just every day, but every meal."
That's what my companion (henceforth known as LB) uttered between mouthfuls of the second course of our five-course dinner last night. I nodded in agreement.
Ever since we arrived five mornings ago we've been eating ourselves into different blood groups. Last night's dinner at Bliss was exquisite. Having had a late lunch (in our hotel room) of the most delicious cheeses and bread (left overs from the evening before's room service) I was not feeling particularly hungry. Not that that has ever stopped me from eating before.
Our waitress explained how things work. There is no menu, just a choice of either a three or five course SURPRISE meal. You just inform her what you don't eat and the rest is up to the chef. LB opted for the five course meal, which comes with a complimentary glass of champagne. I asked for the three course, planning to sample LB's other two courses. As if reading my mind, LB made it very clear that I was not allowed to touch LB's food.
Fearing order envy, I promptly asked our waitress for the five course meal instead. Our cubes (the glasses reminded me of test cubes from my high school science lab) of champagne arrived and we had to guess which flower was infused in it. We couldn't. It was Violet.
I had two of sips of champagne before handing it over to LB, who was very pleased to receive it (having already finished LB's own). Interesting, coming from someone who had just a few minutes before made it very clear I was not to partake of LB's food!
* The chicken salad (first course) was light, fresh and delish! The noodle-like (I think it was grated) cucumber was delightful.
* Neither LB nor I are big fans of soup, but we both thoroughly enjoyed the lobster soup with onion leaves.
* The refresher before the main course was frozen mango juice with Pisang Ambon (some alcoholic beverage made out of banana leaves - but then again everybody had probably heard of it besides me) on top was another alluring surprise. It tasted a bit like cough mixture. I like cough mixture. LB didn't enjoy it so I promptly poured LB's portion in my glass.
* Red Snapper with aubergine and apple, served with a pyramid of rice. Uhm uhm uhm. Uhm uhm uhm. The thought running through my head was: If Nada licked her plate and nobody was around to see it, did Nada lick her plate?
* Perfect blueberry (with fresh cream), chocolate brownie, and creme brûlée with a drop of Baileys. (Okay, so did we stumble on happy hour at this here restaurant?) The Baileys did give it a yummy zing.
By now LB was beginning to express concern about the designated driver's sobriety. If it was anybody else no eyebrows would have been raised. The two (tiny) sips of champagne (each followed by huge gulps of water), 2x teaspoons of Pisang Ambon in mango juice, and a half teaspoon of Baileys in my dessert were hardly a cause for disquiet. But this is me we're talking about.
I got us home safely. It appears I can hold my drink.
That's what my companion (henceforth known as LB) uttered between mouthfuls of the second course of our five-course dinner last night. I nodded in agreement.
Ever since we arrived five mornings ago we've been eating ourselves into different blood groups. Last night's dinner at Bliss was exquisite. Having had a late lunch (in our hotel room) of the most delicious cheeses and bread (left overs from the evening before's room service) I was not feeling particularly hungry. Not that that has ever stopped me from eating before.
Our waitress explained how things work. There is no menu, just a choice of either a three or five course SURPRISE meal. You just inform her what you don't eat and the rest is up to the chef. LB opted for the five course meal, which comes with a complimentary glass of champagne. I asked for the three course, planning to sample LB's other two courses. As if reading my mind, LB made it very clear that I was not allowed to touch LB's food.
Fearing order envy, I promptly asked our waitress for the five course meal instead. Our cubes (the glasses reminded me of test cubes from my high school science lab) of champagne arrived and we had to guess which flower was infused in it. We couldn't. It was Violet.
I had two of sips of champagne before handing it over to LB, who was very pleased to receive it (having already finished LB's own). Interesting, coming from someone who had just a few minutes before made it very clear I was not to partake of LB's food!
* The chicken salad (first course) was light, fresh and delish! The noodle-like (I think it was grated) cucumber was delightful.
* Neither LB nor I are big fans of soup, but we both thoroughly enjoyed the lobster soup with onion leaves.
