Rosemary Parkinson, Freelance Writer
A pot of scrumptious curried crab
WELL MI dears it has been a week. After Kingston and its excitement, Hedonism III (Runaway Bay, St. Ann) beckoned me to be a judge for a night.
Those who follow my reviews will remember that I once wrote about 'Hedo' and its lack of gorgeous au naturel bodies during its Jerk Festival Gala Night last year. Well, well, well. Hmmm. One should never bemoan certain facts in case the Lord send them down to you on a platter, so to speak.
And that He did Saturday night with Playboy and its naughty, naughty contest the winning Hedonistic couple getting an all-expense-paid trip into some kind of bliss or the other at the Playboy Mansion inna foreign.
There was enough champagne to bathe in and a royal time was had by all including moi. Notwithstanding that little extra-curricular activity, I enjoyed yet again Hedo's fine hospitality with Executive Chef Mark Cole's exquisite culinary treats. Hedo III is definitely the place to eat your heart out people. By the way, book now for Hedo's fun-filled Jerk Fest which is set for the first week in August. In preparation for this event I had myself much nosh, breaking every part of my on-going diet. Sorry Doctor Vendryes, but those are the vagaries of my life sometimes. My excuse? I was having another break from computer and book.
CRAB TALE
And, talking book, those 400-odd pages are taking shape rather nicely. Below is an excerpt. The story is based on a night out with the boys 'back-ah-bush'. You see, I went crab-hunting somewhere inna Jamaica. Crab catcher Ramon Vernon not only organised the 'crab-catch' but invited me up into the mountains overlooking Montego Bay two evenings later for a veritable feast of curried crab and rice.
The crab-catchers were in fine form at the cook-up and the twinkling lights from the city, eerie tropical night sounds and flickering stars provided the perfect backdrop to the art of island storytelling. Anecdotes of old and new were told amidst collective strong laughter, buffeted by the dark forest below where the odd 'peenywally' danced to the sheer joy of it all. During all this crabs were being cracked and sucked in true Caribbean delight. There were childhood anecdotes of a Bajan headmaster in a Montego Bay school; hunting expedition, rum drinking; back-ah-bush stories; rivers filled with janga; mountain crayfish; and migratory birds. It was all about clean, light-hearted fun and my soul rejoiced at the love and camaraderie. If only more of us would enjoy the simple things in life and stop backbiting and fighting one another. Funny how food has a way of joining people in love and friendship eeh?
The actual crab-catching story went like this:
The drive through Montego Bay and its surroundings to pick up crab catchers, then into Little London, Westmoreland, seemed endless, the stops for crab-hunting and energy-boosts of white rum, infinite. After that, the crab hunt in the 'beyondest' of back-ah-bush, in the deepest of rock and bramble, finally began in earnest.
THE SOUND OF CRAB BUSH
There were men running through the darkness, barefooted over rock stones with kerosene flambeau held high in di air - stick in hand against crab-attack. Loud shouts for "crab, crab" and "wey di bag, wey di bag" resulted in the resounding "bag ah come, bag ah come".
Crab under siege. Wid long stick on back holding firm to the ground, back legs caught and wrapped by human fingers, large crab-claws flayed from side to side, only to be dumped unceremoniously into the crab bag.
"Dem will pinch off yuh finger, not even glove wukk," said crab-catcher Ramon Vernon knowingly to any one listening.
Now, when the crabs hid in their holes, afraid of coming out, the voices of the crab hunters snapped through the still of the half moon covered-in-cloud-night: "Black crab nah wukking wid moonlight. Black crab nah wukking wid moonlight."
These are the sounds of Jamaica's crab hunters feared only by crab. This is where one learns everything and nothing about crab and, occasionally, snake. Nothing else exists at moments like this to these men -- not even the Boeing Supersonic Mosquitoes that infiltrate the air like bombers at war.
"Black crab meat too sweet fi mi," said Buth.
"Mi like Swampie. Swampie got a nice taste, not like black crab. Mi nah eat black crab, black crab too sweet fi mi".
"Wha yuh talking?" came a voice from the dark bush depths. "Black crab too sweet? Nah man. Yuh joking. Black crab nice, eh? Black crab eat de bes'".
Yet another sound suddenly signed into the conversation. "White crab? Dem eat anything, dem scavengers man, dem dutti but... black crab? Black crab only eat vegetarian, him only eat bush. Mi like black crab."
SLEEPING WITH THE SNAKES
Rob, his long dreads almost scraping the ground had spoken.
"You eat crab, Rob?" the question rang out into the open night.
"Well, you know, I come from a long line of hunters eeh?" replied rob, the crab sage. "A long line fi real. You have to keep di traditions, you know, so I eat contrary to my thoughts."
He added: "You see any snake 'ere? Mi want ah snake. A big snake to put at mi yaard."
"You want big snake eh Rob? You want a big snake?" asked Buth in that good Jamaican repetitious-stylee.
"Ees a white man up de road, 'im 'ave plenty snake....di man wicked. Snake bite him but him still sleep wid snake. Wicked."
Quiet.
Suddenly the air became still. A strong murky river smell wafted heavily over the terrain. Rob with the locks looked up to the sky and waxed: "Wild duck flying, wild duck flying - you can smell de pongehncy." For a moment eyes were spotted in the darkness looking upwards almost in expectation of flight before the hunt continued.
Once the bag was full ah crab, men came out-ah-bush heading, like migratory birds, for a little hut stuck in the dirt crossroads of nowhere. Lit by one large bulb in the centre of its tiny interior, it is here that copious amounts of after-the-hunt-white-rum are imbibed. The hut's seams puffed with ganja smoke while hunting excerpts were recited.
"You see Buth dey, Buth different," expounded Ramon to no one in particular yet everyone. "Makka-bush break on him foot-battam. Trust mi. Buth walk in swamp up to his knee, barefoot - barefoot you see - and when crocodile come, crocodile run from 'im. Buth different. Fi real."
Crab hunting done.
Time for crocodile tales.
"There is no real excellence in all this world which can be separated from right living"
David Starr Jordan
HOW TO CATCH CRAB
Hold crab firmly by its back legs. Place in crocus bag.
Wrap 'twine' around claws and legs, working from inside leg outwards. Tie six crabs together or place in wire cages for transportation or sale.
HOW TO PREPARE CRAB FOR COOKING
Remove back by holding crab firmly ripping the back off.
Remove all insides. Scrub body and back with a toothbrush.
Wash in fresh lime juice and water.
Save back for filling with crab meat for Crab Backs.
Crabs can also be placed live in boiling water, claws first, for about half a minute before cleaning.
Season crab as you would meat, using fresh seasonings and rock salt.
Crab can be stewed in Red Stripe beer and garlic, or curried.
For Crab Backs, the crab meat has to be picked out from the crab shell, mixed with bread crumbs and seasoning and re-stuffed into the cleaned backs for serving.
OF NOTE
Apologies to Floyd's Pelican Bar for the caption last week. Printer's devil and all that. It should have simply read Floyd serves up a mean Seafood Platter.
Second, congratulations are in order to the organisers, participants, nominees and winners of The Observer Table Top Awards. The show topped all those of previous years. Chef Norma Shirley outdid herself with her miniature restaurant booth where a sit down divine meal was served in fine dining ambience, touched by the soft glows of candlelight. The Grand Dame copped Best Booth, having already picked up the prestigious and much sought after Best Restaurant 2005.
