From the Blog: Rebel Salute (Part 1)

[rastagirl777]

2009

Making great time we headed down the road, passing the familiar sights of the South Coast. There was more development happening this year and a sign advertising “The Future Home Of Usain Bolt” advertised a new scheme being built where, apparently the track star would soon own a home. We arrived at Aunties and gorged ourselves on Shrimp, Bammy and Shrimp Soup until our bellies were full.

2007
Not long after we left Middle Quarters we arrived in the small coastal town of Alligator Pond, pulling into the parking lot of a seafood restaurant called Little Ochie. Since it is so close to Port Kaiser it is a traditional stop not just for us but for many heading to the show. Little Ochie is situated right on the beach with tables and platforms all over. Just as you enter there is a cement building containing the bar, kitchen and food storage. This is where you place your order. It’s a chaotic but wonderful system. First you decide what you’ll be eating: The choices include many types of fish, lobster, shrimp, crab and conch. Then you hand-pick your item from one of the many tanks and coolers. You have the opportunity to pick the freshest of the fresh – the fish whose flesh is firm and eyes are clear, the most lively lobster in the tank. Next you decide how you’d like it prepared – grilled, jerked or with garlic sauce. Your food is priced by the pound, not the plate and comes with festival – period. If you want veg, you can order it extra. You pay the cashier, grab a drink and wait for your food to come, settling in at one of the many tables. Les and I ordered lobster; me in garlic sauce, him grilled. Since Ron and Peg are seasoned pros, with one phone call we not only reserved our tickets to the show at pre-sale prices there but we have also reserved their favorite waitress, Carol. Carol guided us all through the ordering process with deft efficiency as soon as we arrived so shortly after that we were able to mingle with some of our friends who were already there.


We hung out for a while with Eddie, Marie and Roy. I met up with a guy I hadn’t seen in eight years. As we were catching up I felt a frantic tug at my arm. It was Marie. To know Marie is to love Marie; enthusiastic is probably the best way to describe her. When Marie wants your attention its very hard not to give it – the enthusiasm is quite contagious.
“Come Nikki,” she said. “Come meet Tyrone Taylor!”
Did she say Tyrone Taylor? Tyrone Taylor – the “My Little Cottage in Negril” Tyrone Taylor? His sweet love song about the simple life in the countryside had become my “theme song” since my first trip to Negril. THAT Tyrone Taylor.
He could have been a contender. Tyrone’s career was shooting forward and he was on the brink of making an international name for himself. The problem was that the man’s poisons had gotten to him and he squandered both his talent and future through a crack pipe. When I met him that January he had been living in England for ten years and had a stroke sometime back – but he was clean, and even through his crooked smile and limp walk he was charming and handsome as always. I will always remember fondly the short conversation we had that evening on the beach in Alligator Pond.

Our food arrived and I poked at my lobster cautiously. I’ve seldom enjoyed a lobster in Negril – it’s always been overcooked and rubbery and I’d given up ordering it in restaurants there. I’d been told Little Ochie was the best of everything so I’d taken a chance. As it turns out, a very good chance. The lobster was cooked perfectly – not overdone, not tough and it was swimming in the most amazing garlic sauce that I could have taken a bath in. Despite all the shrimp I tore the beat apart and mopped up every last drop of that sauce with the festival that it came with. I was a happy girl indeed.

2008
We pulled into the Little Ochie parking lot just a minute or two behind Van B. Carol met us and we went through the ordering process, but with two vans and so many people there were some bumb***** moments. Somehow Brenda and Bob had missed the mass ordering process and had ordered through another waitress which ended up setting their meal back for some time. Jerry, not even aware there was a plan a-foot headed straight into the kitchen, passed one of the cooks some money and walked out ten minutes later with a plate of steaming sautéed shrimp.

Despite the confusion and delays the food was as always magnificent. I ordered the lobster again. Tastes were passed around and it was all great, especially Bob’s jerked fish – tender, flaky and seasoned perfectly. I came to the conclusion that it was just impossible to order a bad meal here.
2009
When we left Middle Quarters we were completely stuffed. Damn, we always do this! Middle Quarters is only forty-five minutes away from Alligator Pond and we arrived at Little Ochie with barely an appetite. Peg, Brenda, Les and I decided we’d split two entrees. We knew wanted the fish Bob had last year but couldn’t remember the preparation he’d ordered. Brenda actually called him from the beach there; poor Bob, he was not due to arrive in Negril for a few more days due to work and had to miss Rebel Salute this year. Still, he’s a great guy and an even better sport – he narrowed it down to either grilled or jerked. We decided on jerked (which, as it turned out was the correct choice). Wanting to try something different we ordered the crab as our second entree, with the marvelous garlic sauce that none of us could have lived without.

While we waited for our food I took the opportunity to do a little exploring. I walked up the beach, out of the restaurant area, and checked out the shoreline of Alligator Pond itself. I wandered back, finding an upstairs deck area that I had practically to myself. I could see the entire restaurant laid out in front of me, the sea before me and the lights of the Bauxite Factory to my right. By the time I returned our food was on the table.

The fish was even better than we remembered it to be. The crab looked great but as we dug in we found it to be hollow. Lights on, nobody home. Lots of shell – no meat. We had a dilemma here – none of us had ever sent a plate of food back in Jamaica. The thought of doing so was a little intimidating. Jamaican return policies are generally “tough luck”. When Carol returned to the table with our Festival we summoned up the courage and nicely told her about our crab problem. She poked at the crustacean and agreed – it was “maga”. Without a teeth kiss or an argument she picked up the plate and told us it might be a while before she came back with a better crab. We were so pleasantly surprised by her graciousness, it was no problem. By the time the fish and most of the festival was devoured she was back, this time with a proper crab. And while the crab was good we decided that in the future we’d stick to lobster, fish and shrimp: More tried and true.
As the sun set we lingered. Since we’d arrived so early there was no need to eat and run this year.