* The refresher before the main course was frozen mango juice with Pisang Ambon (some alcoholic beverage made out of banana leaves - but then again everybody had probably heard of it besides me) on top was another alluring surprise. It tasted a bit like cough mixture. I like cough mixture. LB didn't enjoy it so I promptly poured LB's portion in my glass.
* Red Snapper with aubergine and apple, served with a pyramid of rice. Uhm uhm uhm. Uhm uhm uhm. The thought running through my head was: If Nada licked her plate and nobody was around to see it, did Nada lick her plate?
* Perfect blueberry (with fresh cream), chocolate brownie, and creme brûlée with a drop of Baileys. (Okay, so did we stumble on happy hour at this here restaurant?) The Baileys did give it a yummy zing.
By now LB was beginning to express concern about the designated driver's sobriety. If it was anybody else no eyebrows would have been raised. The two (tiny) sips of champagne (each followed by huge gulps of water), 2x teaspoons of Pisang Ambon in mango juice, and a half teaspoon of Baileys in my dessert were hardly a cause for disquiet. But this is me we're talking about.
I got us home safely. It appears I can hold my drink.
Thursday, 1 September 2011
Paying the bills, island style
There's something deliciously queer about paying my bills while lounging in the hotel bar a mere nine metres from the beach. The trenches (grossly understated as potholes), litter (more like garbage) and sewage running down the streets of my little town back home are a far wail from the gobsmackingly beautiful wonder that is the Seychelles coastline.
Yesterday's drive along (almost) the entire circumference of Mahe Island had my companion and I marveling at God's awesomeness. "God is just showing off," I kept telling my companion. "He's showing off."
Our little Hyndai Getz (Nadia - how she got her name is a story for another day) performed superbly up and down (and up again and down again) [and up again and down again] {and up again and down again} the very windy bends that make up these skinny roads. The fact that Nadia is a right-hand-drive automatic endears me to her even more. With hairpin bends every few hundred metres and the local buses going at rather high speeds, I often wondered which would be preferrable: going under the wheels of a bus, or into the sea (there is no barrier between the skinny roads, the ridge and the ocean). The jury is still out on that one.
As the designated driver (teetotaler that I am, I have gracefully accepted this as my lot in life), I had to keep reminding myself to keep (both) eyes on the road. Sadly the roads were generally not designed to pull over on the sides to take snaps. Like I said earlier, there is no embankment, just road, ridge and ocean.
The two Stop/Go sections where road works were being done reminded me of home. I was half expecting a driver to overtake all the cars in the queue so that he could proceed first when our turn to go came.
I sympathised with the mini-lorry driver who drove into a pothole and got stuck. His passengers all just sat there instead of trying to get the lorry out of the ditch. Others came to spectate. I asked the dreadlocked young man taking photos with his cellphone why the men were just standing around (some INSIDE the back of the lorry) instead of trying to lift it out of the pothole. He said they were too tired and lazy from all the food they had just eaten.
People who live in glass houses should not throw stones. That's all I have to say about that.
Yesterday's drive along (almost) the entire circumference of Mahe Island had my companion and I marveling at God's awesomeness. "God is just showing off," I kept telling my companion. "He's showing off."
Our little Hyndai Getz (Nadia - how she got her name is a story for another day) performed superbly up and down (and up again and down again) [and up again and down again] {and up again and down again}
As the designated driver (teetotaler that I am, I have gracefully accepted this as my lot in life), I had to keep reminding myself to keep (both) eyes on the road. Sadly the roads were generally not designed to pull over on the sides to take snaps. Like I said earlier, there is no embankment, just road, ridge and ocean.
The two Stop/Go sections where road works were being done reminded me of home. I was half expecting a driver to overtake all the cars in the queue so that he could proceed first when our turn to go came.
I sympathised with the mini-lorry driver who drove into a pothole and got stuck. His passengers all just sat there instead of trying to get the lorry out of the ditch. Others came to spectate. I asked the dreadlocked young man taking photos with his cellphone why the men were just standing around (some INSIDE the back of the lorry) instead of trying to lift it out of the pothole. He said they were too tired and lazy from all the food they had just eaten.
People who live in glass houses should not throw stones. That's all I have to say about that.
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