Westworld Alberta

Fall 2014

Westworld Alberta

Issue link: http://westworldmagazine.ama.ab.ca/i/365611

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Page 21 of 63

22 W e s t W o r l d a l b e r t a | f a l l 2 0 1 4 feet, snout and other extras splashed in a vinegar and fresh parsley sauce and served with a whack of baked, mashed sweet potatoes. it tastes much better than it sounds. i also order a pile of salty, tangy, fried and breaded balls called fi sh cakes, which go down easy with an icy local Banks lager. it's simple, hearty fare that cuts the alcohol in my system and tastes about right for this stifl ing afternoon. i have a whole sightseeing agenda planned, but with the sun on my face and the beer and heavy food in my belly, i decide instead to spend the afternoon like a local: sitting still, watching the tide of people and relaxing to the tunes. local fare is on the menu again that night at the manicured lion Castle Polo estate in st. omas Parish, where the festival hosts a gala banquet showcasing food from 12 chefs, half locals and half visitors. in the monumental event tent, men in linen pants and blazers accompany women in short sequined dresses and tall heels between restaurant displays serving tapas-size portions. it's as posh as the afternoon event was unpretentious, and the food is just as diff erent. e fi sh cakes at one booth are tempura-light. ere's a rendi- tion of macaroni pie that's plated as beauti- fully as modern sculpture and tastes as creamy and delicate as b├ęchamel. and one chef 's lemongrass- and ginger-infused pork loin is accompanied by truffl e-scented white yams instead of sweet potatoes. is is Bajan fare as seen through an international lens, and it makes me realize that in this day of global- ization, part of the appeal of a festival like this one is the exchange of ideas and the food fusions that result. it's almost impossible to reconcile the afternoon and evening experiences, except for the sultry heat, the throb of salsa- and reggae- tinged beats and the free fl ow of beer and rum. as the night wears on and the banquet fl oor transforms from fine dining hall to full-on dance party, i feel the familiar and welcome Bajan haze clouding my head. e fl avours of Barbados, it turns out, transcend its food scene, and i fi nd myself hoping the night will go on and on. i wake the next morning with a headache stronger than a bottle of mount gay. i'm due for brunch at a well-known local eatery but decide to postpone because the thought of stale restaurant air and big crowds makes my head throb. instead, i hop a local taxi down the coast to miami Beach, where i'm told you can fi nd some of the most authentic food on the island. i arrive expecting a chirpy little colonial building with a breezy verandah but fi nd only

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