Four Rum Punches at the Round House on Carriacou

Sun 3-1

There are probably twenty five chefs in San Francisco who could have made that meal we ate Saturday night at the Round House on Carriacou, or maybe even seventy five. But none of them could have fashioned the entrance way into their restaurant down this old carriage path, surrounded by acacia trees and serenaded by tree frogs. There may be another round, stone house with the chef and her assistant welcoming guests from the kitchen whose narrow window sills are festooned with baskets of ginger, garlic, cucumbers, tomatoes and herbs, but nobody but the Round House has quite this much view of the Caribbean, and nobody else's husband brings you your rum punches while sitting at a picnic table in the back yard under a ficus tree.

True, the

The callaloo soup is a local delicacy, but other chefs could make the goat cheesey-bacon-y salad, and while that rack of lamb was astonishingly good, with the reduced essence of balsamic vinegar and mint jelly fused together and poured over the lamb, this is not an altogether novel way to roast racks of lamb. French restaurants the world around use methods like these.

But where would those other guys get that island dorado, the fresh mahi mahi with the incomparable sweet taste that seems to be everywhere down here? And though Chef Pickle's panna cotta may be every bit as delicious as last night's panna cotta, and probably other ice cream makers can make a homemade mocha ice cream that is every bit as tasty as the Round House's, where else would you get to ride to the restaurant from the boat dock on the other side of the island, and back to the dock after the meal, with Thomas the taxi driver, listening to really scratchy old country music while the car picked its way down one picturesque little island road after another?

"Thomas, are you listening to country music?" Plotnik asked him. "Yes, I love it," Thomas said. Forget this soca and reggae. Ferlin Husky and Tom T. Hall on Carriacou.

Afterwards, Captain Crow had to find Alliance in that harbor, as he steered the dinghy through the black water amongst a hundred other boats, none with lights on, and only the zillion stars overhead to guide by and a good deal of shiraz still working its way though the system.

These details are little things, but the big things are made out of 'em. Like -- how can a geography nut like Plotnik eat such a world class meal on an island he never heard of until three days earlier? How many more of these places are out there beckoning?



Monday 3-2

This will be our last full day with the Captain and Helmsman. The crew sailed for seven hours yesterday, across the 35 mile stretch between Carriacou and the island of Grenada. There was far less wind than is normal on this passage, which may have made things less fun for the two sailors but far easier on The Great Plotnik. That boat below that Duck took the picture of actually had red sails. It passed by on the open sea, going the other way.





Perhaps you'll believe this photo taken in action, as The Great Plotnik grinds the winch to operate the jib sheet. Perhaps you'll believe the photo was not staged. It's worth a try.



Truthfully, Plotnik has done very little grinding. Mostly the exertion level has been closer to this.



This was the last sail of the vacation. The boat is tied up at the end of a dozen other boats in the yacht harbor, all of which should be out on the water rented for two or three week charters, but this year business is down to nothing, so these expensive pieces of boatware lie unused.

It's not as much fun to be in port. Plot keeps walking up on deck expecting to be the only boat for miles, floating in a serene and isolated harbor, but that's over. But there is this really nice restaurant with the wi-fi free to guests with boats at the marina, so it's not really all that shabby.

We've gotten the messsages about snow in Atlanta and NYC. It's rough here too, must be down into the high seventies and there is a cloud or two -- oops, cloud blew away. Clear now.

Today we have hired a driver to tour the four of us around Grenada for a few hours and see what appears to be the largest and most topographically varied island in the chain. With luck, we'll end up with more dorado and callaloo soup.

Tomorrow the Plots bid the Crows adios and fly to Trinidad. Plot spoke to the woman at the guest house in Grand Riviere yesterday on his cell phone. He asked her for (left side of the road) directions to the town, then found himself unable to understand more than 20% of what she said. It turns out "left at the green secon-darie" means turn left at the second light. He thinks.