STRANGE FOOD
Sorry I Ate You Little Fish
The strangest lunch in Jamaica made me think of all the things we eat
We had ridden our bicycles 15 miles down the coast to have lunch at a fish market in Redondo Beach last weekend. While enjoying our fish and chips and a cold beer I remembered a story about the strangest fish meal I ever had.
It must have been about 35 years ago now. I was in Jamaica. We were staying in Negril and wanted to see another part of the island to get away from the crowds. So we rented motor scooters and drove to Little Bay about 45 minutes south.
At the less touristy beach we found a small shack that had a wooden sign hanging cockeyed from its awning that said “Bar”. It was a tiny little hole-in-the-wall outdoor place.
A cold Red Stripe and some lunch sounded nice after our trip over cracked dirt roads. We were the only patrons. Maybe it was a slow day. We actually did not see any other people around, and no other food choices. But it was time for lunch, and we were hot and famished.
“Do you have fish?” I asked the man with a tall Rasta knit bun that was sagging to one side.
“Ya maan. We can find them fish for ya. No problem,” he said with a slightly hazed expression with a smile.
I had gotten used to the glassy-eyed friendliness of the locals. Jamaica had the laid back written into its mellow culture aided with a few hits off a fat spliff now and again.
He brought us our beers and we waited, and waited, and waited.
Three beers and about 45 minutes later he served us our food.
What finally arrived at the table was something I didn’t expect. There on our plates was a collection of small tropical reef fish, not one larger than the palm of my hand. They were fried up and covered in orange spices and parsley. There were Blue Tang, Sergeant Major, and golden Butterfly fish staring up at me like they had just been plucked out of the nearest coral reef. Their stunned expression staring back at me, as if to say you made them do this, and look at what happened to us!
Needless to say, it was less than appetizing to see these sparkling beauties on my plate. These weren’t eating fish, they were the gems of our snorkeling adventures, to be seen and admired but not eaten!
We didn’t want to disrespect the local man who went out of his way to bring us the only fish he could find.
I ate them quietly, expressing my deepest regrets to the beauties with each and every bite.
To this day, every time I get in the water and swim the reefs, I apologize to the Wrasse and Angelfish, that I am deeply sorry I ate their relatives back there at Little Bay in Jamaica.
When we left the “Bar” shack, I looked at the laminated piece of paper laying in the small open take-out window. Their specialty was Jerk Chicken and Mutton stew. There was no fish on the menu.
When we got back to our little mopeds, there was a chicken sitting on the warm plastic saddle of my bike, sunning itself. On the driveway out of the little bay, a family of goats were nibbling on the small grass under a palm tree.
I guess there are a lot of apologies to go around.
Audrey Stimson is a writer living in a green house with her husband and one dog. When she is not writing essays and short stories she works as a television news producer. She is currently working on a forthcoming book about a bicycle trip across the United States. More about Audrey on her website .
