Our first farm share is still several weeks away, but our family looks eagerly towards fresh greens again after a winter of pre-packaged salad.
In additional to empty aisles in the TP and cleaning products sections, the lettuce section of our local grocery stores has also taken a hit during this uncertain time. The result? Pickings have been slim, or nonexistent.
On one shopping run, the Chaplain sent me a photo from our bulk foods store of the empty shelves were the lettuce should have been. That day, he came home with a really sad bagged salad with limp iceberg and romaine lettuce. It was all they had.
We’ve had better luck with coleslaw, and so for the past couple of weeks, we’ve been buying cabbage almost exclusively. It has been much fresher than its limp brethren.
As we wait for farm share season, I want to share my favorite coleslaw recipe, from my mom, by way of the Amish, by way of the internet, with a few Red Herring adjustments.
With current events, it’s hard to imagine traveling again right now, but someday, we will all be dreaming and planning trips again…. Well, I’m dreaming right now. But the planning will have to wait.
One of my favorite things about Tobago is the food. Tobago can do fresh like nobody’s business, but also fried, and carbs, and comfort food. Corn soup, macaroni pie (similar to mac and cheese but more dense and different because local brands of pasta and cheese are used), and savory vegetable dishes like pumpkin cooked down with garlic, pepper, onion, and other flavorings are some of my favorites.
I had dal for the first time on my Netherlands retreat. Out in the countryside in a cabin at a long, farmhouse-style table with the other ladies from my group, we ate blindfolded, with our bare hands.
It was a sensuous experience. The only things to focus on were the flavors and textures of the food. After we finished eating, we remained in the dark comfort of our blindfolds, not having to worry about what we looked like or what others were thinking. Someone started singing and we all joined in.
I knew when I got home that I had to make me some dal, whether the kids liked it or not.
We were drawing close to the end of our trip. After a day at Seven Mile Beach and Stingray City, we went to the little beach where we’d been going for our morning sea baths to watch the sunset together our last night on the island.
We both brought our reading material, and it was sublime.
When we got off the plane on Grand Cayman, we were greeted at Customs by lines of white people, wearing beachy clothes and smelling of laundry detergent and sunblock. Lots of families. At least one person in each family group had a shirt touting a destination from a previous vacation. These were professional tourists. The kind that go on vacation to the Caribbean.
I go on vacation in the Caribbean, too. But I’ve never done it as a stranger. Our many trips to Trinidad and Tobago have been met with family at the other end, and our trip to the Cayman Islands was no different.
Since the Chaplain’s friend had arranged our accommodations, we didn’t know the address of the place where we’d be staying – something you need to provide at Customs. The Customs Officer called the Chaplain’s friend on his cell to find out the address, while we waited at the counter, hoping the friend would answer a call from an unknown number.
