Westworld Alberta

Fall 2014

Westworld Alberta

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

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f a l l 2 0 1 4 | W e s t W o r l d a l b e r t a 23 a broken-down-mercedes-bus-turned-eatery with a few plastic tables and chairs scattered in palm shade. the sign on the grille reads "mr. Delicious snack Bar." i'm ready to head elsewhere when i remem- ber something that marcus samuelsson said on day one of the festival. "wherever you travel, go to both sides of town. e really local food . . . that's often where you can find the most intense fl avours." another seemingly immobile old woman takes my order. i ask for two fl ying fi sh cutters. "Yah want roti?" she asks without fl inching. "what's that?" i ask. she doesn't move, doesn't speak. i start to wonder if she's dozed off . "sure," i say, just to break the impasse. "and a beer. Banks," i add. i wander over to a ramshackle table to wait. afternoon sunlight fi lters through the hibiscus leaves, and a puff of breeze click- clacks the palm fronds. an elderly man with dreads sitting in a rickety folding chair, one of the only other people nearby, suddenly bursts into an impromptu song about the bird in the treetops. my mind goes momentarily blank, like a trance, until i hear a voice. "Banks. Banks." e old woman is speak- ing. "Banks!" me? i realize my order is ready, grab it from the bar and walk to a slatted wooden bench by the sea. inside the oil-stained brown paper bag, i fi nd two local favourites: fried fi sh fi lets swaddled in spongy white bread rolls, com- plete with relish, mayonnaise and Bajan hot sauce, as well as a fist-size dollop of curried chicken and potatoes wrapped up in a flaky indian fl atbread. e fl ying fi sh is crispy and succulent at once, and the yellow curry is an ideal counterpoint to the cold, clear Banks lager. it isn't fancy by any means – at home it would be just another fi sh sandwich and wrap. But here, next to the ocean, after a long night of dancing and drinking, bathed in dappled Caribbean light, it tastes like vacation. at's the thing about culinary tours: food is always better in a stunning place minus the stress of home. and though Barbados may not have the most urbane culinary tradition, the dawdling pace makes you slow down and savour what you eat. i lie back on the bench and listen to the rhythmic thrum of the sea, and before long i'm fast asleep. when i wake, the sun has set and the ocean air is cooler. i've already missed a cocktail party and i'll probably be late for dinner. But i walk back over to mr. Delicious to place another order anyway. W

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