Only in Dominica - The Hitchhicker

On my island home, hitching a ride is not only a necessity at times, but it's an almost unavoidable part of our culture. As inconvenient, and imposing as it can be, it is what it is - With a transportation system like ours, face it, we have all had to tough it out on the shrubby 'highways' at one point or another.

Needless to describe how annoying, and disconcerting it can be for the person desirous of a ride... but what about that driver who stops, sometimes only as an after thought, or after being bitten by a persistent conscience?

My dad recounts this experience:

He had been coming from work one afternoon, and was meant to pass in through Salisbury. While driving, he had passed this man in Layou, who had flagged him down... hesitating, he stopped for the guy. Unknowing to him, a rather rotund woman who was also standing along side the road, hopped on. No comment from my dad- only the "Oh boy" look.

The male passenger disembarks in St Joseph, leaving only the woman on board, who, to put it nicely, would make no better company than a swarm of starving mosquitoes.

Upon arrival in Salisbury, my dad stops along the highway so the woman could get off.

Woman- "But is not der i going. Right Portsmouth oui I have to go."
Dad - "Lady, I have to go up to Salisbury."
Woman - "But why you pick me up if is der you going?"

My Dad cringes, sucks his teeth.. but says nothing.

Murmuring and mumbling as she wobbles off the vehicle, she marches up to the drivers window..."Well den give me $5 to pay my bus nah man?"

BOL' FACE!

Culinary Crusades.... The Chocolate Chip Cookie

Nestle's Toll House Chocolate Chip Cookies

2 1/4 c. all-purpose flour
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. baking soda
1 c. (2 sticks) butter, softened
3/4 c. sugar
3/4 c. firmly packed brown sugar
1 tsp. vanilla
2 eggs
1 (12 oz.) pkg. (2 c.) Nestle Toll House semi-sweet chocolate morsels
1 c. chopped nuts


Preheat oven to 375 degrees. In small bowl combine flour, baking soda and salt. In large mixer bowl combine butter, sugar and vanilla extract; beat until creamy. Gradually add chocolate morsels and nuts. Drop by rounded measuring tablespoonfuls onto ungreased cookie sheets. Bake at 375 degrees for 9 to 11 minutes. Makes about 5 dozen. 2 1/4" cookies.

******************

All right, by now I think we can all agree that I'm a little bit of a fruit cake. Any how, my boyfriend made these cookies and I loved them. So, as usual, I'm going to try them. Being the supportive, kind, sweet thing that he is-He isn't reading this, so its ok for me to say all those things- he gladly helped me to get the ingredients.

Any ways, once I manage to find the ingredients for any recipe I want to try, I'm always super excited and rush right into it. And rush I did - as soon as I got home.


All things considered, I messed up. I wasn't paying attention, and instead of using the baking soda which the recipe calls for, I used baking powder. Ok, I don't over react...they are both rising agents, how bad can it be?

Next, the butter I meant to use was rock solid since it had been in the refridgerator. The butter is meant to be "soft", so I stick it into the microwave for a little while, just so it would be , you know, less 'rock-like'. By the time I take it out of the device, its a bubbling pool of fat. Being the problem solver that I sometimes think I am.. I stick the mess into the freezer, just so it would be, you know, more butter-like. Are you seeing a pattern here?

So any ways, I manage to overcome all of that and the dough tastes great! So I stuff the tasty wads of dough into the oven and wait... and wait.... and wait..... and wait some more. Sure, the recommended time had long expired, but my cookies were as white as a sheet. Reason you wonder? MY OVEN ONLY GOES UP TO 290 degrees or so!!! Like what am I supposed to do with that? Most cake recipes require baking temperatures of about 350 degrees! Remind me when I'm furnishing my house- Check the maximum temperature on the oven!!

Eventually, after waiting about twice the cooking time, I pull the cookies out. By this time, they certainly aren't white.. but they are rock hard!! Every one at home still liked them, but I was a bit disappointed.

I've decided to try this again. Maybe in a friends oven and see what happens. I will modify the recipe though, I thought it to be a little too sweet for my taste.

Growing up 'Me'

I have always been a tom boy. Well at least, that’s the way I grew up. Nothing would please me more than running through the grass with my brothers, climbing trees, playing marbles, hide and seek or “Police and Dread” with the boys from the neighbourhood.

I remember climbing a tree which stood in our front yard. A

miserable looking thing it was. Tall, bare, and as I would find out later; feeble. For a reason that completely escapes me now, I had climbed that tree. Up and up I went until I had gotten to the very top, and could go no further. As I recovered from the thrill of it all, and decided to descend, I realised that the branch that I would have had to step on to climb down, was too far below me to reach. If that wasn't trouble enough, the slightest move I made would cause the tree to sway precariously from side to side. It was quickly becoming clear that I may have gone a little too far.

So, how does a 10 year old girl get out of a tree?... SCREAM FOR DADDY! And that is exactly what I did. I remember seeing him bolt out of the house trying to locate me. After a few seconds he looked up and realised where I was. He was visibly shocked, as the sweat drops erupted on his brow. He would later run to the neighbours, who had already begun gathering in the front yard, to fetch a ladder. Somehow, he managed to get me out. And, although the neighbours all thought it funny and would be talking about it for days, my mother was not amused. When I was brought in, she couldn't decide whether she should be angry or relieved as warnings and words of comfort streamed out of her mouth in a muddle of words that I didn't quite understand.

On another occasion, I was crawling through the hedges in our back yard, and happened across a piece of plastic, printed with a very strange pattern. I had sat there for a while holding it up to the light, examining the ripples and curls of the lines which ran along my new find. Eventually, I carried it into the house with me, and excitedly called out to my Mom, thrusting my new treasure into her opened hands. I watched curiously as her faced morphed from apparent confusion to a terror that I have yet again to witness in my life. As if in slow motion, my precious bit of plastic went hurling across the room, while my Mom catapulted in the opposite direction.

The result of the phone call that she had made after that was a search party of 4 men from the area searching for a large Boa in our back yard. It was found the next day in our neighbour’s yard, and killed. There was no way for me to know that my interesting little piece of plastic was really the molted skin of a very large snake. I apologized for that one.

There was nothing graceful about my movements. Ahhhh… and how my mother dispissed my boyish antics. And not the least of these was the constant bruises and scratches which were the result of my daily adventures and expeditions. I clearly remember her saying, “One day, you’ll want these scars to disappear. You’ll want a boy to like you someday.” She seemed pained, and I hadn’t understood why. In my innocence, there was absolutely nothing wrong with the way I lived, and I would not change.

My adventures after that were numerous- some of which I will recount later.. More quickly maybe if I am bribed with a very good book!

..Who's your daddy?-The Dominican family

There is something quite unique about the Dominican family. Not so much to those who live here, but to people who are not originally from this island gem. I have more than a few friends who live out of Dominica, but visit on the occasional vacation. One outstanding feature of their wonder about Dominica comes from the dynamics of the Dominican family.

On a drive one day, Wendy, who was from the US witnessed the exchange of several waves, shouts and smiles along the way. When she would ask how I knew him, or her, it was often: “he’s my cousin....she’s my aunt....or he’s my uncle.” Seeking to clarify the relationship, I would have to explain that this ‘uncle’ was actually my grandmother’s half brother- and that really, we had bo relation, and this cousin was not really my cousin, but a child whom my uncle- who wasn’t really my uncle- had taken care of since he was young.

Now you can see that to a non Dominican, the thought of such an extensive family tree would be inconceivable. Not to the average Dominican though. Of course, not so much now as it was in the past, but for the most part, this situation was not helped by what I can best describe as the prolific nature of our grandparents and those before them. I know that my grandfather had some 35 children, and one of his sons had 13. Needless to say that this pattern was not by any means a rarity.

It is from this background that this story comes. One over which I have shared many laughs with my friends who were there when it was being recounted.

My friend was in a casual conversation with his sister when they happened to begin discussing their family tree. Now since they were only half brother and sister, they both have different relatives. Gerald was told that he had 14 siblings, Jen was told she had 7. This is not at all uncommon in any society. But things became very entertaining when Gerald, who was older, started telling stories of him “discovering” sisters strictly by happenstance, thinking that he was talking to another pretty girl.

In one story, he had traveled to the other side of the island with a friend to attend a ‘jam’. But his friend who was from the area casually warned him that he should go find two girls who lived up on the hill. He was wondering why, but being the outgoing guy who he was, he just went, despite his confusion. And yes, these girls looked too much like his own sisters for comfort. Wondering, he asked who their father was. He wasn’t surprised when they told him their dad was his. Of course, he had never heard of these girls before. His father gave him some story that they weren’t really his, but that the girls’ grandparents liked him more than the real father, so they passed the girls off as his? Gerald apparently wasn’t prepared to believe that one.

Jen also told us of one story when her dad was dressing up looking all spiffy. It was a very curious sight, so she asked where he was off to: “Well,” her dad had said, “Some padner up in de north calling my name for his father. I going and see if is true.”

Of course, when she called and told me about it, I was all over the floor in laughter. See, the mere fact that her dad even thought it may be plausible was telling enough. Absolutely hilarious- and in many respects, sad! Some part of me wonders how many brothers and sisters she may have running around the island and not even know it.

For all that its worth, this is only a casual discourse, but as Gerald put it, “How is a guy supposed to survive if the girls he making a break on at a party keep turning out to be his cousin, sister or niece?!” My response to that would be, “Just ask your father!”

Culinary Crusades.... The doughnut / donut

And after a long time of relative inactivity, I once again headed to the Kitchen to learn something new. For a very long time, I had been curious about this doughnut that I tasted some time back. I asked around and no one could give me a recipe that I was even remotely interested in trying. But low and behold, I purposed to find one by browsing the internet, and I found this one. I think I'm in love!

This is it. They're called Cake Doughnuts. Shared the same recipe with some friends and they all loved it. Even my boss tried it the very next day. This one is a keeper!


INGREDIENTS

2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup white sugar
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 dash ground nutmeg
2 tablespoons melted butter
1/2 cup milk
1 egg, beaten
1 quart oil for frying



DIRECTIONS

1. Heat oil in deep-fryer to 375 degrees F (190 degrees C). Or medium low heat on a stove top.

2. In a large bowl, sift together flour, sugar, salt, baking powder, cinnamon and nutmeg. Mix in butter until crumbly. Stir in milk and egg until smooth. Knead lightly, then turn out onto a lightly floured surface. Roll or pat to 1/4 inch thickness. Cut with a doughnut cutter.

3. Carefully drop doughnuts into hot oil, a few at a time. Do not overcrowd pan or oil may overflow. Fry, turning once, for 3 minutes or until golden. Drain on paper towels.


Although the dough tends to be a bit sticky, and may require a bit more flour than the recipe calls for, this one is immaculate!

What always gets me about my culinary adventures. I'm usually all psyched about trying the new recipe. I do, but then I can't eat much of it. I had two doughnuts this time- while my neighbours, family and co workers consumed all the rest!! I'm not sure what happens in the mind of someone when they're cooking, but for me, it seems like I lose my appetite. It also doesn't help that I'm not really into sweet things. My friend usually says thats cause I'm sweet enough. I just blush! :)

Next on the agenda though: How do I make this recipe mine? I'm thinking nuts! Hmmmm....